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Elf, Interrupted: Book One: Glorfindel Redux  by Fiondil

1: Here At the End of All Things

Dying did not seem to be the worst of it, as far as Glorfindel was concerned. The blaze of heat that was the Balrog burning his skin off had been bad, true, and he flinched even now at the memory, but on the whole the process of dying had, for him, been mercifully short. There had been no time, really, to think about it, and then it was over.

He remembered falling, the Balrog’s weight upon him, its flames enveloping him even as he continued to fight. He knew a moment of despair at the thought that he had failed his charge to see Idril and young Eärendil to safety, and then the rocks came up and met him and then....

He found himself standing in a dim hall. That was all he really remembered of it. If it contained anything but himself, he could not afterwards say. He only knew one thing — he was no longer in Gondolin.

"NO!" he shrieked in defiant anger. "Let me go back! I have to go back!" He ran towards a door at one end of the hall and tried to open it, but there was no knob on this side. It was smooth and featureless. He pounded on it, shrieking, mindless of anything but the absolute need to return to Gondolin, to see his king’s final orders through. The door remained obstinately shut.

"Glorfindel, Glorfindel, what ever are we to do with you?"

The voice was dark and melodious and Glorfindel recognized it. His screaming stopped and he slid to the floor to sit with his back against the door, shivering with fear.

Fear he had not felt when facing the Balrog.

Fear he had not known when crossing the Helcaraxë.

He looked up through his tears to see Someone standing there looking down at him impassively.

He was tall, taller than the tallest elf, his raven locks long and braided with gems. There was a circlet of silver upon his brow. His eyes were a piercing grey, the shade of wet slate. His velvet robe was the dark blue of a winter sky under which he wore a knee-length tunic of black watered silk trimmed with grey pearls. The sleeves were slashed and under them Glorfindel could see a shirt of whitest lawn. His feet were shod in leather boots that disappeared under the hem of the tunic. He wore no jewelry, save for a single ring on his left hand, an uncut emerald set in mithril.

Glorfindel sat on the floor trembling, awe beginning to replace his earlier anger. He had last seen this Being standing on the shore of Valinor uttering his Doom to the Noldor as they made their way North. He had been much younger then, a member of Turgon’s household, with little knowledge of swords or battles. He remembered the awe he felt at the fell words that Námo, Lord of Mandos, had uttered under the star-strewn night that had replaced the Light of the Trees. He vaguely remembered wanting to go back to Tirion, not wishing to defy the Valar, but Turgon would not budge nor did he give his followers leave to return if they wished. Glorfindel had felt the eyes of the Vala boring into him as he trudged past after Turgon, the guilt he felt weighing heavily on his fëa.

Now that feeling had returned and he quailed at what he was sure would come of those who had defied the Valar. He did not expect to find mercy, nevertheless he found himself attempting to kneel before the august person standing before him, tears streaming down his face, despair in his eyes.

"I’m sorryimsorryimsorry. Pl-please let me go back, please..." He was crying so hard now he could not speak and he did not know what else to do. He refused to look up, shame at his behavior flooding him. He was the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin, one of Turgon’s most trusted advisors and a proven warrior, and here he was blubbering like an elfling and crawling on the floor like one of Morgoth’s slaves.

He felt rather than saw Námo move towards him, crouch down and pull him into his arms. "Hush, child. Shhh. You cannot go back. Your time has come to face the doom of the Valar. Shhh. I know you’re frightened and your fëa is weary yet from battle, but I promise you all will be well."

He felt himself being rocked gently as Námo continued to croon soft words to him until his weeping stilled and a kind of uncaring washed over him. He could not go back, his doom was already decided. Nothing mattered anymore. He didn’t matter anymore.

"It matters more than you think, my son," the Lord of Mandos said softly, kissing the elf’s brow gently. "And you matter a great deal, Child of Ilúvatar, never doubt that. Rest now."

He felt himself being lifted up and then lowered upon a couch. He tried to make sense of what was happening but he was too weary. Námo stroked his face and he felt himself succumbing to the Vala’s ministrations.

"Sleep now, child. Let your fëa find rest. Your doom is not yet at hand."

Glorfindel sighed as he let go of all thought, letting the darkness of death take him at last.

****

Fëa: (Quenya) Spirit, soul.

2: Máhanaxar

Voices woke him, one of them feminine, the sound of bells in her voice.

"...ten years of the Sun have flown. Manwë commands judgment now."

"His fëa is still weary."

Glorfindel recognized the second voice as Námo’s. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to interrupt.

"Weary or not, brother, this judgment is long overdue."

"So be it," the Lord of Mandos intoned after a moment. There was a brief pause. "You may open your eyes now, Glorfindel." Námo’s voice sounded gently amused.

Glorfindel opened his eyes to see Námo and Another standing over him. The Valië was as tall as Námo, her hair as dark, but bound in a glittering net of pearls and black opals. Her eyes were the dark blue of a mountain tarn, calm and deep. She wore a gown of silver mist shot with blue. Námo was dressed much as Glorfindel remembered, save that the outer robe now matched the color of his companion’s dress. They were both smiling.

Glorfindel became acutely aware of where he was and how he had gotten there and he started to panic. The Valië laughed and sat on the edge of the couch, stroking the elf’s golden locks.

"You have no need to fear, hinya. Come. You have been summoned."

Fear shot through him at those words. Fear and guilt. He must have made some noise of protest or denial for Námo stepped forward and put a finger to the elf’s lips, his expression stern.

"None of that, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower."

The sound of his title on the Vala’s lips steadied him and he nodded. Námo held out his hand and he and his companion helped the elf to stand. Glorfindel felt weak and disoriented. It did not help that no sooner had he stood than he found himself...elsewhere.

His first impression was spaciousness. He was in a ring, a ring made of thrones, twelve of them occupied. He had a confused sense of the Valar gazing at him in implacable silence and he shivered. One of them finally spoke, the echo of the First Song in his voice.

"My brother Námo, my sister Estë, welcome."

Glorfindel looked up into the fathomless eyes of Manwë and his fëa quailed at the Elder King’s regard. He felt Námo’s arms tighten around him in support, his strong presence a calming influence on the elf’s battered senses.

"This is the Balrog-slayer?" Manwë asked, though Glorfindel suspected he already knew the answer.

Námo nodded. "He is, my lord."

"Then let the judgment commence."

Glorfindel suddenly found himself standing in the midst of the Máhanaxar alone, for Námo and Estë had moved at the speed of thought and now sat on their own thrones. Glorfindel had just enough time to note the grave expression on Námo’s face before an onslaught of memories assailed him.

He had no conscious memory of falling to the ground as the Valar forced him to relive every moment of his life. He lay there, his eyes open but unseeing. Every memory was carefully sifted, layers of falsehood and self-delusion stripped away, leaving only unvarnished truth — cold and unforgiving. He never heard himself screaming "Emmë! Emmë!" at one particular memory. Estë left her throne and went to him, cradling him in her arms as he sobbed inconsolably. The other Valar sat impassively, waiting. For long moments only the elf’s weeping was heard. Námo’s expression was still grim but his eyes held an infinity of sorrow in them. Manwë’s expression was thoughtful and sympathetic.

When Glorfindel’s sobbing had slowed, the Elder King spoke. "Let us continue."

Glorfindel clutched at Estë, whimpering. "No, please, no," he implored.

Estë stroked his hair and held him tightly as the interrogation began anew. He never knew how long it lasted, never knew the patience with which the Valar examined his every thought and motive, never knew the infinite love with which they treated him, for love, not hate, was the motivating factor in all that the Valar did there within the Ring of Doom.

And while the Valar took care to examine every memory, it seemed to the elf that they lingered over some more than others — the day he rose to the lordship of the House of the Golden Flower, his proudest moment; giving his fealty to Turgon; the coming of Tuor to Gondolin. Glorfindel had listened to the Man’s message with wonder and trepidation, but he had not dared question Turgon’s decision to ignore Ulmo’s warning. He was too new to the lordship of his House and felt his counsel would be unwelcome. The Valar seemed particularly interested in every memory he had of Eärendil, from the time of his birth to the night of Glorfindel’s death. He sensed a feeling of satisfaction over young Eärendil emanating from the Valar that he did not understand.

At last the pressure of their minds eased and now Námo joined Estë in the center of the Ring. He knelt down beside the elf, wrapping his arms around him.

"It’s over now, my son," he whispered. "Shh. There’s nothing to fear. Just one thing is needed. Open your eyes, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel shook his head and tried to curl into a ball, but Námo only laughed and several of the Valar smiled. Námo stood up, forcing Glorfindel to follow. "Open your eyes, child."

Reluctantly, Glorfindel did and found himself facing the Elder King. Manwë beckoned to him, his expression not unkindly.

"Come to me, son of Gondolin."

Námo gave the elf a little push and Glorfindel half stumbled towards Manwë’s throne but stopped several feet away wondering if he was supposed to bow or kneel and afraid that if he did either he would faint from the effort.

"Closer, my son," Manwë said with infinite tenderness.

Glorfindel gulped and took a few more hesitant steps until he was standing directly before the Elder King. For a long moment Manwë gazed intently at the golden-haired elf and Glorfindel found he could not look away, as much as he wanted to. Finally, Manwë smiled and reached out with his right hand and touched the elf’s forehead. A light seemed to emanate from that hand and slowly, ever so slowly, it spread.

Glorfindel gasped. A warmth that was almost physical began to spread through his fëa and the light from Manwë’s hand seemed to search out every corner of darkness within him. The shadows of his doubts and fears were shredded and the fruits of his sins withered before the pure light of Ilúvatar which Manwë channeled.

Glorfindel found himself closing his eyes and moaning as ecstasy that went beyond the sexual flooded him and he was not aware of collapsing into Námo’s arms. He barely heard Manwë’s words.

"Take him, my brother. He has earned his rest."

Then he was back in the hall in which he had first found himself. Námo led him back to the sleeping couch and he fell gratefully into it with a sigh. He felt Námo’s hand on his forehead.

"Sleep now, Glorfindel. The worst is over. All shall be well for you. Sleep and rest. You are safe now. When you awaken again, things will be different."

He struggled to remain awake for some perverse reason but Námo’s words were too powerful to ignore and soon he was asleep. He never knew that Námo stood watching over him for the longest time, a smile gracing his visage, or that several of the Maiar who tended those dwelling in Mandos ranged themselves around his couch, singing softly an ancient lullaby.

****

Máhanaxar: (Quenya) The Ring of Doom.

Hinya: (Quenya) My child; a contraction of hinanya.

Emmë: (Quenya) Mama; finger play-name for amillë "mother".

3: Return to Innocence

How long he slept, Glorfindel could not say. Sometimes he would waken — for a few minutes or a few days, he was never sure — finding himself surrounded by Maiar who spoke soft words of peace and comfort, then he would fall asleep again, feeling safe and loved. Twice that he remembered he woke up screaming. The second time Námo was there, cradling him until he fell asleep again. Eventually he found himself staying awake longer and longer as his fëa grew stronger, the memory of his judgment before the Valar fading. He had ceased to remember dying at all.

A time came when he began to take an interest in his actual surroundings. The chamber in which he slept was not overly large, containing nothing more than his sleeping couch. There were two doors, but one had no knob and could not be opened. Glorfindel was drawn to the door for some reason he could not fathom. He stared at it curiously, running his hands over its smooth surface, but when one of the Maiar led him gently away, he went willingly and soon forgot about it.

The other door proved more interesting, for when he opened it he found himself in a wide hall lined with tapestries and, even better, there were other elves wandering about. He glanced at his attendant Maia in surprise but she only smiled and nodded, pushing the golden-haired elf out the door with a gentle nudge.

"Go play," she said softly.

Glorfindel stood hesitantly for a moment watching the other ellyn and ellith as they interacted with one another. Most stood around one tapestry or another speaking softly, gesturing. Others danced or sang. One or two stood alone, watching.

One such saw Glorfindel and came over to greet him. He was golden-haired as well, but where Glorfindel’s eyes were grey, his were a startling blue. The ellon smiled. "Mai omentaina. My name is Findaráto, but I prefer to be called Finrod. What’s your name?"

Glorfindel smiled shyly back. "Glorfindel. My name is Glorfindel."

"Would you like to be friends?"

Glorfindel nodded and when Finrod held out his hand he took it and the two ellyn walked hand-in-hand through the hall talking amiably, or at least Finrod did the talking while Glorfindel listened. Finrod seemed familiar to him but he couldn’t place it and eventually decided it didn’t matter. He was just happy that he had found a friend so quickly. Finrod stopped occasionally and introduced some of the other elves to Glorfindel.

"This is Beleg and this is Finduilas and this is Saeros," Finrod motioned to three elves to join him and Glorfindel. Finduilas smiled warmly and the other two ellyn greeted Glorfindel with glad cries.

"Would you like to play with us?" Saeros asked. "We’re playing catch-me. You can be It, if you like."

Glorfindel looked at Finrod, who nodded encouragement. "Thank you," Glorfindel said. "I would like that."

Finduilas laughed and to Glorfindel’s surprise grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a kiss on the lips before darting away. "Catch me if you can, Glorfi."

The other ellyn all laughed and began to scatter as Glorfindel followed after the elleth who stayed teasingly out of reach. How long they played, Glorfindel never knew. Sometimes it seemed as if they had always been playing. Finduilas eventually allowed him to catch her and the two tumbled on the floor laughing. The other ellyn soon joined them in a free-for-all that ended with all of them suddenly falling asleep in a heap. Their Maiar attendants all chuckled at the sight and rejoiced that these Children, so hurt and broken, had found laughter and friendship again.

It took them some time, though, to sort out the fëar and return them to their respective sleeping chambers.

****

After that the five of them were nearly inseparable. They often played together, danced and sang together or just sat quietly enjoying each other’s company. Sometimes other ellyn and ellith joined them for merrymaking, but more often than not, they were left to themselves. Often enough their attendants would find them sleeping in a huddle after a strenuous game of catch-me. It annoyed Glorfindel to find himself waking up in his chamber with no memory of having fallen asleep in the first place. The Maiar would assure him that it was only to be expected and that eventually he would be able to stay awake for longer periods of time.

Only one thing marred Glorfindel’s happiness during this time. He was wandering the corridors that were their playground by himself when he came upon a solitary elleth. She seemed strangely familiar to him, and when she told him her name was Elenwë, something in him quailed and a flash of memory, of eternal white and cold and the sudden cracking of ice as someone screamed, crossed his mind and he cried out, much to Elenwë’s horror.

At once several Maiar were there. One took Glorfindel in his arms and held him, crooning softly until the ellon calmed down. The others led Elenwë away, assuring the now weeping elleth that it was not her fault and that all would be well. She was taken to her sleeping chamber and fell asleep and when she woke again she no longer remembered the strange encounter with the golden-haired ellon. Glorfindel, too, was eased of the memory until such time as he was ready to face it. He never saw Elenwë in the Halls of Mandos again.

Whenever Glorfindel woke from his slumber his first thought was to find his new friends and the Maiar encouraged him with glad smiles. Usually they were all there waiting for him but one time he found only Finrod. Glorfindel felt unaccountably sad when he could not see Finduilas anywhere.

"They’re still sleeping," Finrod said sympathetically in explanation. "I’ve been here the longest, so I don’t need to sleep as much. Let’s go explore." Finrod held out his hand and Glorfindel took it and the two ellyn began to wander through the various corridors.

Often they would stop before a particularly arresting tapestry, wondering what the picture might mean. Most of the time they found themselves in the company of other elves but at one point they wandered down a dim corridor where none other walked. The corridor ended abruptly and they found themselves staring at a large tapestry that sent chills through Glorfindel’s fëa. There was a seven-tiered city burning in the background while in the foreground a golden-haired elf fought against a creature of flame and shadow. The picture disturbed Glorfindel in a way he could not understand and he found himself shaking, tears running down his face. Finrod tried to lead the ellon away, for he realized that this tapestry had something to do with his new friend. He remembered how he had reacted to a certain tapestry himself.

"Please come away, Glorfindel," Finrod pleaded but Glorfindel could not move and began weeping even harder.

Suddenly, a Presence was felt and Finrod turned to see the Lord of Mandos standing there looking at them with concern.

"Children, what are you doing here? This is no place for you." He scooped Glorfindel up into his arms as if he were no bigger than an elfling of ten summers and Glorfindel clutched at the Vala, weeping. "Shh, little one. It’s time you were abed. Say good-bye to your friend, for it is time for Findaráto to leave and walk with his atar in Eldamar."

"B-but I don’t want Finrod to leave," Glorfindel stammered through his tears and Námo laughed.

"I’m afraid that can’t be helped, hinya. It is time for the son of Arafinwë to join his atar in Life."

Finrod stood there looking stunned and not a little afraid. Námo gave the one-time King of Nargothrond an encouraging smile.

"W-will we still be friends?" Glorfindel asked doubtfully.

Finrod smiled tremulously. "We will always be friends, meldo."

"B-but we’ll never see each other again," the younger ellon wailed, for he had long ceased to remember living in the hröa and could not imagine being anywhere than where he was.

Now it was Finrod’s turn to laugh. "Nay, titta hánonya. We will see each other soon. Namárië." He leaned over and planted a kiss on Glorfindel’s forehead.

"Namárië," Glorfindel echoed sadly and then Finrod was simply not there. Glorfindel sobbed and nestled further into Námo’s embrace and then he was being lowered onto his sleeping couch.

"Do not be sad, yonya," Námo said sympathetically. "You will see your friend again, and sooner than you think. Sleep now and awaken refreshed once again."

And with the sound of the Lord of Mandos singing softly as he stroked the ellon’s hair, Glorfindel fell asleep.

****

Words are Quenya unless otherwise noted.

Ellyn: (Sindarin) Male elves, plural of ellon.

Ellith: (Sindarin) Female elves, plural of elleth.

Mai omentaina: Well met; the Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin Mae govannen.

Atar: Father.

Meldo: Friend.

Hröa: Body.

Titta hánonya: My little brother.

Namárië: Farewell.

Yonya: My son; a contraction of yondonya.

Historical Note on the First Age: Finrod died in 468. Finduilas, Finrod’s great-niece, died in 495 when Nargothrond was sacked. She is the daughter of Orodreth, son of Finrod’s brother Angrod. Saeros died in 482 from a fall into the chasm of a river as he fled from Túrin's wrath. Beleg was accidently killed by Túrin, probably within a year or two after the death of Saeros. Glorfindel died in 512.

4: Progress Reports

"How is he doing, Olórin?" Námo asked.

The Maia turned with a smile and bowed briefly to his lord. "Glorfindel does well enough, lord."

The two were standing unobtrusively to one side of the Mardi Envinyato watching the elves at play. Those who wandered through these particular Halls were destined to be Reborn, though for many that would be years, even centuries, from now. It did not matter. The Children knew nothing of Time in these Halls and the Valar and Maiar had no need for it, save as a convenience.

Námo reflected sadly on another part of his domain, a place for those who would never be allowed re-embodiment until Arda was Renewed. It was no less beautiful and peaceful than these Halls of light and laughter, but it was truly a prison rather than a place of temporary repose for weary fëar. And those who walked those halls walked alone.

He shook his head as if to clear it of such dark thoughts and turned his attention to the scene around him. Glorfindel sat with a group of ellyn and ellith singing. It was a silly song, fit for elflings, but these grown elves, now restored to innocence, found it amusing. There was much laughter mixed with the singing and Námo smiled as he listened to the words.

      "Here’s to singing, dancing and laughing,

      here’s to loving, friendship and sleeping.

      I don’t know which of these I like best,

      But after the dancing I do need to rest."

Olórin chuckled. "Glorfindel has not needed to rest for nigh two years of the Sun, my lord. I think he is ready to move on."

"Perhaps, but not quite." Námo watched as a door to one of the sleeping chambers off the Hall opened. The door itself had not existed before that moment for the occupants of the room beyond had not been ready to join their fellow elves in the Halls. Námo saw two ellyn step out hesitantly, one of Olórin’s brethren standing behind them with an arm around their shoulders, offering them his support. The ellyn looked very much alike and were obviously twins. They appeared much younger than most of the elves around them.

Námo sighed. He had hesitated to bring these two here. Normally elflings who died were housed in their own Halls, the Mardi Winiron, where their fëar were allowed to mature to adulthood before they were released. These two however were different and they would prove important to Glorfindel’s own healing. He also hoped Glorfindel would be instrumental in helping the twins to recover from the trauma that had brought them to Mandos.

Vala and Maia watched as Glorfindel looked up and noticed the newcomers. He rose gracefully from the floor and walked over to the ellyn. They were probably only thirty years old and they looked scared, clutching each other’s hand.

"Mae govannen, pennith. My name is Glorfindel," the golden-haired elf said with great gentleness. Glorfindel vaguely noticed that he always seemed to know which language should be spoken to newcomers, whether Quenya or Sindarin. He did not really question it, but it was there in the back of his mind and he sometimes wondered how he knew.

The Maia standing behind the twins smiled warmly at the former Balrog slayer. "Mae govannen, Glorfindel. These are Elurín and Eluréd. They’ve recently arrived. They could use a good friend. Would you like to be their friend?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Oh yes. That is if it’s all right with you two."

The twins glanced up at the Maia as if seeking reassurance and Calimo nodded, offering the elflings his warmest smile. As one they returned their gaze to Glorfindel, then one of them, Glorfindel couldn’t remember which, reached out and took the older elf’s hand.

"Come. Let’s play," Glorfindel said with an encouraging smile.

The twins smiled and after introducing them to Beleg, Saeros, Finduilas and a few others with whom Glorfindel often played, they were soon all running around in a vigorous game of catch-me. Before long Námo was pleased to see the twin sons of Dior laughing and shrieking with the rest, though they never let go of each other’s hands. When most of the elves, including the twins, collapsed into a heap fast asleep, only Glorfindel and one or two others were still awake. As the Maiar attendants began sorting out fëar, Námo saw Glorfindel sitting beside the sleeping forms of the twins, singing to them softly the same lullaby Námo had sung to him once upon a time.

****

"And how is our Balrog-slayer these days, brother?" Manwë asked as he and Námo stood on the balcony of the main audience chamber of the Valar on Taniquetil. They were enjoying the view of Anar rising above the ocean as dawn came to Aman.

Námo chuckled. "He’s become quite the mother hen where Dior’s sons are concerned. And the twins follow him around like chicks."

Manwë chuckled, his eyes glowing with amusement at the image his brother sent him.

"Good, good," he said and winked. "He needs the practice."

The two Valar laughed.

"Will you be releasing him soon?"

Námo shook his head. "Normally, yes, but I feel he needs more time, as do the twins. Their deaths were particularly gruesome..." He grimaced, unable to complete the thought even to himself. Dior’s sons had not died easily nor quickly and their fëar had come to him in such pain and horror that he had wept to see them. It was especially terrible that these were children who had died without any comprehension of what was happening to them or why.

Their Maiar attendants had done their best but the twins proved unresponsive, refusing to be loved, refusing to play with the other children, refusing to be comforted, and refusing to be parted from one another. They had died hand-in-hand; they weren’t about to let death separate them even for a second.

Glorfindel had "adopted" them immediately, sensing their need without understanding its source. He had matured himself in the intervening years since his own death, though he did not realize it. His fëa glowed now with the memory of the Light of the Two Trees, though he had ceased to remember that time while dwelling in these Halls. He was often the first to greet newcomers, much as his friend Finrod had, and was quick to intervene when some of the ellyn and ellith became "overly excited" as Olórin had once put it with a twinkle in his eyes, for while these were adult elves, they had had their innocence restored and were learning again how to be children, and children were often selfish. One of the tasks of the Maiar was to lead these innocent ones on the path to true maturity. Only when they had achieved it were they then ready to be Reborn.

"Findaráto pines for his friend," Manwë said casually, "and chafes at the seeming delay."

"Many of the Children chafe at the seeming delay of the release of their loved ones," Námo commented with a lift of an eyebrow. "Why has Finrod’s impatience drawn the interest of the Elder King?"

"Not just my beloved’s interest, but mine as well."

The two Valar turned to see Varda standing there, smiling at them, the light of the living stars wreathed above her head undimmed by the glow of the Sun. Námo noticed the looks that passed between the other two Valar as Varda joined them on the balcony though he was not privy to their silent communication. It was rare that any of the other Valar, even Manwë, ever questioned or interfered with his decisions as to who would be released and when. He wondered what made this situation different.

"Would either of you care to explain?" he said with an ironic smile.

Manwë turned to the Lord of Mandos with his own smile. "Events are happening in the outside world that require our attention. Both Finrod and Glorfindel are destined to play pivotal roles in the affairs of Arda, though only one will return to Middle-earth. You know this. We have all seen it."

Námo nodded. "Yes, but the time is not yet right. Release Glorfindel too soon and it will all be for naught."

"Arafinwë is concerned," Varda said with a slight sigh. "His son does not attend to his duties as he should, pining for his friend. Every time the Andondi Entulessëo are opened, he is there looking vainly for one he loves as a brother."

Námo sighed, then nodded. "Send Finrod to me."

****

Finrod stood nervously before the silent Vala, his heart in his throat. The summons by Námo, Lord of Mandos, had frightened him and he had feared he was being sent back to be Unhoused again for some reason. His atar had assured him that this was not the case, but looking at the grave expression on the Vala’s face, Finrod was not so sure.

As if divining the ellon’s thoughts, Námo’s visage lightened somewhat. "There is nothing to fear, my son. Come and sit by me."

Námo motioned towards a bench and sat. The ellon hesitated for a moment before complying, sitting stiffly beside the Vala. They were in one of the gardens of Lórien where Námo’s brother Irmo ruled. The scent of honeysuckle and roses mingled heavily in the air. Butterflies flitted about in lazy patterns and birds sang quietly as if reluctant to disturb the peace of the place overmuch.

Námo placed a hand on Finrod’s back and began to unobtrusively rub it in an attempt to calm him. Slowly the peace of the gardens and Námo’s ministrations brought Finrod to a more relaxed state and he visibly sighed as tension left his body.

"That’s better," Námo said with a smile and Finrod returned it with a sheepish smile of his own.

"You are concerned for your friend, aren’t you?" Námo asked gently.

Finrod looked at the Vala in surprise, then nodded, not trusting himself to speak, too overwhelmed by emotions he only half understood. He remembered his time in the Halls of Renewal very clearly, though he never spoke of them to anyone, not even to his atar and amillë, too embarrassed at the memory of how like an elfling he had acted, playing silly games and falling suddenly asleep as babies were wont to do. He also remembered his friendship with Glorfindel and wished they could be reunited in Life.

"You must not fear for Glorfindel," Námo said. "He is well and happy. He misses you, too, but he has made new friends and has begun to take on new responsibilities. As must you, son of Arafinwë. It is why you were released from my care. Do not make me regret that decision by your neglect of those duties."

This last was said somewhat sternly and Finrod quailed inside and gulped. "I’m sorry," he whispered, feeling very much the elfling, tears beginning to roll down his face. He had noticed since his return to Aman how much he still reacted as if he were only thirty. His amillë had assured him that that was just a consequence of being Reborn and that, as he became used to being re-embodied, he would gain greater control over his emotions.

It had not happened yet, and he feared it never would.

Námo smiled sympathetically and wiped the tears from Finrod’s face with a gentle finger. "Now, no tears, child. You will see your friend soon. You and he will have many years together, just like before."

"Pr-promise?" he blurted out unthinkingly and then flushed in mortification. He was the one-time King of Nargothrond and son of the King of the Noldor and here he was sounding like an elfling again. He felt himself plunging into a state of despair.

Námo merely laughed, gathered this beloved Child in his arms and kissed him on the brow. "Promise."

That simple gesture gave Finrod great pleasure and he sighed contentedly as he allowed himself to be held in the Vala’s arms. Memories of another time and place flooded him and he found himself falling asleep with the sound of Námo singing a well-known lullaby.

When he awoke, it was to find himself back in his own bed in his atar’s house, his favorite stuffed animal from when he truly had been an elfling snuggled in his arms.

****

Glorfindel was resting in his sleeping chamber, his mind beginning to drift. It was the first time in a long time that he had felt the need for sleep, but in truth the twins wore him out. He chuckled at the thought. Not that he minded. They were adorable elflings and he felt fiercely protective of them. They had been so scared when they had come to the Halls and Glorfindel and the others had taken great pains to ease them of their fears. Being so young, the twins still slept often and their playtime was generally shorter in comparison to the adults’. Glorfindel had decided to take advantage of this and was resting himself.

His eyes were nearly glazing over as he slipped onto the Path of Dreams, for he no longer slept involuntarily, when Vanimeldë, one of his Maiar attendants, appeared and shook him gently.

"Wake up Glorfindel."

Glorfindel started, his eyes focusing. "What’s wrong?"

"Come. You are needed," was all the Maia would say and Glorfindel found himself being gently but firmly pulled from his bed. He followed the Maia out into the Hall where she led him to another door which opened silently before they reached it.

Glorfindel stopped, suddenly feeling afraid and uncertain. It seemed to be an unwritten rule, never questioned, that none entered another’s sleeping chamber. In all the time Glorfindel had dwelt in Mandos he had never known any but the Maiar to enter his own chamber and now he was being led to the sleeping chamber of another and he did not know why.

Vanimeldë took his arm and made him come with her. "Fear not, my elfling. All is well. Lord Námo requires your assistance."

Glorfindel looked at the Maia in wonder and allowed himself to be led into the chamber without further protest. Inside he immediately noticed an over-large sleeping couch where Elurín and Eluréd lay together. Two other Maiar — one of them Calimo, the other, Olórin — were there as was Námo himself. The Lord of Mandos was sitting on the edge of the couch attempting to calm the two writhing figures lying there, their hands entwined, their eyes closed and their mouths open. They were obviously screaming, though only strained whimpers could be heard. Nothing the Lord of Mandos did could bring them out of the nightmare that held them enthralled.

Námo saw Glorfindel standing hesitantly at the doorway and motioned with his hand. "Come, child. You are needed."

"What’s wrong, sir? Why do they not waken?" Glorfindel asked as he approached the bed.

"I do not know, but I think you may be able to help me bring them out of their nightmare."

"How?"

Námo smiled warmly. "That is for you to decide, my son. Do as you think best."

For a long moment Glorfindel stood there staring at the pathetic scene before him. The twins were obviously in pain as the terror of the nightmare they seemed to be sharing held them. Pity swept through his fëa and he felt himself weeping at the sight. Unaware of what he was doing, he crawled onto the bed, practically climbing over Námo to do so, much to the Vala’s amusement. He tried to lie down between the twins but their interlocked hands would not allow him to. So, instead, he knelt between their legs, laid a hand on each of their chests and began to rub them gently as he sang a lullaby.

Námo sat perfectly still and the Maiar standing around them did not move. Slowly, the twins ceased their writhing and their mouths closed. Glorfindel did not stop his ministrations, nor his song, but continued both, singing the words of the lullaby over and over again for what seemed like years to him. He felt his arms grow heavy but he did not stop. At last, with a sigh, both twins fell into real sleep, their faces peaceful once again.

Glorfindel slowed his rubbing and sang the final verses of the lullaby in a whisper. He leaned over and gently kissed each twin on the forehead. "I love you," he whispered to each. "I always will."

He did not think they actually heard him in their sleep and he was about to climb out of the bed when he heard a small gasp from one of the Maiar and turned back to see the hands that had always been entwined slowly open up. He glanced at Námo in wonder and with a question in his eyes. The Lord of Mandos nodded slightly, smiling, and Glorfindel found himself smiling back. Then he moved the twins’ arms enough to settle himself between them. Instinctively, the twins, who never woke, rolled towards him until they lay nestled in his arms, fingers now entwined in Glorfindel’s golden locks.

Glorfindel was never aware of the Maiar leaving them, so enthralled was he by the emotions that swept over him as "his elflings" snuggled against him in complete trust. He looked up with tears shining in his eyes to see the Lord of Mandos smiling down at him.

Námo leaned down and kissed Glorfindel’s brow, stroking his head. "I think you’ll do," he whispered, his heart full of gladness at the knowledge that these three Children in his keeping were making great progress towards healing.

****

Words are Quenya unless otherwise noted.

Mardi Envinyato: Halls of Renewal/Healing.

Mae govannen, pennith: (Sindarin) Well met, younglings.

Mardi Winiron: Halls of Babes; literally, "Halls of Children not yet fully grown".

Andondi Entulessëo: The Great Gates of Return in Lórien, where those released from Mandos are greeted by their loved ones.

Amillë: Mother.

Historical Note: Eluréd and Elurín, twin sons of Dior and Nimloth of Doriath, were born in 500 and died in 507 when Doriath was sacked, thus they would have been the equivalent of 4 years old in human terms.

5: Endings and Beginnings

Time passed, or didn’t...

Glorfindel continued to play with the twins, who now were willing to hold onto his hands, one on each side of him, rather than cling to each other as before. The sight of the sons of Dior running around separately cheered everyone who saw them, Eldar and Maiar alike. The light of their own fëar began to strengthen and Glorfindel was sure that they were maturing quickly.

"They still have many years before they are ready to leave Mandos," Olórin told him when he mentioned it to the Maia after seeing the twins to their sleeping chamber. "Soon they will be returned to the Mardi Winiron with the other elflings."

The thought saddened the golden-haired elf, for he had become quite fond of the twins and hated the idea of being apart from them. Olórin looked at him with sympathy. "It is for the best, you know. They really need to be with other children their own age and learn what they need in order to mature into the fine adults that Eru meant for them to be."

Glorfindel nodded, still not convinced. "I know. It’s just..."

The Maia smiled gently and put an arm around the elf to comfort him. "Eluréd and Elurín were brought here for a specific purpose. You helped them to open up to others, to trust others beyond themselves. Now it is time for them to go forward, as it is time for you as well."

Glorfindel started and looked at the Maia with some trepidation. "What...?"

"Oh, not immediately," the Maia assured him, "but soon it will be time for you to be Reborn. Fear not," he added at the stricken look on the elf’s face. "I will be there to aid you. I have asked Lord Námo's permission to be your chief attendant and he has agreed."

"Wh-when...?"

Olórin shook his head. "You will know when the time is proper. Now, go and play and worry not."

The Maia gave Glorfindel a slight push and the elf reluctantly complied. Soon, though, he ceased to think or worry about the Maia’s words and spent the next few hours, or it could have been days or years, singing and dancing with Finduilas, Saeros, Beleg and his other friends while he waited for the twins to waken once again.

****

A time came when Glorfindel found himself alone with the twins as they wandered through the Halls, Eluréd and Elurín chattering away. Glorfindel let them for they had said little when they had first arrived at the Halls and now they were joking and singing and it made Glorfindel glad to hear their sweet voices. They came to a dim corridor that ended at a door. It had no knob and they had turned around and taken several steps back up the corridor when they felt a Presence and looked back to see the Lord of Mandos standing there. The twins moved closer to Glorfindel, their expressions wary. Námo smiled.

"Tolo hí, hîn nîn," he said quietly, holding out his hands and after a moment’s hesitation the twins complied. Námo took their hands in his and led them back to the door.

"Open it," he said and the twins looked up at him in surprise.

"B-but there’s no knob," Eluréd said, his expression fearful as he dared to contradict the Lord of Mandos.

Námo merely smiled. "It’s there but you have to look for it."

"Wh-why do we have to look for it?" Elurín asked almost as fearfully.

Námo knelt between the twins, capturing their eyes with his, his face somber. "It is time for you to return to your proper Hall, my precious ones. This door will take you there, but only you can open it."

Now the twins looked stricken and they glanced up at Glorfindel who had remained silent, knowing somehow that this was as it should be.

"B-but we don’t want to leave Gl-glorfi," Eluréd protested and they both began to cry.

Glorfindel moved then and gathered the twins in his embrace. "And I don’t want you to leave, either, but you must. Lord Námo is correct, it is time you returned to where you belong."

"We w-want to st-stay with you," Elurín blubbered.

Námo pulled the twins gently from Glorfindel’s embrace and gathered them into his own arms. "But Glorfindel is not staying either."

Now all three elves looked at the Vala with amazement. Glorfindel felt something cold settle inside him. "I-I’m not?"

Námo looked at the older elf with a sympathetic smile. "It is time for you to leave these Halls, my son. Time for you to return to Life."

For a moment Glorfindel could only stare at the Vala and then he nodded slowly, recognizing the truth of Námo’s words. He looked at the twins and smiled a bit tremulously. "Then it’s a good thing you are leaving too, isn’t it?"

"Come," Námo said, standing up again. "Open the door, my children and face your destinies."

He turned them to face the door and then with some reluctance the twins began to feel the smooth wood, looking for a knob they were convinced wasn’t there. Glorfindel almost wished they wouldn’t find one, and then, Elurín gave a soft exclamation.

"I can feel something!" he cried.

Námo nodded, a pleased smile on his face. "Turn it to the right, but you both must turn it."

The elflings did as they were told and Glorfindel heard an audible click and then the door swung open by itself. Beyond was nothing but a bright light, but he could hear the faint laughter of children somewhere in the distance. The twins looked at the light in wonder and shrank back towards Glorfindel who moved to place a protective arm around their shoulders.

"Do not be afraid, my children," came the calm voice of the Vala from behind them, deep and melodious and full of bells. "Go and know only joy."

Glorfindel gave them both a squeeze of encouragement then bent down and kissed them on their brows in farewell.

"Namárië, Eluréd. Namárië, Elurín."

The twins hugged him wordlessly and then hand-in-hand stepped through the door into the light. The door closed behind them without a sound and Glorfindel found himself weeping. Námo came and placed a consoling hand on his shoulder.

"They are happy now as they have never been," he said quietly. "You helped them to be so."

Glorfindel nodded and wiped the tears from his face and turned to face the Vala. "What happens now, lord?"

Námo looked at the elf gravely and said, "Turn around."

Glorfindel did and was surprised to find that the door was no longer there. In its place was a tapestry, one that struck familiar chords in him. It was the tapestry of the seven-tiered city burning while a golden-haired elf faced a creature of flame and shadow. Glorfindel stared at it for the longest time, dread beginning to fill him.

"Th-that’s me, isn’t it? Th-that’s how I died."

"Yes, child. That is how you died. You have forgotten much about your former life dwelling here in Mandos, but now it is time to remember."

"Why have I forgotten?" Glorfindel asked, looking perplexed.

"Because you needed time for your fëa to heal. More than just your physical body was destroyed, Glorfindel. Something of your fëa also was lost. The time spent in these Halls has been for the purpose of regaining what was lost so that you could leave here whole."

"Wh-what did I lose?" Glorfindel asked as he continued staring at the tapestry before him.

For a long moment Námo did not speak. "The ability to love another and to let them go," he finally said with as much gentleness as he could.

The ellon shuddered, not knowing what the Vala meant, but afraid to ask. Námo knew what was going through the elf’s mind and made him turn around and face him.

"When you came here," he said quietly, "your only thought was to go back, to fulfill your oath to protect Idril and Eärendil. You could not accept the fact that they were no longer your responsibility. You had done your part, but you could not let go. The time you have spent dwelling in these Halls has been given over to teaching you how to let go. You showed that you have learned that lesson with the twins just now."

Glorfindel thought over the Vala’s words for long moments. Finally he spoke. "H-how long have I been here?"

Námo chuckled, well aware of the real question the ellon wished to ask. "You have been here as long as it was necessary, no more and no less. You took as much time as you needed to learn your lessons. There is no shame for the length of time that it took. Others may have learned their lessons sooner but all learn what they need to learn in the time they need to learn it. You have been a very good pupil and I am very proud of you."

Glorfindel leaned against the Vala, hiding his face and giving a small sob. Námo put his arms around him and began to rock him slowly. "Hush now, my son. This is not a time for tears, but a time to rejoice. You are ready to rejoin the Living, to enter into the life that Eru always meant for you to have. There will be much heartache, true, but also much joy. You were meant for Life, child, not Death."

He stroked the ellon’s hair and crooned softly until the elf had calmed. "That’s better."

Glorfindel found he had one more question. "W-will it hurt?" he asked shyly, suddenly feeling very foolish, but Námo merely laughed and kissed him gently on the forehead.

"Let’s find out." With that a great weariness fell upon Glorfindel and he found himself slipping into darkness. He was not aware when Olórin appeared and took him into his arms, then walked through the tapestry to what lay beyond.

****

Tolo hí, hîn nîn: (Sindarin) Come here, my children.

6: Awakening

Author’s Note: This chapter is inspired, but not dictated, by Nilmandra’s description of Glorfindel’s re-embodiment in her story History Lesson: Second Age, particularly, chapter 3, "Visions of Danger" and chapter 7, "Healing".

****

Weight was the first thing that he noticed, a heaviness that he could not place. His thoughts were sluggish and he could not seem to move. Panic seized him and he surprised himself with the mewling sound that came from his throat. He opened his eyes and suddenly realized he had eyes to open. In Mandos his fëa had retained the memories of the hröa and its functionings and had imitated them out of habit, but this was real.

He closed his eyes again, not only for the sheer wonder of being able to do so, but because the light that surrounded him hurt. He instinctively cringed and felt a gentle hand on his cheek.

"Welcome back, Glorfindel."

He knew that voice, or thought he did, but memory was slow to sort itself out and he could not put a name to it. Soft laughter floated about him.

"All in good time, child. Now open your eyes. That’s it... open them," the voice said encouragingly and Glorfindel slowly complied.

The light, that had seemed so overwhelming at first, was less bright this time and he could see the one caressing his face. It was a Maia. His features were familiar but Glorfindel still could not remember a name and he felt himself becoming agitated at the thought.

"Hush now," the Maia said gently. "There’s no need for that. My name is Olórin."

Olórin. Yes, that was the name and it was as if a door opened in his mind and he remembered his time in Mandos and seeing Olórin there, caring for him, guiding him, comforting him. He smiled, or thought he did. His fine motor control seemed a bit off.

Olórin laughed. "Don’t worry, child, your fëa and hröa are still getting reacquainted. Soon you will be able to move around again, and speak again. There’s no rush. Take all the time you need."

Glorfindel wanted to nod his understanding but the best he could manage was a slight twitch. The Maia seemed to understand his intent and nodded in response.

"Good, good. Now it is time for you to sleep again. When you awaken I think you will find things have much improved for you."

With that Glorfindel suddenly found it too difficult to keep his eyes open and he closed them almost in relief, plunging back into sleep with a grateful sigh.

****

He woke several times after that, each for longer and longer periods. He was reminded of the early days of his time in Mandos when all he seemed to do was sleep and Olórin assured him that this was a normal consequence of re-embodiment.

"Your fëa and hröa have been long separated," Olórin told him. "It will take time for them to learn to work together."

Every time he woke, he noticed that he had better control over his body. He still could not sit up without help and Olórin had to feed him as if he were a baby, but he could speak now and move his head and even wiggle his toes, a sensation that never ceased to give him pleasure.

When he slept he dreamt, but the dreams seemed far too real, for he always remembered them upon awakening. He slowly began to realize that he was remembering his former life. There was no emotional attachment to the scenes, though, and he might have been watching someone else’s life. When he questioned the Maia about it Olórin merely smiled.

"In many ways, you are. Your life before your death is over. You can never go back or reclaim any part of it. Yet, that life still dictates who you are. The choices you made or didn’t make, the mistakes, the joys and the sorrows that made up that life all contributed to making you the person you are and always will be, even after death. You are remembering in order to put it into perspective. It’s part of the healing process all must undergo when they are Reborn."

At one point he took enough interest in his surroundings to wonder where in Aman he was and was disappointed to learn that he was still within the bounds of Mandos, though in a different part of it reserved for those who were recently re-embodied. He wondered if he would ever be allowed to leave Mandos and Olórin had to laugh.

"Of course you will, child. Once your fëa and hröa have become one you will be allowed to leave. Indeed, you’ll have no choice."

"Wh-where w-will I g-go?" he stuttered, for he was still learning to use his tongue for speaking.

"You will go to Lórien for a time until you are ready to face the world and take up your life again. There will be others there, also recently re-embodied. You might even remember them from your time in Mandos."

That comforted Glorfindel somewhat and he fell asleep wondering which of his friends would be there.

****

At some point he woke to the sensation of warm wetness flowing down his legs and wondered what it might mean. The sound of Olórin making a tsking sound and then the feel of a warm wet cloth on his lower extremities as the Maia wiped him clean brought him to full consciousness and he realized what he had done. Tears of shame came unbidden and he tried to apologize, but his mortification was too great and all he could do was try to curl himself into a ball to hide his shame.

He felt Olórin lift him gently from his couch, making hushing noises and then he was clinging to the Maia weeping much as he remembered doing as an elfling and more recently during his time in Mandos.

"There’s nothing to apologize for, Glorfindel," the Maia said gently as he rocked the elf in his arms. "And no reason for tears. It’s a natural function of your body, one you will have to get used to all over again. Now, why don’t you sit here while I clean things up."

Glorfindel found himself being lowered into a soft chair. Olórin took a blanket from a press and wrapped it around him. "There. Now you just sit here and relax. Everything’s going to be all right."

The Maia quickly changed the soiled bedding and soon clean sheets were put on the bed. When he was finished he turned to the elf who sat in the chair in dejected silence.

"Let’s clean you up now and get you back into bed."

He removed the blanket and began his ministrations, speaking softly, his tone one of compassion rather than disapproval. "In many ways, my friend, you are much like a newborn elfling. It will take time for you to gain control over your bodily functions, though such control will come more quickly than before. Do not be troubled, child. You’re not the first one this has happened to, nor will you be the last."

When Olórin was finished drying the elf off he gently pulled Glorfindel up, but rather than lift him into his arms again, he encouraged the ellon to walk to the bed. It was not easy and he was weak and dizzy just taking the few steps between chair and couch. He was grateful when Olórin lowered him into the bed and was asleep before his head touched the pillow.

****

After that, he seemed to improve and before long he was able to get out of bed by himself and take care of his needs without help. All this time he saw only Olórin and he never left the chamber he was in. Usually when he awoke it was to find the Maia sitting there beside the bed patiently waiting for him to wake up, or bustling about, cleaning the chamber or bringing in a tray of food.

Unlike his time in Mandos, there was actual day and night, for the light brightened and dimmed with unfailing regularity, though his sleeping schedule did not follow suit. He was as likely to be wide awake in the middle of the night as in the middle of the day. Regardless, Olórin was always there.

One morning, though, he woke to find himself alone. He sat up in bed and noticed the door leading to the outside. For the first time curiosity about what lay beyond his chamber took him and he cautiously stood up and padded to the doorway, opening it hesitantly, as if half-expecting the Maia to suddenly appear and shoo him back into bed.

As he opened the door and looked out he found himself in bright daylight and surrounded by a garden. The colors were almost overwhelming and he had to close his eyes for a moment to get control of himself. When he opened his eyes again he cried out with delight. There were shade trees and flowers of all kinds, some he could put no name to, and even bees happily collecting nectar. He stood there rapt in the pure pleasure of seeing light and color and feeling the slight breeze on his skin. He stepped past the lintel and began wandering in the garden, stopping to sniff this flower or that, running his hands over the tree trunks. He was delighted when the trees rustled their branches in greeting and sent warm thoughts to him. He had forgotten what that felt like, to be in communion with trees.

An impulse took him and he suddenly swung himself up into a large maple, or tried to. He was lacking in coordination and it took several attempts before he succeeded. The tree stood patiently waiting for the elf to climb into it and sit in the crook of a branch. The maple had seen many of the Reborn come into the garden and try to climb it and rejoiced that this newest one had recovered enough to make the attempt.

Glorfindel was somewhat breathless by the time he managed to climb into the tree. The soft rustle of leaves welcomed and soothed him and without realizing it he soon fell asleep. The maple carefully arranged the nearby branches to ensure the elf did not fall out, softly murmuring a lullaby about seedlings growing in the sun.

Olórin found him still sleeping some time later. He smiled at the protectiveness he felt from the tree and nodded his head. He decided to leave the ellon there in the tree while he tidied up the sleeping chamber. The maple shivered with delight at the thought that it would be allowed to cradle this Reborn Firstborn for a while longer.

Glorfindel woke only when the daylight deepened into early evening. At first he was unsure where he was but the tree sent waves of reassurance to him and he relaxed.

"Well, are you going to come down, or do I have to come up and get you?" came an amused voice and Glorfindel looked down from his perch to see Olórin smiling up at him. He smiled back.

"I’d like to see you try."

Olórin laughed. "That sounds like the Glorfindel I remember from long ages past. Come. I will help you down." He reached up and Glorfindel allowed the Maia to help him to descend. Once on the ground he put his hand on the maple’s trunk and silently thanked it for watching over him. The tree’s branches rustled with delight.

Olórin looked at the ellon with approval and a light glinted in his eye. "Next time, though, you might try putting something on before stepping outdoors."

Glorfindel stared at the Maia in incomprehension until he happened to look down and realized that he was completely naked and blushed. He had forgotten about that in his eagerness to see the outdoors.

"Sorry," he said in apology and Olórin just laughed as he ushered the elf back indoors and towards the bed.

"But I’m not tired," Glorfindel protested. "I am hungry, though."

"Then sit here in this chair and eat and later we will talk."

Olórin brought a tray of bread, fruit and new cheese for the elf along with a goblet of clear water and Glorfindel began eating the simple fare with pleasure. He loved the different tastes and smells and Olórin always made sure there were many enticing dishes from which to choose. In very little time he was finished. Olórin took the tray from him and then sat in another chair.

"Now tell me what you felt and experienced as you stepped out into the garden."

Glorfindel closed his eyes, trying to marshal his thoughts. "I woke up and you weren’t there. Why weren’t you there, Olórin?"

The Maia raised an eyebrow at the elf’s querulous tone. "You are not my only charge, elfling. And I cannot always be with you. Eventually, you must learn to do for yourself."

Glorfindel’s face fell. "B-but I don’t know how!"

Olórin laughed, his voice merry and light. "Not yet, child, but soon. You did not learn overnight the things you needed to know in your first life. It’s the same in this life. You must have patience. Now tell me about the garden and then I have a surprise for you."

Intrigued in spite of himself, Glorfindel complied. "It was so beautiful and so frightening. Will it always be like that?"

Olórin shook his head. "No, Glorfindel. The beauty will remain, but the fear will not and perhaps it was not fear that you felt so much as it was awe, and that is not a bad thing to feel at any time."

"Awe..." the elf said, experimenting with the word. "I felt awe, not fear?"

"Yes, I imagine you did."

"H-how do you know?"

Olórin smiled warmly. "Because I found you sleeping in a tree, not cowering in your bed."

Glorfindel smiled back. "It’s a nice tree. It likes me." He sounded almost smug.

The Maia laughed and went to the elf and raised him up into a warm embrace. "Yes, indeed, child. It likes you very much."

"What’s my surprise?" Glorfindel asked then and Olórin stood back with a grin.

"Come, I will show you, but first you must dress." He went to the clothes press and pulled out a linen sleeping shirt and found a bed robe and slippers and helped Glorfindel to dress. Glorfindel was so intrigued by the softness of the fabric and the way they felt against his skin that he did not even bother to protest, for wearing clothes still felt strange to him and normally he preferred not to wear any at all unless Olórin insisted.

Olórin led the ellon back outside, and Glorfindel gasped in wonder. It was full night now and the stars were a blaze of glory strewn across the sky. He gazed in wonder and swayed to the music he heard emanating from them, high and remote though it was. A flash of light arced across the heavens and he shouted with delight, jumping up and down in excitement. Suddenly several lights fell in a shower that left the ellon breathless and tears fell, tears of irrepressible joy such as he had never felt before.

Emotions he barely understood flooded him and he collapsed to the ground weeping, his arms crossed before him as he rocked himself. He felt rather than saw the Maia reach for him and cradle him in his arms. Then they were inside and Olórin was removing the robe and slippers and putting him into bed.

"There now, child. I think that was enough excitement for one day. Sleep now."

Glorfindel gave a small hiccup and a brief sniffle before exhaustion borne of deep emotion carried him into sleep. His dreams were of falling stars and trees that sang lullabies to him and he slept that night with a smile on his face.

7: Trouble in Paradise

Not long after the night of falling stars Glorfindel expressed an interest in learning about the garden. The gardens of the Reborn were tended by Maiar in the service of Yavanna, though they generally did not make themselves known to the elves residing there. When Glorfindel asked to be allowed to work in the garden surrounding his sleeping chamber Olórin introduced him to Cemendillë, who agreed to teach him.

Glorfindel, however, was not an apt student. In point of fact, he was rather inept. He had difficulty telling flower from weed and was no good at pruning for he would burst into tears every time he had to deadhead the roses. Cemendillë would then have to take him into her arms and comfort him until he calmed down enough to be given some other task, such as watering the plants, though he tended to drown them more often than not.

Secretly, though, both Maiar were pleased. The very fact that the ellon had even expressed an interest such as gardening, however inept he might be, was a sure sign that he would soon be ready to move on to Lórien.

That did not mean, however, that there weren’t setbacks.

One afternoon the two Maiar discovered Glorfindel happily "weeding". They were loath to tell the ellon that he had just pulled out an entire row of asëa aranion and when they did the elf burst into tears and ran away. They found him sitting naked in "his" maple tree, clothes strewn all around the ground. The ellon refused to come down and no amount of cajoling on the part of the Maiar could entice him from his perch and they were forced to leave him there. He would not even leave the tree for the evening meal, though once Olórin spied him running to the privy before climbing back into the tree.

The tree was no help at all, even when Cemendillë asked. The maple loved having the Reborn nestle in its branches and could see no reason why it should tell him to leave. The two Maiar shrugged at one another and sighed. Dealing with the mercurial emotions of the Reborn was not always easy; dealing with the stubbornness of trees was even harder. They left the ellon and the tree to their own devices.

"He’ll come down eventually," Olórin said with a resigned smile as he picked up Glorfindel’s discarded clothes and returned them to the sleeping chamber.

In that, the Maia was proved wrong. Glorfindel would not come down and the Maiar could hear him weeping softly through the night. It broke their hearts to hear such anguish but they knew they had to leave the elf to find his own way.

When morning came and Glorfindel still refused to come down Olórin was ready to lose his patience, but was saved from exploding by an unexpected visitor.

Or rather, two visitors.

He was standing under the maple trying to convince an unresponsive Glorfindel to finally come down and have some breakfast when two Presences made themselves known. Olórin turned and bowed as Yavanna and Námo walked towards him. Yavanna was dressed in a gown of summer green, her chestnut brown hair crowned in a wreath of grapes and ripened wheat. Her eyes were warm and full of love for all living things. Námo’s eyes were bright with amusement.

"I understand you have a problem, Olórin."

The Maia sighed. "Apparently so, my lord. My charge has decided he doesn’t want to be an elf anymore. He would much rather be a bird." He glanced up into the tree with a wry look. "A rather naked bird."

The two Valar chuckled at that and looked up into the tree to where the aforementioned elf sat unmoving on a high branch. The ellon was so wrapped in his own misery he hadn’t even notice their arrival.

Yavanna smiled at her companion. "He is still under your authority, Námo. Will you bring him down, or shall I?"

Námo shook his head. "Let us see what you can do, Yavanna. I prefer not to exert my authority in this matter unless I have to. The repercussions on Glorfindel’s recovery would be too severe if I have to take action."

The Earth-Queen nodded and looked back up into the tree. The maple, recognizing its mistress, trembled slightly, but a single thought from the Valië stilled it.

"Glorfindel," she called up softly. "Come down, child. It’s all right. I’m not angry."

They heard a soft whimper from above and saw the elf shift his position slightly but otherwise he made no response. Olórin gave Yavanna a startled glance.

"Is that what this is all about, my lady? He thinks he’s angered you?"

Yavanna smiled at the Maia and nodded, then turned her attention to the elf. "You cannot hide there forever, meldanya."

With that she placed a hand on the trunk of the tree and slowly a change came over the maple. Its thick canopy of leaves began to change color and in minutes seasons changed from summer to autumn within the garden and the maple’s leaves began to fall. A wind came up and soon every leaf was gone and the maple stood bare with a naked elf sitting in its branches, shivering.

"You see, child. You cannot hide. Come down now, and let me see you."

The two Valar and Olórin stood silently, waiting. When Glorfindel still wouldn’t move, Námo sighed, reluctant to intervene but seeing no other choice.

"Glorfindel, if you don’t come down you will never see your friend Finrod again," the Lord of Mandos said in his most forbidding tone. "I will not allow it."

That brought a most unexpected response. Glorfindel suddenly stood up, one hand on the tree’s trunk to hold him steady, and shouted down at them.

"I don’t care! I don’t deserve to see Finrod. I don’t want to be Reborn anymore. I’m no good at anything, I can’t do anything right. I want to return to Mandos!"

The elf’s outburst left them all nonplused. Námo, of course, had the power to command obedience from Glorfindel, but not the right. The ellon would have to come down of his own free will.

The maple tree, however, had other ideas. While it enjoyed having the elf in its branches, it knew that Glorfindel did not really belong there. So, with the slightest shifting of its branches it caused Glorfindel to lose his balance and fall shrieking into the arms of the Lord of Mandos.

Glorfindel trembled and clutched at Námo’s tunic as Yavanna stroked his hair. "There, there, child. You’re safe now. Do not be afraid."

"You know you’ve been behaving very badly, don’t you?" Námo asked gently as he continued to hold the elf in his arms.

Glorfindel nodded. "W-will I st-still be able t-to see Finrod?" he asked in a small voice.

Námo grimaced to himself, regretting having made that threat, though he had been prepared to carry it through had it proved necessary. He put Glorfindel down and forced the ellon to look at him.

"Do you promise to behave yourself from now on?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Promise."

Námo smiled. "Then I don’t see any reason why you can’t see your friend."

"When?"

Námo laughed. "You’re persistent if nothing else. When the time is right and not before."

Yavanna motioned for Glorfindel to come to her. She smiled warmly at the elf, who suddenly felt self-conscious in his nakedness.

"You were afraid I would be angry at you for pulling out all the asëa aranion."

Glorfindel sighed. "They looked like weeds."

Yavanna nodded. "And many will see them as such, but looks can be deceiving. Someday one will come who will recognize the full worth of this unassuming plant and it will come into its own. In the meantime...."

She paused and considered the ellon before her for a moment. "In the meantime, you and I will replant the asëa aranion together."

Glorfindel’s face lit up. "Truly?"

"Truly, but only if you put your clothes on and keep them on."

He nodded and with a quick glance at Olórin for permission, practically ran back to his sleeping chamber to find his clothes. In his excitement he did not notice that the maple was again in full leaf.

The Valar and Olórin laughed. Yavanna gave Námo a mischievous grin. "Will you stay and help us replant the asëa aranion, hánonya?"

Námo gave her a jaundiced look. "I’ll leave you to play in the dirt with our elfling, nésanya. I have better things to do."

Yavanna merely laughed as the Lord of Mandos took his leave of them. Soon Glorfindel emerged from the chamber suitably clad and he and Yavanna, now joined by Cemendillë, spent the rest of the morning replanting the asëa aranion once Yavanna revived them from their withered state. As they planted, Yavanna gently probed Glorfindel, determined to learn what had prompted the outburst earlier.

"Do you really feel you are no good?"

Glorfindel stopped what he was doing and sighed. "I know I’m no good in a garden, but..."

"But what, child?"

He looked at her with frustration written all over him. "If I can’t be a gardener, what can I be?"

"You were once a warrior," Cemendillë said.

"Aman doesn’t need any warriors," he replied with some bitterness.

"Aman doesn’t," Yavanna said quietly in agreement, "but Endórë does."

Glorfindel stared at the Valië in surprise. "But I can never return to Middle-earth."

"No? Well, I suppose you are right."

Yavanna hid a smile at the thoughtful look in the elf’s eyes. It would be long and long before their plans for this Child of Ilúvatar were realized in their fullness, but the seeds had been planted. Yavanna’s purpose for coming here today had been two-fold and more than just the asëa aranion had needed tending.

Olórin came then with some lemonade and a light snack, insisting that Glorfindel eat something as the elf had not had any sustenance since the day before. As the ellon ate, Yavanna continued her questioning.

"What would you like to do?"

"I don’t know," came the reply, the elf sagging somewhat in dejection.

"You used to play the harp, I understand," Olórin said. "Perhaps when you go to Lórien you will pick it up again. Your friend Finrod plays the harp quite well, I hear."

Glorfindel perked up at that. "Truly?"

The Maia nodded and Glorfindel looked thoughtful again as he nibbled on a biscuit.

"In the meantime, Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower," Yavanna said, her voice going stern with the echo of thunder and earth tremors in her tone, "you must never wish to be Unhoused again. That is not your destiny and such a wish is an insult to Ilúvatar who has granted you this time to live once more. Do I make myself clear?"

Glorfindel went white, his eyes wide with fear, and he could only nod. Yavanna nodded and stood, satisfied that the ellon understood.

"Good. Now I will leave you. Remember, meldanya, there is more than one way to tend to a garden and not all gardens are made of flowers and trees. Cultivate beauty and the love of it in yourself and in others wherever you may go and you will please me greatly."

She paused for a brief moment and then with a glint of amusement in her eyes said, "And do try to keep your clothes on, child. I fear the ellith of Lórien will be too distracted by your beauty otherwise."

With that the Lady of Earth faded away, leaving Glorfindel to ponder her words. Olórin and Cemendillë exchanged knowing glances and smiles above the elf’s head.

The seeds were indeed beginning to take root.

****

Asëa aranion: Athelas, kingsfoil.

Meldanya: My beloved, my dear, my sweet.

Hánonya: My brother.

Nésanya: My sister.

8: Leaving Mandos

"Glorfindel."

Glorfindel looked up from the flower bed where he had been weeding all morning to see Olórin standing there, smiling. The elf smiled back.

Olórin was pleased at what he saw. The days that followed Yavanna’s visit had brought a remarkable change in the ellon. He would never be a gardener but some of his earlier awkwardness and ineptness with regards to working in the garden had disappeared. He seemed more content than he had been before.

He had also managed to keep his clothes on whenever he worked outside, though in the evenings he preferred not to wear anything after taking his bath. Olórin allowed him this one idiosyncracy, but insisted that the elf at least put a robe on if he wished to go outside to see the stars.

Yes, the elf’s progress had been remarkable and now it was time for him to move on.

"There’s someone here to see you, child. Come, put your tools away and go clean up."

"Who’s come to see me?" Glorfindel asked even as he began to comply with the Maia’s instructions.

"I think I’ll let our visitor introduce himself to you," Olórin said with a small smile.

Intrigued, Glorfindel hurried to do as the Maia had bid and soon he was following Olórin towards a small terrace where Glorfindel often took his meals. Potted plants surrounded the flag-stoned area and an arbor provided shade. One of the chairs at the small table under the arbor was occupied.

Glorfindel stopped in shock at the edge of the terrace and bowed, unaware that Olórin was no longer beside him.

"Ah, I see our Balrog-slayer is coming along quite nicely." The voice was warm and deep, laughter lurking around the edges. "Come closer, child, and let me see you."

Glorfindel straightened and, after a moment’s hesitation, complied, trembling slightly as he stood before the Vala. The Elder King of Arda sat under the arbor in a robe of shifting colors that shaded from cerulean to indigo to violet to dusky rose and back again in no discernable pattern. He wore no crown. Instead, a wreath of yellow and purple helinyetilli graced his head. The Elder King smiled warmly at the ellon standing before him.

This was a different image from what Glorfindel recalled of their last meeting. The last time Glorfindel had seen Lord Manwë had been within the circle of the Máhanaxar and he had not been smiling then.

"Ah, you remember that, don’t you?" Manwë asked gently.

Glorfindel could only nod, not trusting himself to speak.

Manwë smiled. "Good. That’s good."

Glorfindel looked at the Elder King in surprise. "It is?" he blurted out and the Vala laughed.

The ellon found himself grinning in spite of himself. Manwë’s laugh was rich and joyous and all who heard it could not help but be moved to laughter as well.

"Oh yes, indeed, my dear child." Manwë sobered somewhat, though the joy remained in his eyes, which were a deep blue with a ring of gold around the pupils. "The time of judgment is usually the last memory that is restored to the Reborn. It is not always a pleasant memory and for some the judgment after death is more frightening than the death itself. I think you can agree." The Elder King eyed the golden-haired elf shrewdly.

Glorfindel shuddered, remembering what had passed within the Ring of Doom. He hoped never to suffer such humiliation again.

"Humiliation?" Manwë asked gently, reading the elf’s thoughts. "Nay, child, though it may seem that way to you. We do not judge to humiliate but to instruct. Nor do we do it out of a need for vengeance, but out of love for our wayward children."

"We’re not children," Glorfindel countered, appalled by his own audacity, but not able to stop himself from speaking his mind.

"Think you not?" Manwë smiled. "Well, perhaps you aren’t, except where it matters the most. Now come." The Elder King stood and started down a garden path, one that Glorfindel was sure had never existed before.

"Wh-where are we going?" he asked breathlessly, trying to keep up, for Manwë’s strides were long and purposeful.

"Why, to your new home, of course."

Glorfindel stopped, feeling suddenly frightened. Manwë turned to see the ellon standing there white-faced and shaking. He smiled sympathetically.

"You’ve grown too large for this small garden, child. Time to move on." He held out his hand and after a brief moment of hesitation, Glorfindel took it. Together Vala and Elda walked hand-in-hand through the garden to a wooden gate Glorfindel had never seen before.

On the other side of the gate stood a great horse. Glorfindel gasped at the sight of the steed shining white as the snows of Taniquetil, its eyes bright with intelligence and curiosity.

Manwë smiled at the sight of the elf standing there with his mouth opened in astonishment. "His name is Asfaloth and he will bear you to Lórien."

"Me?" Glorfindel asked as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune.

"Yes, you. Now, why don’t you say hello?" Manwë opened the gate.

Glorfindel stepped outside and put his hand on the horse’s forehead and gently stroked him, speaking softly. Asfaloth returned the greeting by nuzzling the elf’s hair. Glorfindel laughed as he climbed onto the horse’s back, memories of earlier times on horseback filling him. He looked down at Manwë with a grin and then realized that Olórin had not followed them to the gate.

"Where’s Olórin? Will he not be coming with me?"

"He will not," Manwë answered. "Did he not tell you that he has other charges besides yourself? Yes, I thought as much," he added when Glorfindel nodded. "But do not fret. You will see him again from time to time. Now off with you."

Glorfindel, however, could not resist one last question. His eyes twinkled with humor as he looked down at the Elder King. "How do you know I won’t just ride off with this fine beast to some remote area of Aman, never to be seen again?" He patted Asfaloth on the neck.

Manwë’s laugh was rich and deep and there was the echo of Another’s laughter that sent a frisson of awe down Glorfindel’s spine. "Such impudence! No wonder Námo finds you so amusing. But to answer your question: Asfaloth knows better than to allow a mere elfling such as yourself to distract him from his duties. He will deliver you to the Gates of Lórien and nowhere else."

With that, the Elder King nodded to the horse who whinnied, dipping his head in obeisance to his lord and they were off. Glorfindel gave a crow of delight at the feel of the horse’s muscles under him. He looked back to wave to Manwë but, to his surprise, both the Elder King and the garden were no longer there.

They rode past green hills and through lush meadows full of wildflowers — yellow daisies and blue periwinkles as well as bright elanor and pale niphredil. They met no one on the way nor were there any signs of habitation.

How long the ride lasted, Glorfindel could not say, but all too soon they came to a high hedge of dark yew. Asfaloth halted before a gate made of living vines. Glorfindel climbed down from the horse’s back and looked at the entrance with some trepidation. He had expected to be met, but there was no one. Asfaloth gave the elf a nudge towards the gate as if to say "There is your road now, elfling."

Glorfindel stroked the horse’s forehead and kissed it. "Thank you for letting me ride you, Asfaloth. I hope we will meet again."

The horse gave a neigh and with a toss of its head galloped away. For a long time Glorfindel stood there watching the great horse until he was too far away for even elven eyes to see clearly and then he turned back to the gate. As he approached, wondering how he was to pass through the vines, they moved aside of their own accord and Glorfindel found himself surrounded by high hedges with but a single path opened to him. The vines returned to their former position and when Glorfindel turned around he found he could no longer see where he had entered. He swallowed nervously and turned back, and found that now there were three paths before him. His heart sank with despair.

He was in a maze and he had no idea which path to choose.

****

Helinyetilli: (Quenya) Eyes of Heartsease; a name of the pansy (viola tricolor).

9: In the Maze

Author’s Note: Telepathic speech, in this and in any subsequent chapters, is indicated by asterisks.

****

He stood there for the longest time, indecision keeping him rooted on the spot. Then he heard, or thought he heard, someone speak to his mind.

*Well, are you just going to stand there, elfling, or do I have to come and get you?*

The Voice sounded suspiciously like Olórin’s, but he couldn’t be sure. Giving a mental shrug and a brief sigh he squared his shoulders and took the path that was before him, ignoring the ones to his left and right.

*Ah, so that’s the way of it, is it?* he thought he heard the mysterious Voice say, but as no other comment was forthcoming, he ignored it.

The path continued straight for some time and then turned right. Several feet further on he came to a fork where he had to decide whether to go left or right. After a moment’s hesitation, and half expecting to hear a comment from the Voice which never came, he turned right. Almost immediately the path began twisting in a serpentine pattern so that at one point he was sure he was facing the direction from which he had originally come. His senses became too confused and as he couldn’t see the sun to gauge his direction, for the high hedges blocked out most of the sky, he soon became hopelessly turned around.

At some point he came unexpectedly upon a small clearing where a wooden bridge spanned a pool fed by a spring. He didn’t realize how claustrophobic he had been feeling and dreaded having to leave the clearing and plunge back into the maze. On the other side of the bridge there were three paths from which to choose. Glorfindel spent some time contemplating his choices, stooping to drink some water from the pool in the meantime. This was more a delaying tactic than a real need to slake his thirst and when he was finished he sighed, feeling annoyed and rather tired of it all.

*Patience, child. Everything has a reason. This is no different.*

Again that Voice that sounded like Olórin’s but wasn’t. Realizing he wasn’t going to get anywhere just standing there he decided to take the left hand path. He thought he heard a sigh somewhere but wasn’t sure.

Almost immediately he began to regret his choice. The path started branching almost at once and he had to choose again. Three times he was forced to go one way or another. The third time proved to be a dead end and he turned back, intending to take a different path. However, he couldn’t remember which branch was which and before he knew it he was back in the clearing with the pool, feeling hot, frustrated and not a little angry.

He collapsed on the bank of the pool next to the bridge in dejected silence and waited for the Voice to make some scathing comment, but none was forthcoming. The silence was absolute. After a while he leaned down and splashed some water on his face, and felt marginally better. He wondered if other Reborn had had as much trouble finding their way through the maze as he was having.

Well, while the idea of just sitting there by the pool forever did have its merits, Glorfindel knew he couldn’t do it. Something within him refused to give up. That, and the fact that he was beginning to feel hungry, drove him to choose the right-hand path.

This path, however, went nowhere, and he had to return to the clearing once again. He went directly to the middle path without bothering to stop at the pool, confident that this must be the right one, but again it went nowhere. Glorfindel stood staring in disbelief at the hedge blocking his path. Were all three paths wrong? How would he traverse the maze then? Maybe he would have to go all the way back to the entrance, if he could be sure to recognize it if he saw it, and choose one of the other paths.

Despair began to take hold and he slumped to the ground before the offending hedge, feeling too tired and sick at heart to return to the clearing. He clasped his hands around his knees and rocked himself in a vain attempt to find comfort. He didn’t know what he should do now.

*Think it through, child. The answer lies before you.*

And then a second voice joined the first, this one sounding even more familiar to the elf, but again he could not place it.

*You know two of the paths go nowhere, but the third had several branches. You only explored one of them.*

The elf looked up in surprise. Could that be the answer? He stood up and practically ran back to the clearing and plunged back into the left-hand path for the second time. When he came to the first fork he stopped, trying to remember which one he had taken originally. Left. He had taken the left fork last time. He was about to turn right when another thought stopped him.

What if the right path lay further along the other way? What if one of the other two branches that he had encountered and not taken led to the right path that would take him successfully through the maze? He cried out then, caught in a web of indecision, and felt tears welling in his eyes. He waited to hear the Voices tell him which way to go, but there was nothing but silence. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, trying to think things through as he had been told to do. The maze was so confusing, it was difficult to remember which branch of a path he had taken. It seemed that all choices were equal, all choices were evil.

*But some are less evil than others*, came the second Voice.

Glorfindel opened his eyes and decided. He had taken the left-hand path the first time; he would take the right-hand path this time and hope it was the right one. It was all he could do at this point. This path did not twist as much as the other had and at one point the hedges on either side grew inward to form a canopy, creating a dark leafy tunnel. He walked through to find yet two more paths and sighed, but he had already decided his course. From now on he would only go right whenever he reached a branching of paths.

In this manner he continued through the maze, always taking the right-hand fork whenever one appeared. He ceased to wonder if he would ever leave the maze; all that mattered was to try, sticking to his decision and not worrying about anything else. He wondered what he would do, though, if he came to a dead end, but that worry never materialized. How long he wandered the maze he could not tell, for the sky above remained a perfect blue, never shading towards evening. He had arrived at the maze around noon, but it seemed that time did not matter here.

Finally, he came to another clearing. There was a bridge that spanned a wide stream that ran swift and deep between the hedges. There were also two paths to take, but one lay to the left on this side of the stream, the other lay on the other side of the bridge. Glorfindel hesitated. The path on the other side of the bridge veered towards the right, true, but something did not seem right to him. So far he had been lucky in his choices but that didn’t mean his luck would hold forever. He decided to trust his instincts, and moved towards the left-hand path.

He walked only twenty paces when the hedges opened up into a square, perhaps thirty feet across, and he realized he had finally reached the center of the maze. He stood there gaping. Sunlight shone all around. Four stone paths lined with flowers in every imaginable hue came together in the center where there was a small table under a pavilion made of white sendal, its side walls rolled up. Two Beings sat at the table sipping from crystal goblets, watching him with amused expressions on almost identical faces. One was unknown to Glorfindel, but the other...

Námo turned to his brother, Irmo, with a smirk. "You lose, titta háno," he said. Then both Valar laughed.

****

Titta háno: (Quenya) Little brother.

10: Tea with the Fëanturi

Glorfindel could only stand there in open-mouthed astonishment, unable to accept what he was seeing. The two Valar sat there gazing at him with evident amusement and Glorfindel could feel himself getting angry, replaying his journey through the maze in his mind. No doubt they had found him quite amusing as he floundered about like an idiot. He was surprised all the other Valar weren’t there laughing at him as well. Probably because I’m not considered high enough entertainment for them, he thought sourly.

"No, yonya," Námo said, his mien sobering somewhat. "No one is laughing at you. Come here." He gestured and, in spite of himself, Glorfindel found himself moving towards the pavilion, though every step was slow and reluctant. He wanted nothing more than to just turn around and go back into the maze and to Angband with them all.

Irmo cast a glance at his brother Vala and raised an eyebrow. "He’s a stubborn one, isn’t he?"

"He’s always been that way," Námo said with a nod, never taking his eyes off Glorfindel who continued to approach them however reluctantly, fury written all over the ellon’s face. "Just the sort you like, if I recall."

"Hmmm. But there’s stubborn and then there’s stubborn. I’m not sure I like what I see in this one." He gazed dispassionately at the elf who felt himself getting angrier by the second, all reason fleeing.

"Well," Námo said, "he’s your problem now and..."

"STOP TALKING ABOUT ME AS IF I WEREN’T THERE!"

Silence reigned for an eternity as the Fëanturi gazed with some consternation at the elf now standing before them. Then, with a stifled sob, Glorfindel turned and started to run back towards the maze but strong arms stayed him. He struggled to get free but to no avail and finally he collapsed into Námo’s embrace, shame and exhaustion taking their toll, as he wept. He waited for the Vala to lift him into his arms like an elfling, as the Lord of Mandos had done countless times before, but instead, Námo merely guided him towards the pavilion, sitting him in a chair.

"Drink this," the Vala said as he handed Glorfindel a crystal goblet and Námo’s tone brooked no argument. Glorfindel took a hesitant sip of the clear liquid in the goblet. He gasped in spite of himself. Miruvórë! The mead of the Valar. It had been long ages since he had drunk any. He felt his spirits lift and his emotions steadied with just that first sip.

"All of it, yonya," Námo ordered and Glorfindel had no problem obeying the Vala in this particular instance. When he had drained the goblet Námo took it and set it on the table before sitting down. Glorfindel stared at his lap, refusing to look up.

For long moments there was only silence, save for Glorfindel’s breathing, which had been somewhat ragged with tears but had calmed a bit with the miruvórë. When it had become slow and even again, Námo spoke, his tone soft.

"I apologize for any distress you have felt, child. It was not our intent for you to be so distraught. You have to understand something." Here Námo leaned over and placed a hand on the ellon’s chin, forcing him to look up. Glorfindel saw no condemnation in the Vala’s eyes, only love. "The Eruhíni are an endless source of wonder and delight for us, for we had naught to do with your making. You belong to Eru Ilúvatar alone and we Valar rejoice that it is so. If, at times, it seems we are laughing at you, it is not so. Rather, we laugh with you, delighting in all your ways as you struggle to become that which Eru has destined you to be."

"I...I don’t recall you laughing when you... when you uttered your Doom against the Noldor," Glorfindel said in a small but still defiant voice.

Námo sat back as he lifted an eyebrow at the ellon’s words, refusing to respond to such impertinence. Irmo sighed, shaking his head.

"Stubborn as the day is long."

Námo turned to his brother with a wry smile. "Perhaps, but would you want him any other way?"

The Lord of Lórien stared at Glorfindel for a moment and the ellon tried not to squirm under his intent gaze. Irmo looked much like his brother, but whereas Námo’s hair was black as to be almost blue, Irmo’s was more a black-brown and his eyes were hazel rather than silver-grey. The Vala smiled. "No, I suppose not. Where would be the fun in that?"

Glorfindel started to make a retort, but stopped in time, the words that he had been about to say, words he knew he would regret saying as soon as he had spoken them, dying on his lips. The Valar nodded their approval, though Glorfindel did not see that, for he had returned his gaze to his lap.

"I...I’m sorry, too," he finally said quietly. "I shouldn’t have yelled like that."

"Then we will speak no more of it," Námo said gently. "But to answer your questions..."

Glorfindel looked up at the Vala in confusion. As far as he knew, he hadn’t said anything except to yell at them. What questions?

"The questions that are constantly in your mind, elfling," Irmo said, not unkindly. "They roil about like flotsam on a raging river and even we have trouble keeping up with them."

"Oh... those questions." Námo and Irmo both grinned at the sheepish look that crossed Glorfindel’s face.

"There is no shame in such questions, my child," Námo said. "They are part of what delights us about you. Now, let us take tea together and speak of many things. You have not eaten since this morning and you need nourishment."

"Th-this morning? But...I mean.... the maze...I was...that is..."

"Time runs a little differently inside my brother’s maze," Námo said as he proceeded to pour out tea from a ceramic pot into dainty cups that hadn’t been there a moment before. Plates of tarts and cheese, fruits and cakes also graced the table where before there had been three crystal goblets and a decanter of miruvórë. Glorfindel had ceased to wonder at such feats and simply accepted them as what one would expect around the Valar. "You entered the maze at noon, and it is barely an hour past that. Now drink your tea and have one of these tarts. No questions and no answers until you’ve eaten."

Glorfindel gave a sigh and complied. He was hungry, true, but he much preferred having his questions answered. However, after taking the first bite from a tart that proved to have strawberries inside it, all questions fled his mind and for several minutes he devoted himself to eating his fill. The Fëanturi sat there watching him with indulgent looks on their nearly identical faces.

When Glorfindel’s eating had slowed and he was content to sip his tea and nibble on some cheese and fruits, Námo nodded. "That’s better. Let us begin."

Glorfindel dropped his cup, which landed on the table, tea spilling everywhere. He felt the blood drain from his head. The last time he had heard such words he had been surrounded by....

Suddenly he felt as if he were going to be sick and he put a hand to his mouth and started to get up, afraid he might embarrass himself before the Valar. Irmo was at his side in an instant, placing a gentle hand on his forehead and holding him steady.

"No, Glorfindel. That is not the way of it. Hush now. All is well. Take a deep breath. All judgments have been rendered, all debts paid. There is nothing to fear now, child. That’s it. Breathe deeply."

Glorfindel followed the Vala’s instructions and began to feel better. He slid back into his chair and Irmo released him. Námo said nothing, merely pouring more tea into Glorfindel’s cup and handing it to him. Glorfindel accepted it gratefully and drank the soothing liquid. There was no sign of any spillage; the table was as pristine as before.

"Irmo is correct, Glorfindel," Námo said after a moment, looking grave. "All judgments were made a long time ago. This is a time of healing and renewal, not punishment. Let your spirit be easy on that score. I sit here not as Judge but as Consoler, for after judgment comes forgiveness and a need for comfort. We, the Valar, have forgiven you. It is now time for you to forgive yourself."

"Forgive myself? Forgive myself for what?"

"That is what you will need to discover while you are here in Lórien," Irmo said, looking at the elf in sympathy. "Until you can answer your own question, you will not be permitted to leave and take up your life again in Aman."

Glorfindel scowled. "But I have no life to take up. My life was in Gondolin, serving my king. I know no other life than that. What life can I possibly have in the Undying Lands? I fear all whom I ever knew and love are either dead or dwell still in Middle-earth."

"Not all," Námo reminded him. "Finrod waits for his friend to join him, and there are others. Your life in Aman will not be what it was even before you left with Turgon for the Thither Shores, and it will not be what you remember of your life in Gondolin, but it will be your life and you need to accept it for what it is: a second chance."

For several minutes Glorfindel sat there silently thinking about what the Valar had said. Finally he looked up at Irmo. "What was the purpose of the maze? Was it just to provide you with idle amusement at my expense?"

Irmo raised an eyebrow at that and Glorfindel waited for an explosion, or at least a bolt of lightning, but none was forthcoming. Instead, Irmo chuckled and shook his head. "Stubborn child," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. "The maze has nothing to do with me and has everything to do with you. The maze is nothing more than Choice writ large. Along every path there is the chance of having to make a choice, of going one way and not another. All choices are equal, and all choices seem evil, but only from a certain point of view. It would not have mattered which path you had initially taken, you would have ended up here in the center one way or another eventually."

"But then what...?"

Irmo held up a hand and Glorfindel stopped. "All paths taken in life ultimately come to the Center, but not every one has the courage to reach it. Some become discouraged by setbacks and give up, preferring to sit by a pool and stare at nothing in particular. Others wander from one path to another, mindlessly looking for something that isn’t there, becoming hopelessly lost. And still others stand at the juncture between two paths, or even three, frozen by indecision, afraid to make the wrong decision, not realizing that not making a decision is the wrong decision."

Námo now interrupted. "You experienced all of these things to one degree or another while in the maze, did you not?"

Glorfindel could only nod, feeling a little ashamed at his behavior now that it had been pointed out to him. Námo shook his head.

"Such reactions are typical in every life. What matters is that you didn’t allow such negative feelings to rule you. When you finally decided to accept the consequences of your decisions, right or wrong, you made your way here. Life is the same way. The center of your existence is Ilúvatar, not other people, not material things, and certainly not the Valar, but only you can make the decision to seek Him. We can only point the way for you."

Glorfindel contemplated the Valar’s words, taking them to heart. He realized he had been depending on the Valar and their Maiar servants to make all the decisions for him of late. In Mandos’ Halls, there were no decisions to be made and thus nothing ever changed. Everything was a Timeless Now where children played and sang and slept in complete ignorance of anything else, a womb for those needing one for a time. But eventually, the child must be born and join the outside world.

He thought about his time in the garden. Olórin had been his constant companion, feeding him, clothing him, consoling him, admonishing him, much as a parent would a young child. But he was no longer a child, was he?

He looked up at the two Valar. "I’ve been acting like a perfect idiot, haven’t I?"

Námo shook his head. "You’ve been acting as you should, Glorfindel. There is no condemnation here. All the Reborn suffer from the same condition. You have had your innocence restored, but that innocence needs now to be tempered with experience or you cannot grow to emotional maturity and take your rightful place in the life of Aman."

"Each stage of your journey since death has served a purpose," Irmo added. "When you dwelt in my brother’s Halls you learned what it meant to be a child again, innocent of evil. After your re-embodiment, the garden taught you how to reintegrate yourself to the physical world. Now, here in Lórien, your task is to reconcile with your emotions and to come to terms with who you were and who you are now. That is the hardest task, but necessary."

"So when I leave Lórien, I’ll be emotionally mature?" Glorfindel asked doubtfully and the Valar laughed, though not unkindly, and the ellon did not take offense.

"Nay, not even close," Irmo answered. "But you will have the tools you learned here to begin the process of maturity when you do leave."

"But don’t I know this already from my former life?" Glorfindel remembered every detail of his life before his death, but nothing of that life touched him emotionally, neither joy nor sorrow, and he felt troubled by it, as if it were somehow a failing on his part.

"The memories of your former life have been stripped of all emotional context, else you would be overburdened with remorse and guilt once again," Námo explained. "Your memories cannot help you in this case. You must learn to make new connections and integrate them into your present life."

"Most of the elves who dwell in my gardens," the Lord of Lórien said, "are Reborn who are learning to put their lives back together just as you are. They are your fellow students, if you will, not your teachers, though it is hoped that you will all learn from one another."

Glorfindel sighed, feeling somewhat overwhelmed. It just seemed so daunting and impossible.

"So does it seem to the child taking his first step," the Lord of Mandos commented. "Yet he does and finds that it’s not so difficult as he had thought and another step is taken and before long he is running and dancing and you would never guess that he had started out stumbling and falling and picking himself up over and over again until he got it right."

At that, Námo and Irmo stood up and Glorfindel found himself standing as well. Námo gave the elf a piercing look, then his expression softened. He leaned over and placing his hands on either side of the ellon’s face, gave him a gentle kiss on his brow. Glorfindel blinked and when he opened his eyes again both Námo and the pavilion were gone. Irmo clapped the ellon on the shoulder.

"Welcome to Lórien, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel looked around, not at all surprised to find that he was no longer in the maze. Around him were the lush gardens and groves of Lórien and Estë stood before him with a welcoming smile.

****

Fëanturi: "Masters of Spirits", the name by which Námo and his younger brother Irmo are known.

Eruhíni: Children of Eru, i.e. Elves and Men.

11: Artelemnar and Sador

In some ways Lórien proved a disappointment to Glorfindel. Not that he wasn’t happy. The gardens of Irmo were havens of peace and the groves were beautiful beyond description. Nevertheless, he did not find it easy to live there.

For one thing, he was forced to share a pavilion with two other ellyn, also recently Reborn. Learning to live with others, after having been alone for so long, proved harder than he had thought. He did not know either of them. One was a Noldo named Artelemnar. He told Glorfindel that he had been a warrior under Celegorm and had died in his lord’s service. Glorfindel assumed he had died fighting in one of the battles against Morgoth. The other was a Sinda named Sador who had died when Maedhros and Maglor had attacked the elves at the Havens of Sirion. Sador had been quite young at the time, only sixty-eight years old. He told Glorfindel he did not know if any of his family had survived. Glorfindel felt sorry for the young ellon, bereft of parents and a younger sister.

Artelemnar refused to speak Sindarin to either Glorfindel or Sador now that he was back in Aman and no longer under Elu Thingol’s ban and insisted on calling them both by their Quenya names, Laurefindil and Voronwë, which they both hated. Glorfindel, in retaliation, would sometimes tease Artelemnar by calling him Celepharn instead. Sador, for his part, struggled to speak the High-Elven tongue but found it difficult and when he made a mistake Artelemnar wasn’t above laughing at him.

For that alone, Glorfindel disliked him and took Sador’s side, speaking Sindarin to him but encouraging him with gentle smiles to speak Quenya as often as possible, patiently correcting him without making the Sinda feel stupid, as Artelemnar was wont to do.

Glorfindel also still did not know what was expected of him once he left the confines of Lórien. Where was he to go, and what was he to do? He had been too young when he had left Aman to have had any real life to which he might return. He had no skills that anyone in Aman would appreciate or need.

"You can play the harp," Sador pointed out to him one day and it was true.

When Irmo and Estë had led him to his pavilion he had found a harp lying on his cot. It was beautifully wrought and Glorfindel had picked it up almost reverently. He had tried to play a simple melody but his fingers had forgotten too much and the best he could do was awkwardly pluck at the strings. Irmo had assured him that with practice he would regain his former mastery and arranged for one of the Lóriennildi to tutor him.

Still, it wasn’t enough, or so Glorfindel thought.

"I was a warrior," he explained to Sador one evening as the two sat under a tree outside their pavilion and watched the stars come out. "It’s all I’ve been since leaving Aman. It’s all I know."

Sador was quiet for a while, and when he spoke, he spoke almost in a whisper. "You know friendship and loyalty and... and love. You know what it feels like to die and to be reborn and have to learn all over again how to move your fingers. You know lots of things besides being a warrior."

Glorfindel stared at his friend for a long moment, amazed at the wisdom from this unassuming Sinda. "Perhaps," he finally conceded, "but none of these will find me work or a purpose."

"Are you so sure of that, son of Gondolin?"

Glorfindel looked up in surprise. "Olórin!" He leaped up and practically fell into the Maia’s waiting embrace, laughing with delight to see his friend.

Olórin laughed in turn as he hugged the ellon. "Ai, Glorfindel, you are a sight for sore eyes. Now come, introduce me to your friend."

Glorfindel complied and Sador shyly tried to greet the Maia in Quenya, though he feared he did not do it successfully. "Elen híla... lú...lúmenna... omentiemmo," he said slowly, almost cringing as he waited for some criticism about his dismal attempt at Quenya to fall from the Maia’s lips.

Olórin, however, smiled warmly and, clasping the Sinda by the shoulder, kissed him gently on the brow and said, "No in elenath híluvar am râd gîn." Sador smiled hugely and Glorfindel grinned, pleased that his new friend had at least tried his best.

Artelemnar, who had come out of the pavilion at Glorfindel’s cry and had heard Sador’s attempt at Quenya, sneered at the Sinda. "Can’t even get a simple greeting correct, can you?"

Sador looked at Glorfindel in dismay, and turned away, not wanting to embarrass his friend in front of the Maia, but Olórin took him gently by the shoulder and held him close. He ignored Artelemnar and spoke to Sador instead, stroking the ellon’s hair. "I think you did very well and better than most I know. Do not let Artelemnar’s words wound you. You are coming along just fine. Lord Irmo is very pleased with your progress."

Sador looked up at the Maia in surprise. "H-he is?"

"Oh yes," Olórin answered with a smile and kissed the young elf on the brow again before releasing him. Then he turned to Artelemnar, his expression darkening and the ellon took an uncertain step back. Olórin said nothing at first, merely holding the ellon in his gaze and the weight of the Maia’s authority fell upon Artelemnar and he blanched.

"We had hoped that you at least would have learned simple courtesy during your time in Mandos, my son, if nothing else," Olórin said quietly, though there was a sternness in his voice that Glorfindel had never heard before. "You are allowing your previous arrogance to rule you. It led to you committing the most heinous acts upon your fellow Elves when you joined in the Kinslayings at Alqualondë and Doriath. It led eventually to your own ignoble death. Take care it does not lead you to something even worse."

Both Glorfindel and Sador stared at Artelemnar in surprise. They knew something of each other’s history, of course, but no details. Glorfindel, for instance, had only told them he had died when Gondolin fell. Artelemnar was already dead by then and Sador had been an elfling of forty, living with his family in the Havens of Sirion after having fled Doriath. He had felt no need to give them any further details. It was not that he was ashamed or anything, but simply because it no longer mattered to him. Artelemnar’s history however shed a new light on the elf’s antipathy towards the Sinda.

"Y...you were at Doriath?" Sador asked in a strangled voice that was barely recognizable even to him.

"And if I was?" Artelemnar answered defiantly. "You Sindar rats deserved what you had coming to you for denying my lord Celegorm the Silmaril."

"Celepharn! You forget yourself," Glorfindel yelled, furious for his friend’s sake, if not his own.

Sador, on the other hand, could only stare at Artelemnar in white-faced shock. The memories of the horror and terror he had felt as an elfling fleeing before the wrath of the Noldor and their Dwarven allies and the newer memories of being skewered by an enraged Noldo as he tried to protect his little sister began to overwhelm him and Sador ran towards a stand of holly bushes where he became violently ill.

He felt Glorfindel kneeling beside him, holding him in the throes of his misery as he continued being sick. "I’m sorry... I’m sorry..." was all he could say as the last wave of nausea passed and he began crying.

"Hush, mellon nîn," Glorfindel said gently. "There’s nothing to be sorry about. Come, let’s get you cleaned up." He helped Sador rise and kept a firm grip on the younger elf who was still feeling weak. They made their way to the pavilion. There was no sign of either Olórin or Artelemnar. Glorfindel helped Sador out of his sick-stained clothes and into a nightshirt before ordering the ellon into bed. As early as it was, Sador did not complain and in truth a great weariness enfolded him and he wished nothing more than to sleep and forget.

Glorfindel took up his harp and sat by Sador’s cot, tuning the instrument to "Silmë ar Aldu", an ancient mode from before the Darkening of Valinor. He softly played the lullaby he had heard so many times in Mandos. It was the first piece of music he had learned to play here in Lórien and was his favorite. Sador’s body relaxed under the spell of Glorfindel’s playing and soon sleep took him.

Glorfindel played for a while longer and then set the harp gently down before making his way outside and stopped in surprise. He found himself face-to-face with the Lord of Lórien. Glorfindel bowed low and Irmo nodded his head in acknowledgment.

"Asleep?" the Vala asked.

Glorfindel nodded. "Artelemnar?"

Irmo shook his head. "He’s being seen to."

The Vala’s tone shook Glorfindel and he felt himself shuddering. Irmo took him into his arms and began rubbing his back to calm him. "Fear not, my Balrog-slayer. No harm will come to him. Artelemnar needs further lessoning before he can continue towards maturity."

"W-will he be Un-unhoused?" Glorfindel didn’t like Artelemnar all that much, but he didn’t want him to be punished that severely.

The Vala stepped back in surprise. "Good gracious, no, child. Even if we had such power, we certainly don’t have the authority. No, Artelemnar is safe from that fate, I assure you." Irmo smiled. "That isn’t to say, though, that he won’t wish he were Unhoused instead. Some lessons are harsher than others, I fear."

Glorfindel still felt troubled and it must have shown on his face, for Irmo sighed. "I promise you, Glorfindel, no harm will befall Artelemnar. Do you think someone like Olórin would ever be anything but kind, even to the most recalcitrant soul? You are Eru’s Children and we can do naught but love you and wish you only joy."

Irmo’s words reassured Glorfindel and the ellon nodded his understanding. "What will happen to him, sir?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing much," the Vala shrugged. "We have a place here in Lórien for those who may need some time alone for reflection. Artelemnar will be given that time, as long as he needs. When he is ready to rejoin the rest of you, he will. Now, let us not concern ourselves with what is not any of our business in the first place, shall we?" He gave the elf a piercing look and Glorfindel was suitably chastened.

"Forgive me..."

"Tush, child. Your concern even for someone for whom you do not care does you great credit and I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t expressed such feelings towards another. But the matter is out of your hands now."

Glorfindel nodded, taking a deep breath. "That’s better," Irmo said with a smile. "Now, go bring your harp out and let me hear what you can do."

Glorfindel bowed briefly and did as the Vala bade and soon he was sitting on a stool that Irmo had conveniently conjured for him. He suddenly felt shy and was unsure what would be considered suitable music to play before one of the Powers. He did not know many songs yet, and most were rather simple tunes like the lullaby he had played for Sador.

"Play what’s in your heart, child," Irmo said, divining his thoughts. "All music, however simple, is a reflection of the Great Song that brought everything into existence. The simplest melody sung or played from the heart is no less an acceptable tribute to that Song than the most complex piece ever composed."

Glorfindel nodded and after a brief hesitation decided to play the lullaby, seeing as how the harp was already tuned for it. As he played he found himself humming along and then he began singing the words, words he had heard only within his fëa as it lay at rest in the Halls of Mandos. He lost himself in the song, remembering the sense of security and love that tune always evoked within him and was unaware that tears fell from his face until a gentle hand wiped them away. He looked up into the face of the Lady Estë, who was smiling down at him. Irmo stood nearby, his expression inscrutable.

"That was beautiful, Glorfindel," Estë said, her smile deepening. "I had no idea you had such a lovely singing voice."

"Thank you, my lady," Glorfindel said, his voice hoarse with tears, feeling somewhat embarrassed. He was not sure why he was crying. It was just a stupid little lullaby after all. Not one of those great lays he had heard some of the Lóriennildi sing in the evening.

"You weep, child, because you must," came the unexpected reply from Irmo. "You weep for Sador who lies within dreaming of his little sister whom he tried to protect from Maedhros’ madness. You weep for a young life cut brutally short. You even weep for Artelemnar, for all the pain of guilt that consumes him, and I think you weep for yourself."

The Vala paused and stepped forward, standing next to his spouse, and took the harp out of the ellon’s hands. "Not all tears are an evil, Glorfindel. Weep and be renewed."

With that, the Vala began to play and Glorfindel cried out, the music piercing him to the very core of his fëa, the song a terrible beauty from which he cringed yet yearned to embrace. He never afterwards could recall the melodies the Vala brought forth from the harp, but he remembered the feelings they evoked, feelings of joy and sorrow and deep longing, but for what, he could not say. He remembered throwing off his clothes and dancing in the glade under the stars, alone or with Another, he wasn’t sure, only that he felt he could dance forever. In the end he found himself huddled in Estë’s lap, still naked, and weeping as if he would never stop. The Valië held him and rocked him as the music played on. Finally, his weeping stilled as Irmo brought the music to a close, all tears spent, and a great calm filled him, set him floating in a world of uncaring for himself, content to simply be.

He felt himself being lifted up into Irmo’s arms and then he was being lowered into his bed, the covers pulled up. He opened his eyes, though it was a struggle to do so, and saw both Valar standing above him, looking at him with such love that he wanted to weep again. Irmo placed a finger to the ellon’s lips and shook his head.

"No tears, now. Sleep and be comforted."

Glorfindel gave a great sigh and fell gratefully asleep, never knowing that the Lord of Lórien and his beloved spouse stayed the rest of that night in the pavilion, watching over the two ellyn who slept there under their care.

****

Lóriennildi: (Quenya) "Followers of Lórien" [Lórien + -hildi]. Elves of Aman in the service to Lord Irmo whose task it is to act as counselors to the Reborn and see to their needs, both physical and spiritual. The name is modeled after Yavannildi, the name given to the female elves who knew and kept the secret of the making of coimas (lembas). The Lóriennildi, however, could be of either gender: Lóriennildo (males) and Lóriennildë (females).

No in elenath híluvar am râd gîn: (Sindarin) "May all the stars shine upon your path" [literally, "May it be all the stars in the night sky will shine upon your path"].

Sador’s greeting to Olórin is incorrect on three counts: 1) he mutates síla, since in Sindarin verbs are mutated if they follow the subject, as is the case in Olórin’s greeting; 2) he does not elide the last vowel of lúmenna into the initial vowel of the next word, a normal practice in Quenya but rare in Sindarin; and, 3) he confuses the first person plural exclusive pronoun with the first person plural dual, a common mistake as Sindarin differentiates between exclusive and inclusive 'we' but not the dual 'we'. As everyone knows, the correct greeting is: Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo. Olórin, of course, ignores all this, awarding effort with courtesy by speaking his greeting in Sindarin.

Mellon nîn: (Sindarin) My friend.

Silmë ar Aldu: (Quenya) Starlight and the Two Trees.

Note on names: Sador means "Faithful One". The Quenya equivalent would be Voronwë. Sador was the name of Túrin’s faithful servant. Artelemnar means "Royal Silver-flame", a reference, of course to Telperion. When the Noldor came to Beleriand and adopted Sindarin names, Artelemnar changed his name to Celepharn, which means "Royal Silver". Celepharn is also the name of one of the kings of Arthedain. Glorfindel’s name would be rendered Laurefindil in Quenya.

Historical note: Sador was born in 470 in Doriath, a year before the Dagor Nirnaeth Arnediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. Doriath fell in 507 and so he was only 37 (15 in human years) when he and his family fled to the Havens with Elwing and the silmaril. When he died thirty-one years later, he was only 28 in human terms.

12: Lessons in Compassion

Glorfindel woke the next morning feeling refreshed, and discovered he no longer cared what the future held. He would face it when it came. For now, all that mattered was that he learn as much as he could of what he needed to know before his release. He and Sador spent many hours talking about their former lives and how they had died. Glorfindel held Sador in his arms while the ellon wept after telling the golden-haired elf about fleeing Doriath and then dying at the hands of one of Maedhros’ warriors.

"I-I didn’t even know how to use a s-sword," he stuttered between tears. "A-all I wanted to do was to pr-protect my sister." Sador looked up with hurt and confusion in his eyes. "Wh-why would anyone want to hurt a child? Ninniach was only thirty."

Glorfindel shook his head and held the ellon closer, sorrow filling his fëa. "I don’t know, meldonya. I don’t know."

They sat there in companionable silence for a long time until one of the Lóriennildi found them and reminded them they had to eat.

Over the days and weeks that followed, Glorfindel began to interact with the other Reborn. He discovered that they were all expected to attend lectures detailing the history of Aman after the Flight of the Noldor.

"You need to know who is who and why things are as they are here," one of their tutors explained. "Even those of you who were born here will find that much has changed since the Darkening."

Glorfindel learned of events in Middle-earth from the other Reborn who died after him, for the Lóriennildi refused to speak about it. Glorfindel asked Sador and a few others about the fate of the survivors from Gondolin and learned that Idril, Tuor and their son had indeed made it to the Havens of Sirion, but as to their ultimate fate, he could never get a satisfactory answer. Not even Irmo, when Glorfindel sought the Vala out one day and asked, was forthcoming.

"They are no longer your concern, Glorfindel. Your death severed all responsibility towards the House of Turgon. Let it go. Let them go. It will only cause you grief otherwise."

Glorfindel, however, was not convinced and when Olórin paid him a brief visit, he opened up to the Maia as he had not to any other.

"Lord Irmo says my responsibility towards my king and his family died with me on the slopes of the Echoriath. He says my duties lie elsewhere, but he does not say where. Do loyalty and service and oaths die with the hröa? Are they not eternal, like the fëa? If these do not survive death, why should anything survive, even love?"

"Your questions are weighty, and require an answer," Olórin said after a brief pause, "but I cannot answer them for you."

"Cannot or will not?" Glorfindel retorted, beginning to feel anger and frustration. It seemed as if the Powers were intent on denying him simple information about those whom he had loved and served. What harm was there in knowing their fate?

Olórin sighed. He had feared this day, they all had. Manwë, himself, had warned him it was coming.

"He will ask questions for which he is not ready to hear the answers," the Elder King had told him. "You must stall him as best as you may. Eventually, he will come to me and I will answer all his questions, but not before that."

"Cannot, child," Olórin answered. "If you would know the answers to your questions, you must go to Lord Manwë for them, but only when you are ready to be released. Show that you have matured enough and you may leave Lórien and journey to Taniquetil... if you can."

"If I can?" Glorfindel asked, perplexed.

Olórin smiled. "It is not always easy to reach Taniquetil, Glorfindel. And if you go, do not go alone."

With that the Maia took his leave and Glorfindel was left to ponder his words, yet, in the exigency of living, he soon forgot them or his wish to know more about the fate of Turgon’s family. In the meantime, the Lóriennildi encouraged him to explore the different arts and crafts in the hopes he would find some employment suitable to his temperament.

Sador tried to help, but feared he wasn’t the right person for the task. "My adar was a potter," he said one day. "I was his apprentice before I died. I think I would like to be a potter again. Even in Aman they need potters. Perhaps you could learn as well and we will go into business together."

Glorfindel had to laugh at that, the image of himself covered with clay trying to get something to form on the potter’s wheel was just too funny, for he knew his strengths and weaknesses. "I’m afraid I would make a dreadful potter, Sador, but I thank you for the offer. I think it’s a very good idea that you have, though. You should pursue it for yourself."

"Oh, I just thought it was something we could do together when we left here so we could still be friends." Sador said somewhat diffidently.

Glorfindel placed his hands on the ellon’s shoulders, his gaze intent. "We will always be friends, never doubt that, whatever we end up doing. You must not think for a moment that we would ever cease to be friends."

Sador looked mollified at Glorfindel’s words and the golden-haired elf realized just how incredibly young the Sinda was. He suddenly felt protective of the younger ellon, reminded of how he had felt towards Eluréd and Elurín. He hoped that when the time came, they would be released together so he could continue watching out for his young friend.

Glorfindel’s one regret was that he did not see any of the friends he remembered from his time in Mandos. Either they were still in the Halls of Waiting, or had already been Reborn and sent to live in Aman. He also heard rumors that Tol Eressëa was occupied again by the Noldor, Sindar and Nandor who had elected to return to the Undying Lands after the War of Wrath, but he could get no clear confirmation.

"Perhaps some of your family survived and moved there," Glorfindel told Sador, hoping to cheer the ellon up, but Sador merely shrugged, half-resigned to finding that he was alone among strangers.

"Not alone," Glorfindel told him. "You have me and as long as you have me, you’ll never be alone."

Days fled and Glorfindel found he did not mind the company of others as much as he had before. Often he and Sador joined the other Reborn in the evenings for singing and dancing, trading stories and jokes, or just watching the stars as they danced their stately and eternal pavane across the heavens. Glorfindel would bring his harp and the others would also bring various musical instruments or would just join in the singing and they would make merry into the night.

During the day, he was allowed to wander as he willed if he was not attending a class or speaking to one of the Lóriennildi. These elves were there to help in the transition to life in Aman, though sometimes Glorfindel chafed under their seeming condescension. The Lóriennildi were unfailingly polite and ever helpful, yet Glorfindel had the distinct impression that he and the other Reborn were looked down upon as somehow inferior by some of them because they had had the ill luck to die, surely a sign of Eru’s displeasure towards them. He feared that if these elves who served Lord Irmo in the task of helping the Reborn felt this way, what did that bode for their reception among the other Once-born, as he tended to think of them?

"At least you’re a Noldo," Sador had commented when Glorfindel had expressed his concern to his friend. "I’m a Sinda. My people refused the call to come to Aman. Your people called us Moriquendi, never knowing what an insult it was to us who had fought against the Dark before ever you and yours arrived on our shores to lord it over us. How do you think they’ll treat me?"

Glorfindel found his friend’s words disturbing and pondered them for a long time. He thought to seek counsel but in the end decided against it. What, after all, could anyone say? It would be as it would be. He was unlikely to change anyone’s opinion about it.

Unbeknown to him, others pondered those same questions and had the same concerns. Námo often took counsel with Manwë about the treatment of the Reborn by the other elves. Irmo had to admonish some of his servants more than once when he noticed their condescending attitude towards their charges. Varda was heard to comment somewhat acerbically that even in the Undying Lands Melkor’s taint could still be felt and wondered if the Once-born (Varda had found Glorfindel’s name for the elves of Aman too amusing not to use herself) had gotten off too easily.

"I’m tempted to send most of them to Mandos to see what it feels like. It might cure them of their arrogance," the Star-Kindler had said in a fit of pique.

Námo had given her a wry look. "Just give me sufficient warning before you do. I’ll need to do some housecleaning first. You know how fastidious some of these elves are."

That had brought gales of laughter from both Varda and Manwë and even Nienna had smiled at the jest. In the end, though, they knew the changes in attitude could only come from the Children themselves.

"It will be up to the son of Arafinwë and our favorite Balrog-slayer," Manwë said. "It is for this that they were destined to meet in the Halls of Waiting, so that when the time came, they would come to a solution together."

"And if they fail to find a solution?" Irmo had asked, for he was skeptical that any solution would be forthcoming.

Manwë merely smiled. "Even in failure they will have achieved something," and he would say no more about it.

****

While day and night sped by, Glorfindel did not bother to keep track and could not have said how long he remained in Lórien. His harping improved and he learned several skills he had never learned before: bee-keeping from Yavanna’s people, the crafting of fine jewelry from some of Aulë’s, even ribbon embroidery from Vairë’s handmaidens. Yet, his greatest skill, according to Lord Irmo when he spoke to Glorfindel about it one time, seemed to be the most difficult for him to accept.

"Your greatest skill is compassion, child," the Lord of Lórien said. "Use it to the fullest."

"How?" Glorfindel asked, puzzled and not a little annoyed. What good was compassion to him? It wouldn’t put food on his table. He couldn’t sell it on the streets of Tirion for lodgings. What was he supposed to do with it?

Irmo, however, merely smiled and shook his head. "That’s for you to decide. In the meantime, if you want lodgings and food, I suggest you increase your repertoire of songs for your harp. That will stand you in better stead. And I might also suggest you use some of that compassion on yourself."

Glorfindel squirmed at that, for he had been having difficulty coming to terms with what he considered his failure: he could not yet forgive himself for dying. Míriel, the Lóriennildë who was most often his counselor tried to help him come to terms with his feelings about this but was unsuccessful. It was Sador, oddly enough, who helped him.

"You didn’t fail, Glorfindel," the Sinda said. "You succeeded. Idril and Eärendil survived. If anyone failed it was I."

"You?"

Sador nodded. "You were a warrior. You fell upon the Balrog without thought for yourself, only for others. I think you went into battle knowing you would die, didn’t you?" Sador’s glance was shrewd and Glorfindel ceded the point with a reluctant nod.

"So you see, you knew the price for your actions before you took them. I...I think every warrior knows that the... the consequence of picking up a sword is that they could die."

Glorfindel nodded, looking thoughtful, realizing at last that what Sador had said was the truth. It was as if a great weight was finally lifted from his shoulders and he felt he could breathe properly now, the past finally laid to rest and put into perspective.

"But why do you say you are a failure?" he asked his friend, for he did not think of Sador as one.

Sador blushed and looked down. "I’m not a warrior. I couldn’t save anyone, not even myself."

Glorfindel put his arms around the younger ellon and whispered in his ear. "That’s not true, Sador. You’ve just saved me." Then he kissed him on the brow. "Ci hannon, mellon nîn. Uin enedh e-gûr nîn, ci hannon."

He looked up just then and found himself staring into the calm eyes of the Lord of Lórien. No words passed between them, but he knew.

It was time to leave.

****

Adar: (Sindarin) Father.

Ci hannon, mellon nîn. Uin enedh e-gûr nîn, ci hannon: (Sindarin): "Thank you, my friend. From the depths (literally, "core, center") of my heart, I thank you." Glorfindel, of course, uses the second person familiar when speaking to his friend.

Note: The reference to Glorfindel learning ribbon embroidery from Vaire’s handmaidens is taken from Nilmandra’s story, History Lesson: Second Age, chapter 7, "Healing". The reference to bee-keeping is from my story, Tâd Edhil a Firion, chapter 7, "Into the Taur of No Return".

13: iAndondi Entulessëo

When the summons reached Finrod, he was sitting in Arafinwë's court, listening to petitions. His atar had begun giving him greater responsibility in that regard after his talk with Lord Námo. At first Finrod had been reluctant and uncertain that he would be up to the task, but his amillë had given him encouragement and his atar had given him his orders. Now, he found that the memories of his days as King of Nargothrond helped. The elves who came to him, mostly common people with minor problems, found him wise in judgment and Arafinwë was well-pleased.

He was finishing up a minor dispute between two farmers when the door of the audience chamber opened and a guard came in and bowed.

"Yes, Calandil, what is it?"

"My lord, this message has just arrived for you," the guard said and handed Finrod a piece of parchment.

Finrod thanked the guard and dismissed him, examining the missive as he did. It was a single sheet of parchment folded over once with a seal of the Sun-in-Eclipse embedded in black wax. He felt himself trembling at the sight of the seal, so well known to him. Breaking it he began to read, unaware that he stood, his face going white. On the plain parchment, written in elegant Sindarin tengwar were two short sentences:

Tolo hi. Mellon gîn anglenna in Ennyn Aderthad.

It was signed simply: Námo.

Finrod closed his eyes.

"My lord, is there something amiss?" one of his attendants asked worriedly.

Finrod opened his eyes and all there could see the tears but his eyes shone not with sorrow, as they feared, but with joy, inexpressible and beyond endurance, for those who looked upon the firstborn son of the King of the Noldor were forced to look away, so bright was the Light of his Being.

"Nay," Finrod said, attempting to sound calm. "There is naught amiss. I fear I must leave now. Please forgive me." Finrod stepped down from the dais and walked decorously towards the door but as soon as he was in the corridor he began to run, heedless of what others might think. He made his way towards the family apartments where he knew his atar was in his study meeting with his advisors.

Arafinwë looked up in annoyance when the door to his study slammed opened but his expression turned quickly to alarm when he saw his son running in shouting, "He's coming, he's coming, he's coming, he's..."

"Findaráto! What has happened?" Arafinwë grabbed his son by his shoulders and shook him.

Finrod stopped his shouting and taking a deep breath he thrust the missive into his atar's hands. The King of the Noldor in Aman looked at the seal and his eyes widened in recognition. He glanced at the words but could not read them and was loath to admit it in front of his advisors, but...

"I cannot..."

"Á tulë si. Meldotya anatulë iAndondi Entulessëo," Finrod translated in a rush without thinking and then stopped, suddenly aware that he and his atar were not alone.

"I see," Arafinwë said somewhat wryly. "And the signature?"

"L-lord Námo," Finrod said more quietly.

Several eyebrows rose at that. One of the advisors turned to Finrod with a supercilious look. "And who is it that comes that the Lord of Mandos would deign to inform you, Prince? I cannot imagine why Lord Námo would even bother."

Finrod looked nonplused and was not sure how to respond, but his atar saved him the trouble. Arafinwë turned to the elf with a scowl. "I do not question Lord Námo's motives in this or anything else, Pelendur. Please keep your opinions on the matter to yourself."

Pelendur looked suitably chastened but Finrod was not paying any attention. He could only think of one thing.

"It's Glorfindel, Atar. I have to go to him. I have to leave now."

"Glorfindel?" another advisor asked in distain. "An odd-sounding name. Was he one of those, what do they call themselves, Sindar? I can't imagine one of the Noldor having such a strange name. I would think, my prince, that now that you have returned to us where you belong you would have severed your ties with these... Moriquendi."

Finrod was stunned, tears beginning to form. He had never realized that some of his atar's own advisors looked down upon the Sindar with such contempt. He, himself, when he first met his sundered kin, had found them industrious and brave, loyal and deserving of every respect. Four of the ten Companions who had followed him and Beren had been Sindar. They had died in agony yet had never revealed their lord's secret to Sauron, as loyal as the Noldor who had died beside them. He honored their memory and looked forward to the day when they were released from Mandos so he could show them his gratitude and ask for their forgiveness for leading them to their deaths.

Arafinwë sighed as he looked upon his firstborn struggling to retain his composure. Findaráto had come a long way since his conversation with the Lord of Mandos and he had begun to take his responsibilities more seriously, but there were still times when he seemed younger than he had been even as an elfling. He was not entirely sure he wanted this Glorfindel as a friend for his son but he knew that such things were best left to themselves. Findaráto would never abandon his loyalties once given, not even if Arafinwë ordered him to.

He put a comforting hand on his sons shoulder. "Why don't we go together then, yonya? I would like to meet your friend myself."

The look on his advisors faces was worth that small concession and the smile on his son's face was priceless.

****

In the end, the entire royal family decided to accompany Finrod to Lórien. Finrod wasn't sure he liked that but said nothing. His amillë, he did not mind, but Amarië... He still found it difficult to think of her as his betrothed. He remembered her, of course, and their love, but much of the emotional content of his former life had been stripped from him. Amarië had been understanding, or so she said, but Finrod was not so sure. They had agreed to give him more time to get reacquainted with life in Aman before speaking of marriage. Amarië had waited all this time, she could wait a little longer as far as Finrod was concerned.

Now the four of them were before the Gates of Return, wrapped in cloaks to ward off the gentle rain that was falling that day. They stood with several other families whose loved-ones were to be released. They were a little in awe of Arafinwë and Eärwen, but the royal couple soon put them at ease, asking after their families and congratulating them on the release of their kin.

"Do you also await for one of your family, my lord?" asked one of the elves waiting for a granddaughter he had never met, for she had been born in Endórë.

"Nay, good Valandil," the King said. "We are here for my son's sake. He comes to greet a friend."

"Oh, someone from his... when he lived in Endórë?"

Arafinwë shook his head, feeling almost amused. "I understand they met in Mandos."

There was nothing that could be said to that and Arafinwë shortly took his leave to rejoin his own family. Finrod stood there impatiently.

"Patience, Findaráto," Amarië said somewhat tartly. "Its not as if this Laurefindil were family. Would you feel this impatient if Aicanáro or Angaráto were being released?"

Finrod stared at the elleth in consternation. "His name is Glorfindel and he is as a brother to me, more so than Aegnor or Angrod ever were."

Amarië looked as if she'd been slapped in the face and Finrod instantly regretted his words but knew them to be true. He had trouble picturing his brothers or having any familial feelings towards them. Interestingly enough, he did not have that problem where his beloved sister, Galadriel, was concerned. He had hoped she would have returned to Aman after the War of Wrath, but understood why she didn't. He remembered some of the scandal her marriage to Celeborn had caused among the Noldor-in-Exile, but he had welcomed the Prince of Doriath as a brother and had nothing but fond memories of him. He hoped that they were well and content and sent a silent prayer to the Valar that it be so.

"I'm sorry, Amarië, that was thoughtless of me," Finrod finally said and Amarië nodded her acceptance of his apology but did not apologize in return, which Arafinwë, having overheard their conversation, found telling.

At that moment someone exclaimed, "Look! The Gates are opening."

Finrod turned to see the Gates swinging open of their own accord. It was a peculiarity of these Gates that looking through them one could only see a dense fog. He remembered that the fog had appeared on the other side of the Gates when he was walking through them but not on his side. He did not know why that was, and it intrigued him.

There was an expectant hush as the first dim figure was seen emerging from the fog. Finrod let go of a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding, disappointment filling him. It was not Glorfindel. It wasn't even an ellon, but an elleth, who stood hesitantly at the Gates, a pitiful bundle in her arms. One couple stepped out of the crowd and spoke quietly to the elleth. Finrod could not hear what the couple said, but he saw the elleth's eyes widen and then she flung her arms around them. They returned her embrace with fierce hugs of their own, their joy evident to all who were there.

"Their granddaughter, I take it," Arafinwë said quietly to Finrod and his son smiled, pleased that a family had been reunited.

Soon others began to emerge from the fog to be greeted joyfully by their kin. Some of the families began to leave, eager to be gone, but a few lingered, curious as to why the royal family was there. Finrod was beside himself with worry.

"Why isn't he here? Atar, could Lord Irmo have changed his mind?"

"Nay, yonya," Arafinwë placed a comforting hand on his son's shoulder. "Your friend will come, never fear."

Eärwen kissed him and smiled. "I'm sure Glorfindel will be along presently, my dear. You've been so good, wait just a little longer."

Finrod smiled at his amillë, grateful beyond words that she called his friend by his "right" name instead of trying to mangle it into Quenya. He ignored Amarië's sigh. Just then, two more figures began to emerge from the fog. Finrod felt confused, for no other families were waiting for a loved-one; only the royal family had not yet greeted anyone. He stared into the fog, willing his eyes to pierce the mist to see who came and then...

"GLORFI!"

"FINROD!"

They were running towards each other, the joy on their faces flaring in brightness to rival the light of Anar, heedless of anyone or anything but each other. They met and grasped hands and, laughing, flung each other about in a dance of pure delight that left the onlookers breathless, and not a few looked on in disapproval. The rain suddenly ceased and the clouds rolled back. Anar shone upon the two ellyn and a multitude of rainbows formed around them, though neither noticed. They had eyes only for each other and they danced with complete abandonment until they suddenly collapsed laughing onto the ground in a heap, mindless of the wet grass staining their clothes as they tumbled about. Slowly the rainbows melted as clouds hid the Sun again. Finrod and Glorfindel lay breathless on the ground, their arms wrapped around each other.

"I've waited so long," Finrod whispered as he stroked Glorfindel's hair.

"No longer than I have," Glorfindel laughed and gave his friend a shove. "Now get off me, you overgrown elfling, people will talk."

"People will talk anyway, so we might as well give them something to talk about," Finrod retorted, then smiled. "Welcome home, my brother."

"Ahem."

The ellyn looked up to see Arafinwë staring down at them with a look that alternated between annoyance and amusement.

"Perhaps you would care to introduce me to your friend, Findaráto."

Finrod and Glorfindel scrambled to their feet, half-heartedly trying to straighten their clothes and brushing the grass from their cloaks and hair.

"Sorry, Atar. Glorfindel this is my atar, Arafinwë."

Arafinwë raised an amused eyebrow at his son's cavalier introduction. "Sometimes known as the King of the Noldor," he said with a wink at Glorfindel, "but who cares?"

Glorfindel could only laugh. "Who cares, indeed, my lord?" He gave the king a respectful bow, placing his right hand over his heart. "I am pleased to finally meet the atar of my friend. He does you credit, my lord, and I am proud and humbled that he would befriend me in turn."

Arafinwë looked upon the golden-haired elf with approval. There was no subservience in the elf's attitude. His eyes were clear, clearer than most, the Light of the Two Trees evident. He held himself with simple dignity and Arafinwë suddenly saw his own son in a different light, for that same dignity could be seen in Findaráto, hidden underneath his son's insecurities and doubts. Here was one who would be good for Findaráto and help him to become the elf he was always meant to be.

Eärwen approached then, followed somewhat reluctantly by Amarië. She smiled at the two ellyn and held out her hands to Glorfindel, who bowed over them. "Welcome, my dear. I am glad my son has been reunited with his friend at last."

"Násië!" came a heart-felt reply and they turned to see Lord Námo standing there, a most peculiar expression on his face. All there bowed, the elves of Aman not a little unnerved. Arafinwë noticed, though, that none of the Reborn seemed unduly upset to see the Lord of Mandos. In fact some of them, including his own son, even smiled at him, and the King realized with a start that these elves had a more intimate knowledge of the Vala than even he did.

"Now perhaps your son will stop pestering me with his demands...er...petitions," Námo said, speaking to the King and his Queen. "And this one," pointing at Glorfindel who refused to look repentant, "this one will stop whining."

"I never whine!" Glorfindel protested, and several people gasped at the temerity of this unknown elf in speaking to the Lord of Mandos in such a fashion.

"Not according to my brother," the Lord of Mandos retorted, seemingly not at all upset. Then in a voice that sounded very much like Glorfindel's he continued, "Why can't I see Finrod now? When will we be together? Why do I have to wear clothes all the time?"

Finrod laughed and pointed at Glorfindel. "You, too?"

Glorfindel shrugged, his smile deepening, and the onlookers were surprised to see a slow smile gracing the Lord of Mandos' face as he looked upon the two ellyn. "Well, you have finally gotten your wish, my children. Use this time together wisely." Then, he took them into his embrace one at a time, kissing them on the brow. Both ellyn looked somewhat bemused but content. Námo glanced around at the stunned crowd and then gave Arafinwë and Eärwen a respectful nod before walking through the Gates, which closed silently behind him.

For a long moment no one moved, then Glorfindel collected himself and turned towards the person who had followed him out of the Gates. "Sador, come and meet my friend."

Sador reluctantly came forward, clutching his small bundle as well as Glorfindel's harp, which the ellon had thrust into his arms before rushing to greet Finrod.

Glorfindel motioned to Finrod. "This is my friend, Sador, originally from Doriath. We met in Lórien."

Sador bowed and muttered something in Quenya, looking embarrassed, but Finrod merely smiled and taking the ellon's hand, spoke in Sindarin, "If you are Glorfindel's friend, then you are my friend as well. Welcome, Sador, late of Doriath. Welcome to Aman."

Sador looked up with a tremulous smile and thanked the Noldo prince.

"Do you have family waiting for you, Sador?" Finrod asked gently, switching to Quenya and speaking slowly for Sador's sake.

Sador shook his head sadly. "Nay, lord, I fear I am alone."

"On the contrary," Finrod countered. "As long as you have Glorfindel and me as your friends you will never be alone. Now come and stay with us and I will have my atar make enquiries. There might be some distant kin living in Alqualondë with whom you could live."

"I... I don't think I want to live with strangers, however related they might be to me."

"I don't blame you, child," Arafinwë intervened. "It will be as my son has said. Until you are reunited with your own family, you must consider ours as a poor substitute."

Sador glanced at Glorfindel and Finrod with bemusement and Glorfindel gave him an encouraging squeeze. He smiled and leaned over to whisper rather loudly in Sador's ear, "I may be mistaken, but I think you're supposed to say 'thank you' right about now."

Sador blushed as everyone grinned and then tears began to fall as he tried to stammer his thanks. Arafinwë took the ellon in his arms and held him. "It is well, yonya. Hush, now. No tears. Welcome home."

A short while later the royal family, now numbering six, left the Gates of Return for the trip back to Tirion. Finrod noticed that Amarië refused to look at Glorfindel once they were introduced, though she spoke to him when he addressed her directly. Sador she ignored completely.

****

iAndondi Entulessëo: (Quenya) The Great Gates of Return.

Tolo hi. Mellon gîn anglenna in Ennyn Aderthad: (Sindarin) "Come now. Your friend approaches the Gates of Reunion."

The Sindarin name for these gates is different from the Quenya for two reasons: 1) there is no attested word for "return" in Sindarin and no attested word for "reunion" in Quenya, so I was forced to use these words in their own language without trying to reconstruct them in the other language; and, 2) on a sociolinguistic level, there is nothing to say that the Sindar would necessarily call these gates by the same name in translation as the Noldor, nor should they have to. Finrod, of course, translates this sentence for Arafinwë using the Quenya name for these gates.

Endórë: (Quenya) Middle-earth.

Násië: (Quenya) Amen.

Historical note: The only one of Finrod's Companions who is named is Edrahil with no indication of his race. Nor is there any other information about the other Companions. For the sake of this story, I have postulated that the Companions were a mixed group of Noldor and Sindar.

14: Adjustments

They arrived at the palace in Tirion in the early evening where a cold repast awaited them. Arafinwë noticed that Finrod was more relaxed and open than he had been since passing through the Gates of Return to be reunited with his parents. He laughed and joked with Glorfindel, smoothly including Sador in their banter until all three ellyn were teasing each other. Arafinwë and Eärwen found themselves grinning as well, the joy of the three Reborn infectious. Amarië also found herself smiling in amusement.

Perhaps, she thought to herself, having this Laur... no, this Glorfindel, around might not be a bad idea. Certainly, she realized, Findaráto’s attitude had changed remarkably now that he was reunited with his friend. Perhaps she could exploit that to her advantage.

As they ate and talked it became apparent that Glorfindel knew certain members of the King’s family yet Arafinwë was sure he had never set eyes on the ellon before this.

"I am a couple of decades younger than your daughter, my lord," Glorfindel explained. "I remember playing with her as an elfling, tagging along after Turucáno. Findaráto was already an adult by then, so I had nothing to do with him. Then, during the Crossing," and here both he and Finrod looked grim and Arafinwë wondered at that. He knew what the elf meant by the word, but he had never been able to learn the details of that journey. "I was in Turucáno’s retinue, but I often saw Galad... er... Artanis with Itarildë after Elenwë...."

Glorfindel could not go on and the others respected him by not pressing, though Amarië looked as if she wanted to ask further after Elenwë. Finrod sent her a quelling glance and she thought better of it.

Once the meal was over, Glorfindel admitted to feeling fatigued and Sador nodded in agreement. Finrod stood up. "I felt the same way when I first returned. I think I slept for days. I will show you your rooms. Everything has been prepared."

With that, Glorfindel and Sador bade the others good-night and with a bow to the King and his Queen followed Finrod out. He led them to a suite of rooms which were in the same wing as his own. "My rooms are actually just down the hall on your left."

After pointing out the necessary features of their suite, Finrod bade his friends good-night, leaving Glorfindel and Sador standing there looking at one another.

Sometime later, Arafinwë glanced inside the suite he had assigned to Glorfindel and Sador to find their beds were empty. Concerned, he moved down the hall to his son’s room and peeking in, after receiving no answer to his knock, he found Finrod and Glorfindel sleeping hand-in-hand while Sador sat beside them on the wide bed, stroking their hair and humming softly. He looked up when Arafinwë came in and smiled.

"They couldn’t sleep," he whispered in explanation, then slid down to lie next to Glorfindel, his arm around his friend protectively and fell asleep himself. Arafinwë stood there for a moment in surprise at the three slumbering ellyn, reminding him of puppies sleeping in a huddle. He chuckled at the image and pulled a blanket out of the press and wrapped it around the sleeping forms, kissing each softly on the forehead. None stirred, but Finrod smiled in his sleep. Then he sat in a chair, content to spend the night watching over his son.

No... sons. It seemed that Lord Námo could not give him back all his other children yet, so instead he had given him two orphans who needed his love and support. In retrospect he decided it was an equitable trade.

****

The three ellyn woke almost simultaneously. Glorfindel shared a smile with Finrod in greeting then started when he sat up and saw Arafinwë sitting in a chair watching them with an amused look on his face. Sador gave a small yelp and tried to hide under the covers, having quite forgotten seeing the King enter the bedroom the night before. Finrod, for his part, merely yawned and stretched.

"Good morning, Atar."

"Good morning, yonya. I trust you and your friends slept well?"

Finrod merely grinned as he climbed out of the bed and reached for a robe.

"Have you been sitting here all night, sir?" Glorfindel asked while simultaneously pulling the covers off Sador and pushing him out of the bed. Sador gave a half-muttered curse as he landed on the floor that raised more than one eyebrow in the room.

"Does your amillë know you talk like that?" Finrod asked with a grin and the others laughed while Sador climbed to his feet and tried to apologize.

Arafinwë waved a hand in dismissal and stood. "Breakfast is in half an hour. Don’t be late." With that the King left to attend to his own needs. Glorfindel and Sador made their way back to their own suite where they proceeded to make themselves presentable.

Finrod escorted them to the family’s private dining hall where Eärwen greeted them with a smile. Amarië smiled as well and gave them a courteous greeting, asking if they had all slept well, though she didn’t really bother to wait for an answer, going to the sideboard to fix a plate for herself. Glorfindel gave Finrod an appraising look and grinned when his friend grimaced and shrugged.

The meal was informal and relaxed. Glorfindel found himself remembering such meals with Turgon when the king would call his councillors to join him for breakfast and they would discuss affairs of state in an informal setting. It was strangely familiar and he found he was enjoying himself more than he expected. He glanced at Sador, who was looking somewhat ill at ease and gave him an encouraging smile.

"I have decided to suspend your normal duties for the next few days, Findaráto," Arafinwë said at one point. "You should take the time to show Glorfindel and Sador around and introduce them to some of your friends."

Finrod grimaced. "If I had any, I would."

"Perhaps if you made an effort, dear," Eärwen said quietly. There was no recrimination in her voice, merely motherly concern.

"They don’t want anything to do with me, Amillë, unless they think they can get something out of Atar through me."

Arafinwë shook his head. "An occupational hazard, yonya. Being King of the Noldor does have its downside. But not all of the younger members of this court are sycophants. You just haven’t given them a chance."

Finrod sighed, unconsciously shredding a piece of toast. Glorfindel reached over and slapped him gently on the hand. "Stop that, meldonya. Didn’t your amillë teach you not to play with your food?"

Finrod looked up at Glorfindel in surprise, the retort dying on his lips when he saw the twinkle of amusement in his friend’s eyes and laughed somewhat ruefully as he dropped what was left of the toast onto his plate. "Sorry, I didn’t realize..."

Glorfindel nodded. "You will take us on a tour and you will introduce us to whomever we meet with all the grace of a prince. Let’s worry about the rest later, shall we?"

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow at Glorfindel’s tone, but did not intervene. Here was one, he suspected, who would not let Findaráto get away with anything, including self-pity. Yes, this Glorfindel was definitely good for his son.

For his part, Finrod merely looked at his friend with an air of pretended insult. "Who died and left you in charge of my life?"

Glorfindel laughed and the sound of it was so joyous as to leave its hearers breathless with wonder. "I can’t believe Lord Námo let you out without a keeper. Whatever was he thinking? He should at least have sent me along to keep you in line."

Finrod sputtered. "As I recall, you were lying in Lord Námo’s arms weeping like an elfling when I left."

The golden-haired elf sniffed disdainfully. "A minor detail. I’m sure if Lord Námo had been thinking straight he would have waited until I was ready to leave with you before sending you from Mandos to plague Aman with your presence."

Now Finrod laughed. "I’m sure he’ll be delighted to listen to your critique of his handling of his charges. He might even thank you for it... just before he kills you and sends you back to Mandos for good."

Sador snorted at that. "Lord Námo probably threw a party for the other Valar the day he finally got rid of Glorfindel. I don’t think he’ll appreciate having to put up with Glorfindel’s whining again for the rest of Arda’s existence."

"I never whine!" the former Balrog slayer exclaimed, then all three were laughing uproariously.

Arafinwë exchanged a bemused look with Eärwen, not sure how to react to the easy manner in which these three spoke of Lord Námo or their time in the Halls of Mandos. Even joking about being sent back. He remembered the way some of his people had acted in the presence of his son when he first had returned to them. They had been, not frightened, but definitely uneasy around him and perhaps Findaráto still resented them for it.

Now, looking at his firstborn laughing as he threw a piece of toast at Glorfindel, who deftly caught it before stuffing it into his mouth, he realized that his son had not been pining for his friend so much as he had been trying to find acceptance from others. He had been suffering from loneliness and even shyness, his emotions too raw and near the surface as he attempted to reintegrate himself back into the life he had left so many centuries before. They all — and Arafinwë ruefully included himself — had treated Findaráto as an oddity for having died and been reborn when what his son had really needed was to feel normal. Though frankly there was nothing normal about the whole situation to begin with.

Arafinwë shook his head as if to clear it of such thoughts and smiled instead, deciding to enjoy the banter between the three ellyn and rejoice that his firstborn had been returned to him.

"Why were you crying in Lord Námo’s arms?" Amarië asked Glorfindel, but it was not simple curiosity that drove her to ask the question. Her tone suggested a hint of contempt.

"Hush, dear," Eärwen admonished. "That sort of thing is never spoken of."

Glorfindel was disinclined to answer, but surprisingly Finrod addressed his betrothed. "We’ve all ended up weeping in Lord Námo’s arms at least once during our time in Mandos, Amarië. Our fëar were like children and children often need comforting from the adults around them."

"Even you?" Amarië asked incredulously.

Finrod smiled. "Oh, yes, even I, and more than once that I recall. Lord Námo often calmed me by singing a lullaby."

He then began singing softly an ancient lullaby, his eyes going distant with memory. Glorfindel and Sador grinned at each other and by the second verse had joined in. Arafinwë sat there listening, trying to imagine the forbidding Lord of Mandos singing such a song to the fëar under his care. Somehow, that image comforted him as nothing else had and for the first time he truly believed that his other two sons were safe and happy in Mandos and that the Valar loved them as deeply as he, if not more so.

He never noticed the tears running down his face until Eärwen leaned over with a handkerchief and gently wiped them away.

****

Over the next few days Arafinwë noticed a change in attitude from several of his courtiers. Where they had been stiffly proper in their treatment of Findaráto, now they seemed to be more relaxed whenever his son was in their presence. He suspected that Glorfindel had much to do with it. The golden-haired elf held himself with an air of easy grace. He was not arrogant or prideful, but neither was he subservient. He was courteous to all, but he did not suffer fools gladly and he treated the lowest member of the King’s household with the same respect as he treated the King himself.

Sador, they safely ignored, and while the young elf did not seem to mind, both Finrod and Glorfindel were angered by the lack of respect the Sinda was receiving.

"I’m a potter and the son of a potter," Sador said after Finrod complained on his behalf to his atar during dinner one night. "I’m no hero and no Elf-lord to command respect. I am grateful for your friendship, Lord Finrod, but I do know my place."

"Your place?" Finrod retorted. "Your place should be beside your family, living in peace. Instead you died trying to protect your sister and spent the next several centuries in Mandos. Your place is where I say it is and I say it is beside me as my friend and if the rest of the court doesn’t like it they can go hang."

The Noldorin prince stormed out of the room, leaving everyone there nonplused, unable to look at each other. Finally, Arafinwë cleared his throat and spoke to Sador, who was downcast and feeling guilty for being the cause of so much trouble.

"Sador, look at me." The young ellon looked up into the face of the King, who smiled kindly at him. "My son, precipitous though he is, is correct. You have nothing for which you need be ashamed. You have lived a life and have died a death none of my people have ever experienced, nor will they. Son of a potter or no, you have my deepest respect."

And to the amazement of all, Sador not the least, the King of the Noldor stood and bowed to the young ellon. Glorfindel watched with a smile on his face.

****

Glorfindel went to find Finrod after that, telling Sador that perhaps he should look for the prince by himself.

"He might not like an audience," Glorfindel had said and Sador agreed, saying he would return to their suite and await him.

Glorfindel eventually found Finrod sitting in an oak tree out by one of the gardens surrounding the palace.

"Now, I would have thrown all my clothes off before climbing the tree," the golden-haired elf said as he ascended the tree to sit on the branch just below the one Finrod was on.

Finrod just snorted. "The last time I did that, Atar gave me a lecture that would have had Lord Námo on his knees quaking."

Glorfindel laughed lightly. "I’ll remember that the next time the urge takes me, then."

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted to be sure you were well, meldonya."

Finrod sighed. "I am well, but I am troubled."

"Tell me."

Finrod looked down at his friend, their eyes meeting. "What did we do to deserve so much contempt?"

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at that. "You mean the Noldor who fled Aman? Well, that’s easy..."

"No, I mean all of us. You, me, Sador..."

"Ah, now I see," Glorfindel said and shrugged. "Died?"

"Why would that..."

"Finrod," Glorfindel interrupted somewhat sharply. "Death is not a natural condition of the Firstborn as it is with the Secondborn. You and I and Sador and all the other Reborn are an embarrassment, a stain on the perfection that is Aman and the Once-born cannot handle it."

"Is that what you call them?" Finrod said with an amused snigger.

"Why? What do you call them?" Glorfindel asked, hiding a smile.

Finrod snorted. "Nothing good and my amillë would skin me alive if she ever heard the words I use to describe them."

"Huh. Well, in that case, you’re free to borrow mine if it keeps you safe from your amillë."

For a few moments the two friends sat in companionable silence.

"So what are we going to do about it?" Finrod finally asked.

"We? Where do you get the idea that 'we' will do anything?"

"What, the famous Balrog-slayer not up to the challenge?"

"Fine. ‘We’ then, but I’m including Sador in that ‘we’."

"I wouldn’t have it any other way." Finrod bent down and reached out a hand which Glorfindel took and pulled his friend up to his branch. "Just don’t whine about it, all right?"

"I never whine!" Glorfindel practically screamed and the tree rustled its branches in sleepy disapproval while the two friends laughed.

When Arafinwë’s guards finally tracked the two ellyn down after the King had sent his people out to look for them, they were amazed to find the two ellyn sitting in the oak, their arms wrapped around each other, fast asleep. When Arafinwë was summoned he gave a weary sigh and shook his head, but quietly dismissed the guards as he sat under the tree to watch over the two younger elves himself.

Some adjustments are going to be harder than others, Arafinwë thought sourly as he listened to the gentle breathing of the two above him and then smiled. Perhaps, he admitted to himself, but the alternative didn’t bear thinking about. He leaned against the oak trying to get comfortable. He didn’t really need to sit out here all night standing guard. This was, after all, Tirion, not some wild wood of Endórë where unknown dangers lurked. But he had decided he did not wish to leave the watching of his son to another. He had lost Findaráto once, he would not lose him again.

When Eärwen came out some time later to check on her menfolk it was to find the King of the Noldor fast asleep beneath the oak while high above her son and her son’s friend shared a tree branch for their own bed. Shaking her head in weary amusement, she nestled next to her husband and slipped into the Path of Dreams with a smile on her face.

The next morning when the chief gardener came at dawn to check on her plants she found the royal family asleep either beneath the old oak or in it and slipped quietly away to warn the guards who normally patrolled the area to keep everyone away from the gardens.

****

Turucáno: The Quenya form of the Sindarin Turgon.

Itarildë: The Quenya form of the Sindarin Idril.

15: An Unexpected Meeting

Sador woke that morning to the realization that Glorfindel had never returned, but was not upset. He accepted that his two friends had a special relationship and he was happy enough to be able to share in it in whatever way they were willing to let him. He made his way to the dining hall to break his fast to find that only Amarië was there to greet him. Where the King and Queen were, none could or would say. Amarië looked put out and barely spoke to him. He ate quickly and made his way out to wander through the gardens until such time as Glorfindel and Finrod found him.

He was curious as to why guards stood at watch around a particular garden but was disinclined to ask, shy and uncertain of his status in the King’s household. The one guard he spoke to, asking directions to a particular fountain he remembered seeing but could no longer recall where, had spoken to him courteously enough and had even offered to show him the most direct path.

"Thank you," Sador said with a short bow. "I think I remember the way now." The guard nodded and Sador continued on his way, moving quietly along the path to the fountain. It was neither the largest nor even the loveliest fountain he had seen here, but it was his favorite — a pair of elflings frolicking with dolphins whose blow holes were the fountain itself. For some reason it reminded him of the Havens at Sirion. He remembered watching his sister play on the beach with the other elflings....

It was not until a handkerchief was thrust under his nose that Sador was even aware that he was crying. He looked up to see Glorfindel and Finrod standing there. They both looked sympathetic and when they sat down on either side of him he blurted out, "I miss my sister," and began crying all over again, much to his disgust and dismay.

Finrod put an arm around the younger ellon and held him close. He whispered, "I miss my sister, too," and Sador felt a little better, knowing that there was one who understood what he was feeling.

He pulled himself out of Finrod’s embrace, wiping his nose. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean..."

Finrod placed a finger on the ellon’s lips. "No apology is necessary, my friend, to us least of all."

"Finrod is correct, Sador," Glorfindel said softly, stroking the ellon’s hair. "Apologies are not needed between us. We’ve all been through much and know better than others what each is feeling and experiencing as we try to reclaim our lives. Lord Irmo told me that not all tears were an evil and often they offer renewal to our spirits. Weep if you must, and know that your tears are safe with us."

And with that Sador allowed himself to let go and to mourn for all that he had lost. How long he sat there between his two friends weeping he could not say, though the sun was barely halfway up the sky when he began to take notice of his surroundings again, so it could not have been all that long. Glorfindel and Finrod had taken turns holding him in their arms, murmuring softly words of comfort that only his fëa heard.

"Why don’t you wash your face and then we will go somewhere less public and talk," Finrod said when the tears finally began to slow and Sador complied, stooping down to splash some water from the fountain. He was feeling less melancholy, but he was still somewhat subdued and he was disinclined to engage in the easy banter that he enjoyed between his friends and the other two ellyn respected him enough not to try to cajole him into a lighter mood.

They made their way to Finrod’s own study where cool fruit drinks awaited them. Finrod motioned for his two friends to make themselves comfortable and they complied. For a while, none spoke, simply sipping their drinks and relaxing in each other’s company. It was Sador who finally broke the silence, looking at Glorfindel, but pointing at Finrod with his glass.

"Where did you find him?"

Glorfindel smiled. "In a tree, of course."

Sador raised an eyebrow. "Naked?" he asked, for he knew that Finrod had shared Glorfindel’s proclivity for removing all clothing when first re-embodied.

"Of course not!" Finrod protested. "What do you take me for?"

Sador shrugged. "Well one golden-haired Noldo is much like another..." He leapt out of his chair even as the other two converged on him, for he had half expected the attack. Laughing, he deftly avoided capture and ran to the door, throwing it open. "Catch me!" he cried as he ran down the hall past startled servants and guards with Glorfindel and Finrod running after him shouting imprecations and laughing at the same time. Sador rounded a corner and slowed as he realized that he had reached a dead end. He was in a short corridor with only a single door at the other end.

By now the other two ellyn had caught up and were nearly upon him so he ran down the corridor and threw open the door just as Finrod and Glorfindel gave shouts of triumph and tackled him. All three fell into the room in a laughing heap to find several swords pointed at them. Finrod was the first to realize just where they had landed.

"Uh-oh, we are so dead," he said in a strained voice.

"Again?" Glorfindel asked from the bottom of the heap, for somehow Sador had managed to get on top of him. He could see enough of the room and its occupants to have a fair idea just where they were and knew they were in deep trouble.

Sador’s eyes had gone very wide and he went very still. The sight of all those swords and the grim looks on the faces of the guards nearly unnerved him as flashes of the last time a sword had been pointed his way crossed his mind and he gave a slight whimper and hid his face in Glorfindel’s chest. Finrod patted him on the back.

"It’s all right, Sador," he said soothingly. "They won’t hurt you. Come now, I think it best if we get off the floor."

The swords never wavered as the three ellyn attempted to untangle themselves and climb to their feet. Beyond the ring of swords they saw Arafinwë standing with several other elves, most of them Teleri by their looks. The King had a resigned look on his face; most of the others were trying to hide smiles. The Telerin lord standing next to Arafinwë with an amused expression on his face was silver-haired and Finrod felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of this particular elf. He bowed and the other two ellyn copied him.

"My apologies, Atar," Finrod said as he straightened. "Glorfindel and I were chasing Sador and we...er...well we..."

"I see," came the quiet reply from the King. "And may one enquire as to why my firstborn son and a lord of the Noldor are running down the halls of my palace chasing after my ward?"

Sador gave a startled gasp. Ward? He was a royal ward? He felt the blood drain from his face, unsure how he should react to the King’s words.

Glorfindel came to his rescue by reaching up and slapping the back of Finrod’s head.

"Ouch! What did you do that for? Sador’s the one who started it."

"But you’re the oldest and should’ve known better," Glorfindel retorted smugly and many there chuckled, for the tone was just like any adult reprimanding a child, one some of them had used on their own elflings.

Sador completed the tableau by sticking out his tongue at Finrod and the silver-haired Telerin lord burst out laughing, soon joined by the others. Arafinwë gave an unspoken signal and the swords were put away and the guards moved back to their original positions against the walls. The King beckoned for the three ellyn to approach.

"Findaráto will you not offer your grandfather a kinsman’s greeting?"

Finrod hesitated for only a moment before turning to the Telerin lord, "Welcome, Anatar," he said softly and allowed his grandfather to take him into his embrace. They gave each other the kiss of close kin and Olwë of Alqualondë smiled at his inyo, stroking his hair.

"I am glad to see you again, hinya. These eyes have longed to look upon my daughter’s children and now my prayers have been granted, at least in part."

"And these two are in my keeping as well," Arafinwë said as he beckoned for Glorfindel and Sador to step forward. "This is Laurefindil, who prefers to be called Glorfindel, and who was a lord of Ondolindë, which was ruled by my nephew, Turucáno. And this is Sador, once of Lestanórë, ruled by your own brother, Elwë. Glorfindel, Sador, this is Olwë of Alqualondë, King of the Teleri of Aman and Atar to my beloved Eärwen."

Olwë of Alqualondë nodded in greeting as the two ellyn bowed again even more deeply than before. He raised an eyebrow at Arafinwë, "Your keeping?"

Arafinwë gave his guest a wry look. "Yes. Lord Námo apparently has decided it would do me good to care for elflings once again." He gave a long-suffering sigh and a pointed look at the three ellyn standing there, but Olwë wasn’t fooled.

He had seen how saddened Arafinwë had been upon returning to Tirion without his children and even more so when he returned after the War of Wrath having learned that all but one of his children were dead and his one surviving child denied the right to return with the other Exiles.

He, himself, had been reeling still from his own grief at the death and destruction caused by Fëanáro and his following, but he never blamed Arafinwë for his half-brother’s madness. The two had ended up helping one another through their grief. Now Olwë saw that his son-in-law and fellow ruler looked happier than he had seen him in too long. The look of exasperated love on Arafinwë’s face as the Noldorin king spoke to Findaráto and his friends was plain to see and Olwë rejoiced that his son-in-law was at last finding healing for himself.

Olwë laughed. "Ah, yes. I recall that when some of my own people were released there were a number of so-called adults running around playing games. We weren’t sure what to think of it at first, but eventually we decided to accept the inevitable and enjoy it while it lasted."

"The inevitable?" Arafinwë asked with a raised eyebrow.

Olwë nodded and winked at Arafinwë. "Demands for bedtime stories and drinks of water, not to mention a refusal to eat anything green."

Arafinwë practically sniggered. "Removing all items of clothing without a by-your-leave and climbing trees naked," he rejoined and watched in parental delight as both Finrod and Glorfindel turned interesting shades of red.

Olwë, when he noticed that Sador did not react with embarrassment at Arafinwë’s words, gave the Sinda a questioning look. Sador returned the Telerin king’s look with a virtuous smile of his own. "I know how to keep my clothes on." The tone was that of a very smug elfling.

The two kings glanced at each other at that and burst out laughing and the others joined them, except, Arafinwë noticed, his son and Sador. Both were looking a bit pale, though he suspected for different reasons. Deciding to tackle the easier of the two, he turned to the young Sinda.

"What is wrong, yonya? Are you well?"

Sador looked at Arafinwë and swallowed nervously. He felt Glorfindel put a hand on his shoulder and give him a comforting squeeze. "It...it’s just that...I’m your ward?" he ended, the sense of confusion evident in his face and voice.

Arafinwë sighed and beckoned Sador closer. "You are past your majority, Sador, at least if we consider chronological reckoning, but do you really think you are ready to take on adult responsibilities, yet? You have been returned to innocence, an innocence not yet tempered with experience, and therefore with wisdom."

Sador still felt confused. "You mean... I’m...you think... I’m too stupid?" his tone was one of hurt and anguish and Sador suddenly felt the need to run away and climb his own tree, but Arafinwë held him close to him.

"Stupid? Not in the least. You’re very intelligent, but you’re not very wise, not yet, and there’s a difference between the two. I think Lord Námo released you into my care because he knew you would have no one to look after you otherwise."

"But I don’t need looking after," Sador protested and Glorfindel suddenly laughed.

"If anyone needs looking after, it’s you my young friend."

Now Sador turned to Glorfindel, his eyes brimming with tears and there was anger in his voice, anger that made him sound very young indeed, though he did not realize it. "How can you say that? I’m not the one climbing trees in the middle of the night and... and hiding!"

"No you’re not, but listen to you," Glorfindel admonished. "You sound like a fifteen year old."

That was the last straw and with a wordless cry Sador flung himself at Glorfindel only to be stopped by Arafinwë pulling him back into his embrace and holding him tightly, allowing the ellon to vent his anger and frustration on him. Sador was crying now, though the tears were those of embarrassment rather than anger. Arafinwë glanced at Olwë and rolled his eyes.

"And you thought this was going to be a peaceful visit with family."

Olwë laughed. "If I wanted peace, I would have stayed home." He nodded at Sador. "You have him in hand? Good. Now it’s your turn," and he glanced piercingly at Finrod who stared back at his grandfather with a sick expression on his face. Olwë noticed Glorfindel gazing at his friend with concern. "Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked gently, for Olwë of Alqualondë had noticed Findaráto’s reaction on seeing him. It was the first time they had laid eyes on one another since before the Kinslaying, and Olwë suspected a residual sense of guilt for what happened during the Rebellion lay on his grandson’s shoulders and needed to be addressed. He was surprised therefore at Findaráto’s words when he finally spoke.

"You look just like him!"

"Like whom, inyo?"

"Ce-Celeborn. You look like Celeborn."

Now it was Olwë’s turn to look puzzled but he noticed that young Sador had ceased his tears and turned in Arafinwë’s embrace to look at him more closely.

"Does he?" he asked curiously, his previous temper nearly forgotten. "I never saw Lord Celeborn or his lady. Do they truly look alike?"

"And just who is this Celeborn?" Olwë asked, but it was Arafinwë who answered, suddenly divining his son’s distress. Of course, knowing Finrod’s history with the court of Doriath....

"Celeborn is your brother Elmo’s grandson and my son-in-law."

Olwë stared at the King of the Noldor in shock. "My... great-nephew?"

"Last time I looked that was the proper designation," Arafinwë said with amusement. It was rare that anyone flummoxed the Telerin king and he was enjoying the sight.

Finrod nodded. "He was like a brother to me, though many among the Exiles resented him for ‘stealing’ Artanis away, as they thought. But frankly, if anyone was doing the stealing it was my sister. One only had to look at Celeborn to know that she had stolen his heart and put it in safe keeping for herself."

Olwë nodded, looking thoughtful. "That sounds like my inyë. So, I look like this great-nephew I have never seen?"

Finrod nodded but said nothing. Olwë gave the younger elf a wry smile. "Then I forgive you for your less than enthusiastic welcome, inyonya. I am sorry if I am the cause of any distress on your part."

"Nay, anatar, it is I who should apologize. It’s just... seeing you... it brought back memories."

"Bad memories?"

Finrod looked at his grandfather in surprise. "Oh no, good ones. Very good ones."

Olwë smiled and beckoned Finrod into his embrace into which the ellon went willingly. "Then perhaps you would care to share those memories with me during my visit." He then looked up at Sador, still in Arafinwë’s arms. "And perhaps, young Sador, you would share some memories of Lestanórë. I would like to hear of the kingdom my brother Elwë carved for himself."

Sador looked doubtful. "I... I was only an elfling when we were forced to flee Doriath. I don’t have very good memories of that time."

"But you have good memories of Doriath from before that don’t you?" Arafinwë asked gently.

Sador looked at the King, his eyes wide, for he had not thought of that. So many of his memories had centered around pain, horror and terror, he had almost forgotten that there had been love and laughter, as well. "Oh yes," he said simply.

Olwë nodded. "Then it’s settled. Why don’t we dispense with all this formality, my son, and go somewhere where we can share memories with these youngsters."

"Sounds good to me, and I know Eärwen would enjoy hearing about her kinsmen, as well."

"Hey! What about me?" Glorfindel asked, beginning to feel left out. "Doesn’t anyone want to hear about my memories, too?"

Finrod and Sador exchanged brief glances, then identical smiles wreathed their faces as they turned back to their friend.

"Don’t whine!" they said almost simultaneously.

"I never whine!" Glorfindel yelled and stamped his foot in frustration.

Arafinwë laughed and, keeping Sador in his embrace with one arm, drew the golden-haired elf into his embrace with the other. Olwë continued to hold Findaráto. One thing was for sure, Arafinwë thought with a smile as he rocked the two ellyn in his arms, life had just gotten a bit more interesting with these two now part of his household.

****

Manwë shared a smile with Námo and Varda as they stood on the balcony of the main audience chamber of the Valar on Taniquetil.

"I see everything’s going as planned," he said, looking at Námo.

"Yes," the Lord of Mandos said. "The healing has begun... for all of them."

Varda looked pensive. "Will it be enough, though?"

Námo shrugged. "It’s a start. Before Aman can be healed, its rulers must be healed first. Finrod, Glorfindel and Sador will lead the way. The rest is up to them."

Manwë nodded and then smirked. "Now, if they can just teach Glorfindel not to whine."

All three of them laughed and the sound of it pierced the circles of Arda and echoed in the Timeless Halls where Ilúvatar joined them in their laughter. For a moment that seemed eternal, all of Arda brightened and hearts everywhere were eased of worry and care, though they knew not the source of their sudden joy.

For a moment....

****

Lestanórë: The Quenya name for Doriath.

Anatar: Grandfather.

Inyo: Grandchild, grandson. The form indyo appears to be Vanyarin rather than Noldorin.

Inyë: Granddaughter.

inyonya: My grandson.

A note on family relationships: Celeborn’s history is unclear and he is known only as Elu Thingol’s kinsman in the received texts. For purposes of this story, I have made him the grandson of Elu’s and Olwë’s brother, Elmo, whose fate is presently unknown, though more than likely he died early in the wars against Morgoth.

16: Progress

Olwë’s visit proved beneficial on a number of levels.

He and Finrod were seen walking the gardens several times, deep in conversation. They spent many hours speaking about Endórë. Olwë was interested in hearing everything Finrod was willing to tell him about his brother, Elwë, and about Teleporno.

"You would like him Anatar," Finrod said one day as they walked the paths of the Queen’s rose garden. "When I first met Celeborn he held himself with such quiet dignity, his power so understated, that many of us dismissed him out of hand."

"Including you?" Olwë asked shrewdly.

Finrod blushed and nodded. "Including me. I admit that that was not my finest hour. It was only when Galad... I mean Artanis began to speak of him with words of love that I began to rethink my first impressions. My sister would never have fallen in love with anyone whom she did not think her equal in everything."

"No," Olwë mused, "Artanis had definite ideas about that."

Finrod grinned and Olwë found himself grinning as well. "So what, besides my inyë’s protestations of love, convinced you that my great-nephew was worthy of your respect?"

Finrod stopped and Olwë was forced to halt as well. The younger elf stared out across the garden without really seeing it, remembering. Olwë waited patiently, willing to stand there all day if necessary. Finally, Finrod came to himself and looked at his grandfather.

"He came to me and asked for my permission to court my sister."

Olwë raised an eyebrow at that. That one simple gesture on the part of a Sindarin prince and his inyo had offered him his love and respect before all. He stared at Finrod, seeing his grandson in a new light. It had taken great courage on both their parts, Teleporno’s and Findaráto’s, to bridge the chasm of culture and history, but they had, and he suspected, the world would never be the same for any of them again because a Noldorin king had welcomed a Sindarin prince as his brother.

"I am glad, then, for my granddaughter’s sake, that at least one of her brothers approved of her union."

"So am I," came Finrod’s heart-felt reply.

****

Later, Olwë broached a different subject with his grandson, not entirely sure how to go about it, but knowing it had to be addressed ere he left for Alqualondë. He had spoken first to Arafinwë to get a better idea of what Findaráto remembered of his previous life.

"All the memories are there, Atar," Arafinwë had said. "It’s the emotional content that is missing. It was stripped from him when he underwent judgment, I understand."

"Why?"

Arafinwë had shrugged, not really sure of the answer himself. "I suspect it has something to do with being returned to a state of innocence. My son tells me that until he was re-embodied he had no memory of his life before dying. He existed in an eternal Now without past or future."

Olwë had looked thoughtful. "Then you think I should not speak to him?"

"Nay, Atar. I think you need to speak to him, not for his sake, but for yours."

Olwë had given his son-in-law an appraising look. "When did you become so wise, yonya?"

Arafinwë had chuckled. "The day I married your daughter, I think."

They both had laughed at that.

Now, Olwë walked once more in the rose garden with Finrod. It was early evening and the scent of the roses lingered in the cooling air. "There is something that I must say, inyonya," the King of Alqualondë finally said after they had been walking in companionable silence for a while.

"What is it Anatar?"

"What happened in Alqualondë..."

Finrod froze, his face turning white under starlight and Olwë grabbed his arm to steady him.

"You remember." It was not a question.

Finrod nodded. "Yes, I remember." He looked into his grandfather’s eyes. "The Valar know I wish I didn’t."

Olwë nodded and pulled Finrod into his embrace. "As do I, inyonya. As do I. I want to tell you that I never blamed you or your atar for what happened there. The fault lies squarely with Fëanáro, no one else. I didn’t want you to feel guilt over what occurred."

Finrod shook his head. "I don’t feel any guilt, Anatar. I don’t really feel anything, except sadness for all the waste, for all the tears and grief. When I was first re-embodied Lord Námo told me that all judgments have been rendered and all debts paid. I have to believe that, all of us Reborn do. It’s the only way any of us can go on, in spite of our memories."

Olwë closed his eyes, tears beginning to form, as he thought what his beloved grandson had endured both before and after death. "Thank you," he whispered and Finrod pulled back to look at Olwë in surprise.

"For what?"

Olwë kissed Finrod’s brow and stroked his hair. "I’m not thanking you, child. I’m thanking Lord Námo for giving me back my grandson." Then he pulled Finrod back into his embrace and held him as if he would never let him go. Finrod, for his part, felt indescribably happy and safe in his anatar’s arms.

"Thank you", Olwë whispered again, sending the thought winging into the night.

*You are most welcome, child.* Olwë looked up but saw no one and decided he’d just imagined that voice speaking to him.

****

Sador also benefited from Olwë’s visit. At first the young Sinda felt uncomfortable and shy around the self-assured Telerin lord, but Olwë’s easy manner and deprecating humor soon put the ellon at ease and he found that he enjoyed being in the king’s presence. Olwë, for his part, was extremely interested in hearing about his brother Elwë’s kingdom and the Maia Queen who had captured his heart.

"We searched long and long for him, you know," he said to Sador as they sat under an arbor and talked. "But eventually I had to make the decision to leave with my people. Lord Ulmo was growing impatient. I did not wish to leave without knowing of my brother’s fate, but I had no choice."

Sador could not think of what to say to that so he remained silent. Olwë looked at the young ellon under lowered lashes. He and Arafinwë had had many discussions over goblets of wine about Sador and what should be done for him.

"With your leave, Atar," Arafinwë had said, "I would like to continue holding his wardship, even though I know that technically speaking he should be sent to Tol Eressëa or even Alqualondë to live with whatever kin might be found there."

Olwë had shaken his head. "I think if the Valar had wished that, they would have sent someone to greet him when he was released. I do not think it coincidence that he walked through the Gates with Glorfindel. Those two were meant to be together."

Arafinwë had nodded. "I agree."

In the end, it was decided that Sador would remain in Tirion under Arafinwë’s care. "I have in mind certain plans for our young Sinda," Arafinwë told Olwë, though what those plans were, he did not immediately say.

Now, looking at the ellon sitting in the shade of the arbor with him he knew that they had made the right decision. Sinda or no, Sador belonged here in Tirion. "Thank you for sharing your memories of... Doriath, Sador," Olwë finally said, speaking haltingly in Sindarin, stumbling a bit over the unfamiliar words. He had decided that it was time he paid more attention to his Sindarin subjects and resolved to learn something of their language. It had been his brother’s language after all. Glorfindel and Finrod had been pleased to give him his first lessons. "I hope someday you will come and visit me in Alqualondë, " he ended, switching to Quenya, for he had exhausted his store of Sindarin with that one simple sentence.

Sador bowed. "Le hannon, my lord. I would like that," answering in Sindarin, pleased that this ancient lord of the Teleri would deign to learn the language spoken by the elves of Ennorath.

"There is another matter I wish to discuss with you before I leave," Olwë then said and Sador gave him a polite nod. "If you wish, I will make enquiries among my people for any news of your family. It is possible that some who returned to Tol Eressëa will have remembered them."

Sador’s eyes lit up with delight. "It would please me very much, lord."

"I cannot promise to have news, but I will do what I can."

Sador simply nodded but the look of hope on the ellon’s face was enough for Olwë to make a promise to himself: whatever it took, whoever he must importune, be it Manwë himself, he would discover the truth and if it were in his power he would see this young ellon reunited with his family.

****

Arafinwë, meanwhile, had made arrangements for Tirion’s best potter to come to the palace and interview Sador. He knew that the Sinda wished to pursue his atar’s craft and Arafinwë was amenable to the idea.

Thus, on an otherwise ordinary day, an extraordinary event occurred in Tirion that had half the city talking (the other half were too shocked otherwise): Netilmírë Cemenariel, who had refused to go to Taniquetil at the summons of the Valar, stating she had more important things to do than curry favor from people who had no real need of her wares, deigned to leave her workshop to answer the King’s summons.

Many who saw her walk up the malinornë-lined colonnade towards the palace recalled when a Maia had been summarily sent packing by this most cantankerous elf. They often wondered why the Wrath of Mandos hadn’t fallen on her at her refusal to attend the Valar, little suspecting that the said Lord of Mandos had laughed himself silly when the Maia had returned with Netilmírë’s answer, then had turned to Manwë with a wicked smile.

"I win that one, brother."

Manwë had had the grace to concede defeat. "She refuses the Valar; let us see if she refuses a king."

Now, walking up to the palace gate and announcing herself, Netilmírë wondered at her decision. She had been half-inclined to dismiss the King’s messenger as she had dismissed the Maia, but something stayed her and curiosity overcame her initial antipathy. She did not take apprentices anymore. The last one... she shook her head at the memory. Ezelmiril had been so gifted and the waste of it all. Still, the king’s message had intrigued her enough that she took greater care to wash the clay from under her fingernails and donned her best gown, one she had not worn in... well, in ages, to be honest. She even braided her chestnut brown hair in the style of the day, something she hadn’t bothered with for too long.

She was escorted, not to an audience chamber, but to a workshop where she found the King and a young ellon staring at a brand-new potter’s wheel as if not quite sure what to do with it. A tub of blue clay favored by the potters of Tirion stood nearby.

"It doesn’t bite, you know," she could not help saying, smiling as both elves started at her voice. She gave a low curtsey. "My lord king summoned me."

Arafinwë collected himself, refusing to be baited. "Thank you Mistress Netilmírë, I appreciate you taking the time to indulge me," he said with a short bow, dismissing the escort silently.

"I am my lord’s to command," she said without a trace of irony.

Arafinwë had to smile at that. "Mine, but not the Valar?"

The Master of the Potter’s Guild had the grace to blush, but otherwise did not respond.

"This is Sador, recently returned from Mandos, and my ward," Arafinwë said, making the introductions.

So, this is one of the Reborn, she thought, as the ellon stumbled through a greeting. He didn’t look too promising. His fingers twisted nervously in the hem of his tunic and his Quenya was barely adequate. She wasn’t sure how she could communicate with him effectively enough to teach him anything. Deciding not to beat around the bush — not her style anyway — she pointed to the wheel, virgin of any clay.

"Show me what you can do."

Sador glanced at the King, who nodded encouragingly, then went to the tub of clay and began the process of preparing it for shaping, finally placing it on the wheel. Netilmírë made no comments and her expression could have been carved in stone, but her eyes never left Sador’s and noted every movement, every hesitation. Arafinwë stood to one side fascinated as he watched his young ward sit before the wheel.

Sador turned to Netilmírë. "What should I make?"

The Master of the Potter’s Guild shook her head. "What the clay tells you to make, of course."

The Sinda stared at the Master Potter for a moment before nodding. It was something he remembered his adar saying to him once, early in his apprenticeship, before they were forced to flee Doriath. He stared at the lump of clay for a moment longer before starting the wheel, dipping his hands in water. As soon as he touched the clay and felt it being shaped all thought of anything else fled and he became one with his burgeoning creation. How long he sat there, shaping the clay into a thing of beauty, he did not know, but suddenly he knew, without knowing how he knew, that it was finished and he stopped, staring at the vase that stood before him.

It was not tall, perhaps two hands high, but there was a delicacy to it that even Arafinwë recognized. The lip of the vase was flared and indented to give it the look of petals opening. Sador took a deep breath and looked up into the eyes of the one person who would determine his future.

Netilmírë had watched the ellon at the wheel, noting all his errors of execution, hoping to be able to say he was not worthy of being her or anyone else’s apprentice, but in the end, when the wheel stopped and she saw what lay there, she knew she could not. She raised her eyes to the King who stood impassively by, waiting to hear her judgment.

"The usual terms?" she asked without preamble.

Arafinwë shook his head. "He will come to you two days a week and every fourth week you may have him for the entire time, but he will spend the nights here."

Both Netilmírë and Sador had raised their eyebrows at that.

"I cannot pay him his full wages then," Netilmírë said. "The Guild rules are quite specific about that."

"Sador will never lack for money, Mistress," the King rejoined. "Put aside what his wages would be for the time he spends with you as is normal and when he has finished his apprenticeship you may give him what he is owed."

The Master Potter nodded. "May I ask why..."

Arafinwë glanced at Sador then smiled. "I have decided that my ward will receive training in diplomacy so he may eventually act as my son’s aide. It is my wish that Sador become a member of my court, that is, if you are amenable to the idea, yonya."

Sador could only sit there and nod, too stunned to do more. Arafinwë looked at Netilmírë. "Are we agreed, Mistress?"

But Netilmírë was not finished. "If you have already decided that Sador will be a member of your court, what need does he have of me?"

"The need of every artist, Netilmírë," came the quiet reply from the King. "His soul aches to create beauty and you are best equipped to help him there. With all the ages of Arda before us, can we not engage in more than one occupation? Someday I hope to leave the governance of the Noldor to my son and retire to Lórien where I plan to sit at Lord Irmo’s feet and learn what he would teach me, but that day is far off. Meanwhile, my son needs people he can rely on and so Sador will learn the art of diplomacy and politics, but I will not deny him his gift for creating beauty either."

Netilmírë stared at the King for several long moments, processing what she had heard, then nodded. "He may come to me on the second and fifth days of the week. I will have the necessary papers filed with the Guild."

When the news that Netilmírë Cemenariel had actually agreed to take on an apprentice, and a Reborn Sinda at that, silence fell upon Tirion for the shock of it, but high on Taniquetil, Námo and Manwë smiled at one another, pleased that things were coming together at last.

****

Glorfindel, meanwhile, remained in the background, keeping a watch on his two friends, glad that wounds were beginning to heal for both of them and for the King’s family. He had rejoiced at Sador’s news about the apprenticeship as well as Arafinwë’s wish for him to eventually become Finrod’s diplomatic aide. Finrod, in full agreement with his atar, had declared that they must celebrate, which they did by getting uproariously drunk, though no one seemed to mind.

Of course, not everyone was pleased that the Sinda would be training as a diplomatic aide to the prince and one or two of the younger courtiers were stupid enough to wonder out loud in Glorfindel’s and Finrod’s hearing why Sador didn’t just stick to being a potter and leave diplomacy for those born to it.

"What does ‘being born to it’, as you put it, have to do with anything?" Finrod had asked, beginning to get angry.

"That anyone of noble blood would stoop to get their hands dirty by engaging in a trade is just ridiculous," one of them opined with obvious contempt.

Finrod was ready to lambast the offender but Glorfindel held him back and asked his friend in a nonchalant manner, "Did they teach you any skills in Lórien?"

At first Finrod was unsure what Glorfindel was asking and then light dawned and he nodded. "Well, the harp, of course, but while I was there I learned how to weave baskets."

"Baskets?" Glorfindel asked, intrigued in spite of himself.

"Oh yes," Finrod nodded enthusiastically. "Did you know there’s a certain method of weaving to assure that the basket does not fall apart? If you don’t do it just right you have a real mess on your hands."

Glorfindel gave a sideways glance at the ellyn listening open-mouthed to their prince extolling the virtues of weaving baskets and hid a grin. "Anything else?"

"Hmm. Lord Aulë’s people taught me how to make horseshoes and tackle. I wanted to make a sword but Lord Aulë said horseshoes were more practical and they wouldn’t let me ride a horse until I had learned how to shoe one. What about you?"

"Well, I learned ribbon embroidery from Vairë’s handmaidens and bee-keeping from Yavanna’s people. Let me see... oh, and I can make jewelry, too, though I really don’t have the soul for it. Still, Lord Aulë was pleased with my efforts. He said learning to manipulate such small instruments would help my coordination immensely."

They turned to Sador with an unspoken question and the ellon shrugged. "All I wanted to do was be a potter."

Glorfindel and Finrod smiled at that. "That’s all right, meldonya," Finrod said. "You just be the best potter you can be. I’ll leave the bee-keeping to Glorfindel."

After that, no one said anything disparaging about Sador in Finrod’s presence again, and not a few ellyn began to reconsider their prince, the image of the firstborn son of their King happily weaving baskets too incongruous not to make an impression on them.

****

Teleporno: Telerin Quenya form of Celeborn.

Malinornë: Quenya form mallorn.

17: An Elleth Scorned

Amarië had had it!

Bad enough, she thought, as she stormed out of the dining room, that Findaráto practically ignored her, but now to find out that that...Sinda was going to become his diplomatic aide? That was too much. How could Findaráto even consider a... a lowborn...potter as his equal? It was all Glorfindel’s fault and she had had to bite her tongue to stop herself from openly accusing him of manipulating Arafinwë into giving that damn Sinda the position. She had tried to pretend that she was happy for Sador but in the end she could not keep up the front and so she had fled. Now she raced out of the palace and into one of the gardens, too incensed to know or care where she was going.

And on top of that, she fumed, when, the night before, she had broached the subject of their betrothal — again! — Findaráto had dismissed her with false endearments, saying he needed more time. TIME! How much time did he need?

"As much time as you are willing to give him."

Amarië froze. That voice had come from behind her but she was sure she had been alone in the garden, angrily plucking the petals off an unoffending rose, and that voice sounded strangely familiar to her. She turned slowly around and her eyes widened and then she screamed.

And could not stop. She screamed and ran blindly, heedless of where she was going, only knowing she had to get away, get away from HIM.

Námo watched the elleth run through the garden and sighed. Maybe it’s the clothes, he thought wryly and heard his beloved spouse’s laughter in his mind. *I keep telling you, my love, black is really not your color.*

The Lord of Mandos mentally stuck his tongue out and more than one Vala’s laughter echoed in his mind as he set off to retrieve this errant daughter.

Amarië stopped running but only because she had crashed into a wall in her blind panic. Now she lay there in a huddle weeping, blood pouring from a head wound. She felt dizzy and disoriented and she feared she would be sick. She felt hands lift her up and she shuddered, knowing whose they were, but the hands and the voice that accompanied them were gentle and loving and her initial fright faded until she was merely whimpering in pain and confusion.

"Hush now. There is no need for tears, child," Námo said softly, placing a hand on the head wound. It was shallow but had bled copiously and the elleth was covered with blood. He closed the wound and took her to a nearby fountain where he washed the blood off her face and hands, all the time speaking calmly, allowing her time to adjust.

"You’ve been behaving rather badly, I fear, child," Námo said, and Amarië had blushed at the gentle reprimand. "Findaráto loves you, but you need to give him time to realize it."

"B...but why doesn’t he realize it now?" she wailed.

Námo shook his head, sitting on the edge of the fountain with the elleth and put his arm around her. "Because he can’t, child. The connections are not there, but they will be if you are patient. Someday Findaráto will know that he loves you and will come to you, but you have to be patient."

"Patient?" Amarië leapt up, anger flooding her. "Patient? When have I not been patient? I stayed here waiting and waiting and he never came back. I turned down suitors, saying in my folly that Findaráto would not find me faithless. I was the soul of patience for all those long centuries waiting for him and when he finally returns..."

She stopped, unable to continue her diatribe, the poison of her disappointment too great.

"And when he finally returned," Námo commented quietly, "you did not recognize him. Even worse, he did not recognize you."

Amarië gave a sob and crumpled to the ground before Námo’s feet. "I should have gone with him."

"No, child. You were not meant to," the Lord of Mandos countered, softly stroking her hair, the blood that had stained it gone. "You were meant to remain behind, to be a symbol for your people."

"Sy-symbol?"

"You said yourself... the soul of patience."

Amarië felt the blood rush from her face as she stared at the Lord of Mandos in disbelief and found herself leaping to her feet again, her face contorted in anger. "Is that all I am to you? To everyone? A symbol? Something to be placed on a pedestal and admired but never once think of the woman behind the symbol or her needs? Is that all I am to you? IS IT?" By now she was practically screaming in rage and without thinking of what she was doing she slapped the Vala in the face.

Silence fell as Vala and Elda stared at one another, Námo with pity, Amarië with horror. She was trembling now, not from rage, but from fear, her mind going blank and she sank to the ground with a moan waiting for her doom to fall upon her. She covered her face with her hands and rocked back and forth, despair settling coldly within her fëa.

"Amarië, stand up and face me," Námo commanded, his voice soft, but it brooked no argument. Amarië tried to refuse, but couldn’t and with much reluctance gathered herself together and stood, her head bowed.

Námo allowed the silence between them to lengthen until Amarië was forced to look up. Her green-flecked eyes were dark with shame and even remorse and Námo was pleased. It meant there was hope for her yet.

He stood up and she stepped back, uncertain of what would happen. The Lord of Mandos put out his hand and she stared at it rather stupidly, not sure what was required of her.

"Take my hand, Amarië," Námo said quietly and with great reluctance the elleth complied. They began walking away from the fountain.

"Wh-where are we going, lord?" she asked with some trepidation.

Námo looked down at her with a smile that did not seem very friendly to her. "Why, to Mandos, child, where else?"

She did not remember stopping and pulling her hand out of his. She did not even remember screaming. She did remember the Lord of Mandos scooping her up like an elfling into his arms. And then she remembered no more.

****

When she came to she found herself still in a garden, but this one was different. She was lying on a sward, a light blanket around her. There was a pillow beneath her head. She gazed about her, not ready to move. Though the profusion of flowers and trees made it impossible to guess its actual size, Amarië had the impression the garden wasn’t very large. There was a small single-room cottage at one end of a dirt path that wound through the garden. No one else seemed to be about.

She sat up slowly and belatedly realized she was naked under the blanket. She snatched the blanket up, clutching it closely to her as she stood, her legs feeling a bit wobbly.

"He-hello?" she called out, though not too loudly.

"Ah, awake at last, are we?"

Amarië spun around with a gasp to find herself staring into the calm eyes of a Valië. Vairë, spouse to Námo, stood there dressed in quiet tones of blue and grey. In her arms was a gown. Amarië recognized it as hers. Vairë held it out to her.

"My spouse thought you would prefer not to have to wear blood-stained clothes and asked me to clean it for you," the Valië said in explanation. "Now, why don’t you get dressed, dear? Don’t worry," she added with a knowing smile at Amarië’s expression of dismay. "There is no one here who can see you."

Amarië nodded and began to dress, Vairë helping her with the ties. Then she led the elleth to a nearby bench and, producing a comb, began to rebraid Amarië’s hair, all the while speaking gently, as if to a frightened child.

"I’m afraid my beloved has an odd sense of humor, but you must not mind him. He enjoys his little jokes, though few appreciate them. Now, don’t you start fretting, dear. It’s not what you think."

"But, I’m in Mandos, aren’t I?" Amarië whispered, her voice hoarse with fear.

Vairë stopped her braiding and bent down to look into Amarië’s eyes. "Yes, dear, you are. But again, it’s not what you think."

But Amarië wasn’t sure what that meant. "Am...am I... dead?" she finally stuttered and she thought she might faint again. Then a Presence made itself known to her and she looked up into the dark visage of the Lord of Mandos.

"Dead? Hardly, Amarië," Námo said, not unkindly. "At least not in the physical sense of the word. You are here in spirit. Your hröa lies elsewhere carefully tended by my Maiar until such time as you are ready to return to it."

Amarië wrinkled her brow in confusion. "If I am here only in the fëa, why does everything seem solid? Even my clothes? In fact, why is my fëa even wearing clothes?"

Námo gave her a wink, much to Amarië’s shock. "Proprieties, my dear. We must always observe the proprieties." He paused and lifted an eyebrow. "Unless, of course, you would prefer standing around naked?" and he gave her a grin that, had it been on any Elda’s face, would have been insulting but on the Vala’s was merely teasing.

Amarië had the grace to blush.

"As for everything seeming to be solid," he added, "that is a consequence of being in our presence. We lend your fëa the sense of solidity that only your hröa knows."

Vairë finished the last braid as Námo spoke to the elleth and bent down again to plant a kiss on Amarië’s brow. "I will leave you now," she said softly, then she straightened and the expression of love that passed between the two Valar was too terrible for Amarië to comprehend and she had to look away. Between one blink of an eye and the next Vairë was gone and she was alone once again with the Lord of Mandos.

She felt, rather than saw, him sit down next to her, placing an arm around her shoulders and drawing her into his embrace. "I want you to listen to me very carefully, child," Námo’s voice was barely above a whisper. "You have a choice: to continue down this path of hate and anger, or to let it go and accept what is in the hope of what might be."

"I love him so much," she moaned, "why can’t he see that?"

"Is it love, or is it something else that he sees when he looks at you?"

"Wh-what do you mean, lord?"

Instead of answering, Námo stood, drawing the elleth with him. "Come. Let me show you something."

They stepped along the path and Námo led her towards a large oak. There was someone standing underneath it with various items of clothing in his hands. Without knowing how she knew, she realized this must be a Maia. At that moment he was staring up into the tree with some exasperation tinged with amusement and... love. She glanced at Námo with an unspoken question. The Vala smiled.

"His name is Olórin and he is one of my servants. He cannot see or hear us, for this is but an image of the past."

"I... I don’t understand."

"I have brought you here into the past. Your hröa could not make the journey, only your fëa, which is why your body lies in safety in one of my brother Irmo’s groves. Now, watch and listen and learn."

Amarië turned to where the Maia was still standing under the tree. He appeared to be speaking to someone she couldn’t see.

"Are you coming down or must I come up?" Olórin asked with some amusement. "I should warn you that if I have to come up there you won’t like it."

Amarië heard a sigh from somewhere in the tree and then she saw an ellon climb down to stand dejectedly in front of the Maia. Amarië felt her eyes widen and she had to turn around in embarrassment. It was Findaráto standing there and he was naked.

Námo looked at her in amusement and gently stroked her hair. "Don’t worry, hinya, your Findaráto cannot see you. Remember, this is the past. It has already happened and you can do nothing to change it. Look now." He turned her around and she was glad to see that the Maia had convinced the ellon to dress. Findaráto was rather clumsy and Olórin had to help him. Her betrothed could not even manage to put his boots on the right feet and Olórin patiently knelt and helped him, all the while speaking in soft admonishments.

"You need to keep your clothes on, child. It will not do to be found naked. It’s simply not done."

"But I don’t like clothes," the ellon protested and Amarië had to stifle a giggle. He sounded so like an elfling instead of a grown Elf.

"He is an elfling in every way that matters," Námo explained. "His fëa has been returned to its primal state of innocence and he’s learning all over again how to be an adult. It’s not an easy process and it will take years to complete."

Amarië looked on this past Findaráto and wondered. "Where are we, exactly?"

"We’re in one of the gardens of the Reborn. Findaráto has only recently been re-embodied and is learning again to integrate himself to the physical world."

She watched as Olórin finished dressing the ellon. "You cannot always hide in a tree, child, whenever things don’t go your way."

Findaráto looked petulant. "I don’t like being Reborn. Why do I have to be Reborn? It hurts too much. Why can't I go back to Mandos?"

Amarië glanced at Námo in surprise and the Lord of Mandos merely shook his head, motioning her to remain quiet.

"Not wanting to be Reborn?" Olórin exclaimed in surprise. "Why, that’s just plain ridiculous. Just think of all you will miss otherwise."

"Like what?" the ellon asked, unconvinced.

"Like this," Olórin replied and pointed down the path. Amarië looked to where the Maia was pointing and gasped in delight. Hundreds of butterflies in every shade and hue imaginable floated in the air in an elegant dance that left the viewers stunned. Amarië glanced at Findaráto and saw how transfixed he was, the expression on his face one of wonder and delight, as if he were seeing butterflies for the first time.

"As indeed he is, daughter," Námo spoke softly. "As indeed he is."

Now Amarië saw that Findaráto was weeping and the sound of his sobs was so heart wrenching that she wanted to go to him and comfort him, but knew she could not. Instead, she saw the Maia wrap his arms around her beloved and stroke his hair, crooning softly.

"Now you see what you would have missed if you hadn’t been Reborn or if you had remained hiding in the tree."

"B-but it hurts so much...and I c-can’t do anything...right."

"Hush now. Do not be so hard on yourself, hinya," the Maia said gently. "Of course it hurts, sometimes, but that’s just to remind us that we are alive. As for the rest... I’m not angry."

"Y-you’re not?"

"No. Accidents are bound to happen. You’re still trying to integrate yourself to your surroundings. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Now why don’t you come into the cottage and I’ll fix you your favorite treat."

Findaráto’s eyes lit up. "With raisins and cinnamon?" he asked excitedly as they reached the cottage.

Olórin smiled and nodded. "I’ll even cut up some apples to put into it."

Whatever Findaráto replied was lost as the door closed behind them. Amarië gave Námo a questioning look. The Vala smiled. "Porridge."

Amarië’s eyes widened. "But Findaráto hates porridge, always has."

"Not any more," Námo laughed. "It’s his favorite food, at least in this moment in time."

"I’ve never seen him eat it since he returned to us, though."

Námo shrugged. "Perhaps because everyone remembers the old Findaráto and no one’s bothered to cook it, knowing how much he hated it before. And Findaráto feels too much a stranger in his own home to make demands for favorite dishes."

Now Amarië was pensive, seeing things in a new light. Findaráto had seemed so young, almost like an elfling. She couldn’t quite grasp that concept, but she began to realize that the Findaráto she had watched leaving Tirion all those centuries ago was not the same one whom she had met outside the Gates of Renewal.

"He’s never going to be the same, is he?" she asked sadly and she began to weep for all that she had seemingly lost.

Námo took her into his arms and rubbed her back. "No, child. He’s never going to be the same, but he will continue to be Findaráto. You fell in love with him once, you can fall in love with him again."

Amarië stepped back, confused. "What do you mean? I still love him. Why do you say that? It’s he who has stopped loving me. I’ve never stopped loving him."

"Truly?" the Vala raised a skeptical eyebrow.

The elleth looked on the Lord of Mandos in confusion and then something inside her broke apart or broke open, some part of her she had not been aware was there, hidden behind respectability and duty and... pain. "He abandoned me," she whispered. "He did not love me enough to stay. He abandoned me." Her voice became ragged and then something deep inside her demanded release and she began pounding on Námo’s chest screaming. "HE ABANDONED ME...ABANDONED ME... ME!!!"

Námo suddenly swung her into his arms and held her through her rage, allowing her to get it all out, like pus from a lanced boil, all the poison of her hatred, sense of worthlessness and disappointment seeping out. He gave her permission to let go and she somehow sensed that and accepted the gift.

Finally, her rage spent, she felt herself empty of all emotions. A sense of uncaring washed over her. It didn’t matter anymore if Findaráto loved her or not. He probably never loved her anyway.

"Not true, daughter," Námo said. "Findaráto loved you more than you can know, but it was not his destiny to remain in Aman at that time. I speak truly. If Findaráto had turned back or if you had managed to convince him not to leave in the first place, your love for one another would have been poisoned by his sense of shame and guilt and eventually resentment. Now, there is no need for guilt or shame between you and your love can blossom and grow, if you give it a chance."

"He abandoned me," was all she could say as Námo rocked her in his arms.

"Yes, he did. The question remains, Amarië, will you abandon him?" Then the Lord of Mandos began singing a lullaby, one that Amarië recognized as that which Findaráto had told her Námo had sung to him while in Mandos and in spite of herself she snuggled further into the Vala’s arms and fell asleep.

****

When she woke a second time, she found herself back in the palace garden. She was lying on a bench under an arbor, shaded from the sun. Someone was standing over her but she could not see who it was.

"Amarië, are you well?"

"Gl-glorfindel?"

He reached out a hand and she took it, allowing him to help her rise. "What happened? How long was I gone?"

He gave her a quizzical look. "What do you mean? You stormed out of the dining hall about a half an hour ago. Why were you so angry?"

Amarië shook her head. Why had she been so angry? "I don’t remember. I’m sorry. I think I’ve been acting rather badly of late. Forgive me."

Glorfindel stared at her for a moment. When he looked into her eyes he saw something that he hadn’t expected to see. For the first time since meeting her, Amarië’s eyes were clear and a light shone through them that had not been there before. Whatever had happened had only been for the best, he thought.

"Would you like to go back inside? The family is still at breakfast." he finally asked.

Amarië smiled up at the ellon. "Yes. That would be nice."

They began walking back towards the palace. Amarië was quiet and Glorfindel left her with her thoughts. As they reached the portico leading into the royal family’s private apartments she stopped, then looked at the golden-haired ellon with a smile.

"Would you mind if we went to the kitchens first? I want to ask the cooks to make some porridge."

"Porridge?" he asked incredulously. What was the elleth up to now?

Amarië nodded. "With raisins and cinnamon and apple slices. It’s Findaráto’s favorite dish, you know."

He didn’t, but he only nodded and allowed her to lead him to the kitchens. The expressions on the cooks’ faces when Amarië made her request was worth the detour.

18: Reflections Before Sleep

Glorfindel settled into his bed, grateful for the respite. It had been a busy week and he had much to think about.

Amarië for one.

Something had happened to the elleth between the time she stormed out of the dining hall several mornings ago and when he finally found her lying on a bench in one of the gardens. He only wished he knew what....

When she brought the bowl of porridge into the dining hall and placed it in front of Finrod, you could have heard a pin drop.

And when she kissed him on the brow, saying, "I understand this is your favorite dish now," you could have heard two pins drop.

The look on Finrod’s face was indescribable and he stared hard at his betrothed who merely sat beside him and picked up a spoon. "Don’t let it go cold, my love."

Then, to the amazement of his family, Finrod grinned, took the spoon from Amarië and began eating the porridge with such relish that Glorfindel grinned.

When Eärwen stuttered, "But you hate porridge, dear," Glorfindel could no longer hold in his mirth and he burst out laughing.

Arafinwë gave him a wry look and turned to his queen. "Apparently not, melda."

Finrod, for his part, ignored everyone until every spoonful had been eaten. When he realized the bowl was empty his expression was almost wistful, and he held it up, looking at Amarië. "More?"

Amarië actually giggled and then took the proffered bowl, planting a kiss on Finrod’s brow. "Why don’t we go to the kitchens and find out?" she whispered suggestively and Glorfindel saw his friend’s eyes widen with the implications of her words. They rose almost as one, never taking their eyes off one another, forgetting even to ask for Arafinwë’s leave as they exited the dining hall.

Glorfindel continued grinning and Sador flashed him a knowing smile and a wink. Eärwen, however, still looked perplexed.

"But he’s always hated porridge," she said plaintively to no one in particular.

Arafinwë had no choice but to laugh. Yes, life was certainly becoming more interesting again and his joy that it was so knew no bounds.

Later, Amarië surprised them all again by apologizing to Sador for her earlier rudeness and congratulated him both on his apprenticeship and on his joining Arafinwë’s court.

"I know you will be a good aide to my Findaráto," she said with a smile. "And perhaps if we are ever married you will gift us with one of your works, a bowl or a vase, maybe."

"Do you doubt that you and he will marry, Amarië?" Glorfindel asked, curious as to this turn-about in the elleth’s attitude.

Amarië looked down, suddenly uncertain. "I can only hope that one day we will both realize that we are in love with each other again."

It did not escape anyone’s notice that Finrod had taken Amarië’s hand but otherwise had not contradicted her words.

In the meantime, Glorfindel found he was being called upon to act as an advisor to Arafinwë on the matter of the Reborn. He was not sure he wanted the role, but could see no easy, or polite, way to get out of it.

"We elves of Aman have too long ignored the situation concerning the Reborn," Arafinwë told him and Finrod as they sat in the king’s study one day. Sador was not present, having been excused so he could be fitted for the livery required as Findaráto’s aide. Glorfindel, when the subject was broached, had refused to be fitted for livery at all.

"My fealty is still to Turgon, lord," Glorfindel had said flatly.

"Might I point out," Arafinwë had replied with some exasperation, "that my nephew is in no position to accept or refuse anyone’s fealty."

"Nevertheless, lord," Glorfindel had retorted somewhat heatedly, "I will not foreswear my oath for another, even for the High King himself."

Arafinwë had finally relented, though with great reluctance. "Your loyalty does you credit, youngster. I accept your decision, loath though I am to do so." He had sighed then, looking somewhat sad. "If I cannot have your fealty, may I still have your friendship?"

Glorfindel had stared at the King for a long moment and then had knelt gracefully before him, holding out his hands. "You will always have that, my lord, and my love, for you are the atar of my dearest friend, and therefore, you are my atar as well, for mine is lost to me and I have no other kin."

Arafinwë had pulled the ellon into his embrace and had held him tightly. It would have been difficult to tell whose tears were whose, so mingled did they become.

Now, the three of them sat in the King’s study to discuss the problem of the Reborn.

"There is no problem, Atar," Finrod said, "except in the minds of the...the Once-born."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow at that. "Is that what you call us?" he asked, not sure if he should be amused or affronted.

Finrod grinned somewhat slyly. "Well, that’s what Glorfindel calls them. I call them..."

"I’m sure His Majesty doesn’t need to know what you call them, meldonya," Glorfindel interrupted with a laugh. "It might get back to your amillë and then you’ll be wishing you were still in Mandos."

Finrod blushed and Arafinwë grinned. He could well imagine just what his firstborn called the elves of Aman. "I hope your amillë and I aren’t included in your... imprecations."

"Oh, no, Atar," Finrod said in shock. "I didn’t mean to imply..."

Arafinwë held up a hand. "Peace, hinya, I am only joking. But to get back to the original purpose of this meeting..."

The discussion was long and somewhat heated at times. Arafinwë did his best to see things from his son’s perspective, but it was sometimes difficult. Glorfindel finally gave an explanation that made sense to him, though it brought them no closer to a solution.

"The problem lies not with the Reborn, my lord, for we are not at fault," Glorfindel said. "The elves of Aman, the ones who remained or turned back, look upon those of us who died as an aberration, and hold us in contempt. I deem not even the elves who settled on Tol Eressëa after the War of Wrath are looked upon in that manner."

Arafinwë had reluctantly agreed. The elves, Noldor, Sindar and Nandor alike, who had accepted the Valar’s pardon and returned to Tol Eressëa had been left to govern themselves, and few from Aman proper traveled there save to visit with kin, but otherwise, they were accepted by his people as the Reborn apparently were not.

"The elves of Tol Eressëa, Olwë tells me," Arafinwë said, "are more accepting of the Reborn."

"And why shouldn’t they be, Atar?" Findaráto countered. "Most of those who are Reborn died in Endórë. The elves who once dwelt there are well acquainted with seeing death in its many grisly forms. To have a loved one returned to them whole and happy after seeing what was done to them before..."

Findaráto did not complete his thought but his atar understood what he meant and nodded. "Then why cannot those of us who remained behind be so welcoming?" He hated to include himself in that category but had to admit that even with his own son he had been less than accepting at times.

Glorfindel answered with a sympathetic smile. "I think some of them believe we deserved death, especially we who were once Exiles, for our rebellion against the Valar. They resent the fact that we’ve been allowed to return to life. They think death is a fitting punishment and see no reason why it should be rescinded, but they do not understand that death isn’t the punishment, it’s the cure."

"The cure? The cure for what?" Arafinwë asked in confusion.

"The cure for our own arrogance, Atar," Finrod answered quietly. "Death has nothing to do with judgment, although judgment is rendered to those who die." He paused and Arafinwë noticed his son looking pale. Finrod stared into a memory known only to him and when he spoke it was in a whisper. "You do not understand what it is like, to stand naked within the Rithil-Anamo before all the Valar. I little remember what happened, I just know that I lay there in that Ring forced to see what the Valar cared to show me. That’s the worst thing about it —you have no choice but to watch, for you cannot blink or look away. How can you? Your fëa has no eyes."

"And screaming does no good," Glorfindel added, much to Arafinwë’s surprise. His voice was just as soft as Findaráto’s and Arafinwë felt anguish for whatever pain their memories caused them. "You scream and scream but the images don’t stop and the Valar don’t... I remember Estë holding me at one point and then Námo... I remember Manwë..."

But whatever he remembered was left unsaid and Arafinwë found himself weeping and he thought to comfort his son and Glorfindel, thinking that they too were anguished by such memories, but to his surprise he found them comforting him. Through his own tears he saw that they were dried-eyed, identical looks of concern on their faces. Concern for him, he realized, not for themselves. Findaráto knelt beside him and wrapped his arms around him while Glorfindel stood beside the king and awkwardly stroked his hair.

"Hush, Atar," Findaráto whispered. "It is well. Do not weep so. It is over with and we have learned to live with it, to accept it as the price we paid for our deaths."

"I’m sorry, hinya. I’m so sorry you had to endure that," Arafinwë cried.

"But we’re not," came his son’s unexpected reply. "Do you not yet understand, Atar? We’re not sorry we suffered through judgment. We have moved beyond ourselves because of it. We have learned to forgive ourselves. It is the Once-born who cannot forgive. They demand judgment, little knowing just what that means."

"The Once-born look upon us as failures," Glorfindel added. "They believe our dying was only meet and a sign of Eru’s displeasure. They don’t understand that death was Eru’s greatest gift to us."

Arafinwë looked up at the ellon in shock and then glanced at Findaráto who nodded.

"Death was Eru’s means of giving us a second chance. Atar, Námo told us that all judgments have been rendered and all debts paid. If the Valar and Eru have forgiven us, have welcomed us back into their graces, how can our people do any less? Indeed, how can they dare not to?"

When Finrod and Glorfindel departed Arafinwë’s study sometime later, no solution had been found, but the king was left with a great deal to think about....

****

Glorfindel felt himself slipping further into the Path of Dreams, but before sleep took him completely he returned again to the problem, as he saw it, that was Amarië. He didn’t trust her and he feared for Finrod. He should do something about it, he decided, yawning...

It was his last conscious thought.

****

Melda: Beloved.

19: Return to the Maze

Glorfindel found himself wandering Irmo’s maze. He did not know if this was reality or not but remembering his previous sojourn in the maze, he chose a path and stuck to it until he eventually found himself walking through an arch into the center. As before, Námo and Irmo were sitting under a pavilion waiting for him.

Námo smiled as Glorfindel approached and bowed to the Valar. "I see you’ve learned at least one lesson well."

"I try," Glorfindel said and there was no levity in his voice, only sincerity, and the Valar recognized it and nodded in acknowledgment.

"Good," Irmo replied. "It is all we ever ask of you. Now sit and let us talk."

Glorfindel sat and Námo handed him a goblet of wine. Taking a tentative sip, he found that it was fruity and intoxicating and the elf feared it would go to his head, dream or no. Námo shook his head. "This is not a dream, not exactly, and the wine will not affect you adversely."

"If this isn’t a dream, what is it?" Glorfindel asked as he took another sip, enjoying the wine’s delightful taste, his spirit feeling refreshed.

The Valar exchanged glances and Irmo nodded. Námo turned back to Glorfindel. "This is an alternate reality from what you know. We’ve brought you here because... well... because we can."

The Vala looked almost sheepish to Glorfindel’s eyes and he had to hide a smile. "So, you’re saying that even the Valar like to show off?"

The Fëanturi laughed. "Of course," Irmo responded. "We can be as vain as any of Eru’s Children. Elves aren’t the only ones who like showing off and mortals are even worse."

"I wouldn’t know," Glorfindel replied with a smile, taking another sip of the wine. He had only known three mortals personally and only Tuor well enough to call him a friend. He had had few if any dealings with the Edain who had fought in the Dagor Nirnaeth Arnediad when Turgon had led his army out of Gondolin. His knowledge of the Secondborn was scanty, which is to say nonexistent. Even Sador had had more dealings with them, living as he had in the mixed settlement of Elves and Men at the Havens of Sirion. And then there was Finrod...

"No, I suppose you wouldn’t," Irmo agreed.

"Why have you brought me here?"

Námo raised an eyebrow. "Do we need a reason?"

Now Glorfindel grinned in earnest. "Are we stalling, my lord?"

Námo laughed and Irmo joined him. When the laughter died down, Námo gave the golden-haired elf an appraising look. "Ask your questions, son of Gondolin. I cannot guarantee that I will answer them or, if I do, you will like what you hear."

Glorfindel nodded in acknowledgment of the warning and asked the first thing that came to his mind. "What happened to Amarië?"

Námo stared at the ellon for quite some time before he spoke. "She received judgment of a different kind than what you experienced, but it was judgment nonetheless."

Glorfindel stared into his goblet, suddenly feeling uncertain. "What will happen to her?"

"Nothing, child," Námo replied. "You need not fear for Amarië. Why are you so concerned?"

Glorfindel looked up, anger etched into his face, and suddenly he was standing, throwing the goblet down onto the table, its contents splashing all over, staining the white tablecloth red. "Finrod is my friend. Anything that involves him is my concern, including his future wife."

"Then you are arrogating for yourself more power and responsibility than you have any right to." Námo’s voice hardened and the temperature around him dropped perceptibly. Glorfindel found himself shaking, not from cold, but from the anger that still boiled within him.

"You said I was to be his friend!" he yelled, heedless of the Valar’s darkening looks. "How can I be his friend if I can’t protect him, especially from someone like Amarië?"

"His friend, yes," Námo agreed, his expression still stern and the temperature dropped even further. "Not his keeper. He doesn’t need you or anyone else to play that role. Amarië is not your concern and never has been. Do not forget your place, Glorfindel. Balrog-slayer or no, you have neither the authority nor the right to be anything other than Finrod’s friend."

It was like a slap in the face and Glorfindel felt himself going cold with shock and then hot with shame. "Th-then why am...am I here? Why am I even ne-needed?"

"Don’t you like being Finrod’s friend?" Námo asked softly and his expression became darker.

Glorfindel began feeling faint. "Yes... but..."

"But?" and the Vala’s tone was so forbidding, Glorfindel cried out in fear and fell to his knees, shaken to his very core. It was almost as if he were back within the Rithil-Anamo again and he started to stammer an apology but Námo was not through with him.

"Stand up, Glorfindel," the Lord of Mandos commanded, his tone unyielding. "Now."

Glorfindel scrambled to his feet, fear driving him to obey, though he wished with every fiber of his being to refuse the Vala’s command. He kept his eyes on the ground, his right hand clutching the arm of his chair for support.

"Look at me, Glorfindel." Námo’s tone had softened somewhat but was still colder than the snows of the Helcaraxë. Glorfindel slowly complied, but when he looked into the Vala’s eyes...

He was not aware that he was even bending over being violently ill until he felt a cold cloth on the back of his neck and the world came back into focus again. Someone held him up as the last spasms tore through him. He felt dizzy and if it were not for the hands holding him he thought he might end up lying in his own vomit. He felt himself being lifted up and found himself in Irmo’s arms, then he was being lowered to an upright position. It took several minutes for his brain to register the fact that he was sitting in Irmo’s lap. He closed his eyes, his breathing ragged as he tried to calm himself.

"Drink this," came the command and Glorfindel opened his eyes to see Námo standing over him with a goblet in his hand. The memory of the last few minutes swept over him and he thought he was going to be ill again as he attempted to scramble from Námo’s reach but Irmo’s hands held him firmly from behind and he could not break free. He gave a strangled whimper, fear washing over him as Námo watched him dispassionately.

"Steady, child," Irmo said as he held Glorfindel to him. "Hush now. It is well... Do not fear... Shhh...Take a deep breath... That’s it... Again." The Lord of Lórien’s voice was soothing and soon Glorfindel ceased to struggle and found himself calming. He stared listlessly as Námo bent over and placed the goblet to his lips.

"Drink, child," Námo said not unkindly and Glorfindel reluctantly opened his mouth and allowed the Vala to pour the liquid down his throat. It was not wine, as he had assumed, but water, sweeter than any he had ever drunk before and he felt his fëa being renewed. He took the last swallow and moaned, twisting in Irmo’s embrace so that his head was pillowed against the Vala’s chest, his knees drawn up and for a time he slept.

When he came to it was to find that nothing had changed. Irmo was still supporting him in his embrace and Námo was still standing over him, though his hand was now empty of the goblet. He looked up at the Lord of Mandos and felt... nothing, neither fear nor joy nor sorrow. It was as if he’d been cleansed of all emotions. He lay there waiting and was not aware that he did not care that he was waiting.

Námo sat in his own chair and bent over to stroke Glorfindel’s hair. The touch of the Vala’s hand sent shivers through the elf’s body, but whether they were shivers of fear or delight he could not say. He closed his eyes and sighed. Soon the Vala’s ministrations brought him back to himself and he felt connected again to the world around him.

Opening his eyes again he saw an expression of concern on Námo’s face. "I’m sorry, yonya. Your fëa fled far from my wrath and I had to search long to bring it back. How do you feel?"

Glorfindel attempted to sit up and Irmo helped him but did not let him go, for which the elf was grateful, for he still felt weak and light-headed. "It is I who should apologize, lord, for... for incurring your wrath in the first place. I am well now."

Námo smiled and Glorfindel, gave a cry, not of fear, but of joy for the forgiveness he felt in that smile. He tried to reach for the Vala and Námo pulled him onto his lap and held him close, softly singing the lullaby that had so soothed the elf when he had been in Mandos. Glorfindel never felt more loved and would have gladly lain in Námo’s arms until Arda was Renewed, but eventually the Vala stopped singing, though he continued to hold the ellon in his embrace.

"We need to have an understanding, you and I," Námo said quietly. "I will always love you, though I may be forced to correct you if you stray, as any loving parent would. But even I can never love you to the degree in which Ilúvatar holds you in his embrace. My love for you, even Manwë’s love for you, is as a pale weak thing compared to the love Ilúvatar has for you. For all of us. Never forget that."

Glorfindel did not try to answer, only nodded. Námo continued in the same soft voice.

"Finrod will always and ever be your friend and you shall always and ever be his. That is all the honor and purpose you ever need in this life. Nothing more is being asked of you at this time. Accept the role that has been given to you and try not to seek to claim other roles which you have not been given permission to assume."

Now Glorfindel dared to speak. "But..."

"Hush," Námo countered. "Have you not heard what I have said, child? Do not be swayed by false values of glory. Your friendship with Finrod is of greater worth than all the crowns of all the kingdoms of Arda. Do you know why you turned down Arafinwë’s offer to join his court in an official capacity?"

"I gave my oath to Turgon," Glorfindel answered.

"That is partly the reason." Glorfindel turned his head to look at Irmo. The Vala reached up and stroked the ellon’s hair. "The other reason is because we do not wish for you to do so at this time."

Glorfindel sat up and looked between the two Valar in confusion. "Why?"

Námo shook his head. "The reason for that must remain with us for the time being. Do not fret, child," the Vala said soothingly at the stricken look on Glorfindel’s face. "We are not manipulating you or preventing you from exercising your free will. Search your heart and you will see that it is so. We can never coerce, only inspire, and your own heart tells you that taking oath to Arafinwë at this time is not the right course for you, though you do not understand why. Trust that we, and Eru, wish nothing but the best for you in all things. Can you do that, child? Can you keep estel in your heart, whatever the outcome?"

Glorfindel thought for a moment, then sighed, leaning against Námo again. "I will try, lord."

"And that is all Ilúvatar ever asks of his Children," Námo said as he kissed the ellon on the brow. "Now, go to sleep, hinya."

****

When Glorfindel next awoke, he was back in his own bed and it was morning. He had just enough time to realize that Finrod was standing over him with a wicked grin on his face before the ellon poured a bowl of very cold water over him.

"FINROD! YOU ARE SO DEAD!"

Arafinwë and Eärwen, walking hand-in-hand as they made their way to the family dining hall, stepped nimbly aside as their firstborn son ran past them laughing followed by a dripping and very naked Glorfindel screaming maledictions in several languages.

Husband and wife stared down the hall at the retreating figures and then looked at each other. "Just like old times, isn’t it dear?" Arafinwë said, his eyes twinkling. Eärwen reached up and gave her husband a less than chaste kiss in answer and Arafinwë responded in kind. When they finally broke apart he noticed Sador leaning against the door of his suite grinning hugely.

"And what are you so smug about, hinya?"

"Glorfi’s chasing Finrod around the rose garden," the ellon said with obvious relish.

"And...?" Arafinwë prompted, knowing there had to be a punch line in there somewhere.

Sador’s grin became wider, if that were possible. "But he doesn’t know that I’m the one who supplied Finrod with the bowl."

King and Queen looked at each other and started laughing. Yes, just like old times, indeed, Arafinwë thought and bent down to kiss his wife again.

****

Dagor Nirnaeth Arnediad: The Battle of Unnumbered Tears.

Estel: Hope (in the religious sense); trust; possibly even faith; a temper of mind, steadily fixed in purpose, difficult to dissuade, and unlikely to fall into despair or abandon its purpose.

20: Aftermath

Over the next several days Glorfindel found himself feeling somewhat detached from his surroundings after his...encounter with Lord Námo. He was quieter than usual, moodier and disinclined to participate fully in court life. Finrod noticed but kept his own counsel. Glorfindel had a haunted look to him, a look which any of the Reborn would have recognized: Lord Námo had had words with the ellon and they had not been pleasant ones. While his own encounter with Lord Námo had not been as pleasant as he would have wished, Finrod knew from speaking with other Reborn elves that the experience was generally more harrowing than fatal, and the effects tended to fade with time. Finrod did not pry, knowing better.

Arafinwë, however, did not.

"What has gotten into you Glorfindel?" the King asked with some exasperation during one particular meeting with his advisors. Both Findaráto and Glorfindel were there, along with several other younger courtiers. Arafinwë liked to include the younger members of his court in some of the decision-making processes, treating the experience as a learning tool, asking the ellyn and ellith questions along the way. He had requested Glorfindel’s opinion on a small matter of diplomacy and the ellon had demurred.

Glorfindel flinched slightly at the King’s tone. "Nothing, my lord. I don’t think I am the right person to answer your question in this matter."

"Which I find odd," Arafinwë retorted, "considering you were quite vocal in your opinions on this very subject only a week ago."

"And that was then, my lord," Glorfindel replied without thinking. As soon as he spoke he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

Arafinwë stared at Glorfindel, his expression grim. Finrod held his breath, as did everyone else. He knew better than to intervene. Glorfindel would not appreciate it and his atar would not allow it. The other courtiers were wise enough to remain still, not wishing to draw attention to themselves. Finrod noticed, though, that not a few of them had expressions bordering on glee at Glorfindel’s discomfort, and grimaced.

Glorfindel was apologizing to Arafinwë. "With your leave, lord, I wish to be excused. I fear I’m not..."

Now Arafinwë’s anger and disappointment was turning to concern. Elves rarely suffered any complaints, but Glorfindel looked decidedly pale.

"Are you well, Glorfindel? Should I send for a healer?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Nay, lord, that is not necessary. What ails me... no healer can cure. I beg you, though..."

Arafinwë looked at the ellon in confusion. What could possibly be ailing him that even the finest healers of the land could not alleviate? He turned to his son. "Findaráto, would you..."

"NO!"

Everyone stared at Glorfindel, who was now acting agitated and Arafinwë became alarmed.

"Glorfindel?"

The sense of panic in the ellon’s voice was evident to all. "Please, no, my lord. I just need..."

"Glorfindel, stop that at once!" Finrod demanded, deciding it was time to step in. Glorfindel went stock still, his eyes going wide and he finally broke down and began to weep quietly where he stood.

The older courtiers looked rather nonplused as they stood there watching Glorfindel weep, though one or two raised an eyebrow at their prince. The younger courtiers weren’t sure how to react and one or two were heard to stifle embarrassed giggles. Arafinwë simply stared at his son in shock, for he had never heard him speak with such authority before.

Finrod ignored them all and concentrated on Glorfindel. He wrapped an arm around his friend to console him. "I know you are in shock, hánonya," he said gently, "but I assure you the condition is neither fatal nor permanent."

"Shock?" Arafinwë asked in a perplexed tone.

Finrod nodded, never taking his eyes off Glorfindel. "Lord Námo’s little...talks tend to have that effect."

More than one elf there flinched at his words. Finrod continued ignoring everyone but Glorfindel.

"How bad was it, hanno?" he asked quietly, stroking Glorfindel’s hair.

Glorfindel flushed and would not look at his friend. He swallowed hard and replied in a strained voice, "I threw up."

Arafinwë felt his jaw drop and simply stared at the ellon. Finrod nodded. "I hear that’s a typical reaction."

Now Glorfindel looked up, surprised. "You’ve never...?"

Finrod shook his head. "Not in the way you mean. The one talk we had was actually quite pleasant for the most part. I only hope I am never so stupid as to warrant another visit by him, though. I suspect the next time Lord Námo won’t be quite so...good-natured."

There were many eyebrows raised at that, and not a few shivered at the image the prince’s words evoked.

"Sleep is the best cure for how you feel, Glorfindel," Finrod continued.

"I-I’m sorry.. I didn’t..."

"Hush now," the prince crooned as he gave Glorfindel a hug. "It is well. Go now. I will check on you later. Calandil will see you to your room." Finrod motioned to one of his atar’s guards and Calandil left his post to stand before him.

"Please escort Lord Glorfindel to his room, Calandil, and... make sure he’s not disturbed." Finrod gave the guard a knowing look and Calandil bowed.

"It will be as you say, my prince."

Glorfindel glanced at Arafinwë who nodded his permission and after a moment’s hesitation the ellon bowed and turned to leave. Finrod stopped him for a brief moment to whisper in his ear words that none there heard, then he kissed Glorfindel on the brow before nodding to Calandil. Glorfindel allowed the guard to take his arm and lead him out.

For several moments after the door closed behind them no one moved, then Arafinwë cleared his throat.

"Findaráto, why would Lord Námo...?

Finrod turned to his atar and Arafinwë stopped and found himself taking a step back. Several others there found themselves doing the same. Finrod’s expression was cold and his eyes glittered dangerously with a light that few had ever seen. Arafinwë was suddenly reminded of his audience with the Elder King and Lord Námo shortly after turning back from Fëanáro’s madness. Both Valar had had that same light in their eyes, Námo especially. Even after all this time, Arafinwë could still remember how sick he’d felt afterwards.

When Finrod spoke, it was barely above a whisper. "If you love me, Atar, you will never ever ask that question again. What is said between Lord Námo and another, and more importantly, why it was said, is between them. Even I will never ask Glorfindel for the details of his encounter, though he may tell me of his own accord."

Arafinwë nodded, surprised that he did not feel more anger at being chastised before his courtiers by his own son. "Forgive me, yonya, I spoke without thinking."

Finrod nodded, the light of Mandos (as Arafinwë was beginning to think of it) dying from his eyes and the ellon smiled, though it was not warm. "I am sorry also, Atar. I should have recognized Glorfindel’s symptoms earlier. I might have been able to prevent what happened here."

Arafinwë nodded, but did not reply. Instead he rounded on his court, his expression growing stern. His eyes swept the room and one or two of the elves blanched.

"What happened here goes no further than this room and..." he paused, his eyes lighting on several of the younger members of the court, all of whom paled further, though none had the willpower to look away. "And if I ever catch any of you taking delight in another’s misery again, you will wish it were indeed Lord Námo who speaks to you about it, because I will not be so merciful. Are we clear on this?"

There were faint murmurs of assent and many bows before Arafinwë gave a weary sigh and dismissed the court and the guards. Soon, he and Findaráto were alone. The king looked at his firstborn and smiled faintly.

"Not exactly how I’d planned this session."

Finrod chuckled.

"I’m proud of you, my son," Arafinwë said simply. "You handled yourself well." He held out his arms and Finrod went to him willingly, enjoying the feel of his atar’s embrace around him and the love that flowed from him.

"Why don’t we go see how our favorite Balrog-slayer is doing, shall we?" Arafinwë finally asked as he released his son from his embrace and Finrod nodded.

"Tye-melin, atarinya," he whispered.

"Inyë tye-melë, yonya."

****

When Arafinwë and Finrod approached Glorfindel’s rooms they found Calandil standing guard outside.

"Young Sador was here when we arrived, sire," the guard said. "He took charge of Lord Glorfindel and saw him settled."

"Sador is here?" Arafinwë asked in surprise, turning to Findaráto. "Is he not with Netilmírë today?"

His son simply shrugged. "I had assumed so."

Arafinwë thanked the guard and dismissed him. Father and son entered the suite to find Glorfindel fast asleep, his eyes closed, which did not surprise either of them. Sador was sitting on the bed next to him, stroking his hair and humming softly. It was a familiar scene. The ellon looked up and put a finger to his lips.

"I just got him to sleep, my lord," he whispered.

Arafinwë smiled regretfully. "I fear I must ruin all your hard work, yonya. I must speak with Glorfindel now."

Sador sighed and rolled his eyes. Arafinwë and Findaráto exchanged amused glances as Sador leaned over the sleeping Glorfindel and kissed him on the brow. "Glorfindel, wake up, hánonya. Atar Arafinwë wishes to speak with you."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow and glanced at Findaráto, who smiled and leaned over so only his atar could hear him. "Well you did say he was your ward, my lord. You’re the closest thing to an atar he has now."

The king gave his son an appraising look then nodded, turning his attention to the now waking Glorfindel.

The ellon sighed and reluctantly opened his eyes, struggling to sit up. Finrod came to his other side and helped him while Sador slid gracefully out of the bed so Arafinwë could sit on the edge. As Sador moved away, Arafinwë placed a hand on his arm to stop him.

"Should you not be with Netilmírë today?"

Sador nodded. "And I was earlier, but then I began to feel restless and agitated for some reason and I had the strongest sense that I was needed here. Mistress Netilmírë gave me leave to return when I told her what I was feeling. I was here waiting, though I scarcely knew for what, when Calandil arrived with Glorfindel looking as if the wrath of Mandos had fallen on him with a vengeance."

Findaráto glanced up sharply. "Not even remotely funny, hanno."

"But true nonetheless," Glorfindel whispered, a wry smile on his face. He glanced at Sador who was looking suitably chastened by Finrod’s words. "Thank you for being here, hánonya. I am grateful for whichever Vala inspired you to return when you did."

"How are you feeling, Glorfindel?" Arafinwë asked. Now that he knew what to look for he could see that Glorfindel was indeed suffering from shock. The ellon was leaning against Findaráto’s shoulder, looking pale, though his eyes were clearer than they had been earlier.

"Tired, my lord," Glorfindel said, punctuating his reply with a yawn.

"Then I won’t stay long. My son has told me in no uncertain terms that I should never ask you what passed between you and Lord Námo."

Glorfindel’s eyes shut tight as he curled into a ball and whimpered. Finrod held him close and Arafinwë reached out with a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Hush now, hinya. Do not fear. I will not speak of it again. No one will. I just want you to know that you are to take as much time as you need to recover from the... ordeal. I do not begin to understand the relationship you children have with the Lord of Mandos, but I almost envy you."

Three pairs of eyebrows shot up in identical expressions of disbelief and Arafinwë gave a light laugh. "I said ‘almost’."

Findaráto and Sador both snorted, trying to stifle their laughter and even Glorfindel smiled. The King nodded, satisfied with what he saw.

"I will leave you now. Sador may stay, but I fear I must take Findaráto with me for a time. I will send him to you in a few hours. In the meantime, I think you should try to sleep. Do not feel the necessity of being social. If you wish, I will have your meals sent here until such time as you feel able to join us."

"Thank you, my lord," Glorfindel replied.

Arafinwë stood up. Findaráto joined him even as Sador slid back onto the bed. Father and son started to leave, then Arafinwë stopped and turned around. "And if you ever feel the need for some solitude, I find that the herb garden by the kitchens is rarely visited. The scent of the asëa aranion that grows there is particularly soothing to the fëa."

Glorfindel nodded his acknowledgment. "I thank you again, my lord, both for your understanding and your suggestion."

Arafinwë stared at the ellon for another moment. "Yonya," he said softly and with great feeling, "don’t you think it’s about time you followed your two brothers’ example and just call me ‘Atar’?"

Before Glorfindel could respond, Arafinwë turned around and strode out the door. Finrod followed in his wake, grinning hugely.

****

Hánonya: My brother.

Hanno: Brother. A colloquial form of háno.

Tye-melin, atarinya: I love thee, my father.

Inyë tye-melë, yonya: I too, love thee, my son.

21: Netilmírë

Life continued apace and routines were established. Glorfindel recovered after a few days and returned to court. He felt awkward and embarrassed at first, but Arafinwë put him at ease, treating him as he always had. The one time anyone attempted to importune Glorfindel with questions about what had happened, Arafinwë made it abundantly clear that he would not tolerate such a thing and no one ever broached the subject again. Eventually, it was forgotten, much to Glorfindel’s relief.

Twice a week Sador would rise early and make his way to Netilmírë’s workshop. At first the Master Potter would not let him near the wheel. Instead, she had him sweeping the floors and taking inventory of her supplies.

"By rights," she told him that first day, "you should be a master yourself, but as it is, I will treat you as I would any other new apprentice. I understand that your studies were interrupted..."

Sador shrugged. In his nervousness at being there, he tended to mix Sindarin with Quenya but Netilmírë seemed to understand him. "I wasn’t even forty when we were forced to flee Doriath. I had only just begun my apprenticeship with my adar. Then the next several years were spent simply in trying to survive. It was a long time before I was able to resume my studies. Then, the Fëanorionnath fell on us and..."

He stopped and Netilmírë closed her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them again, she asked, "How old were you? I mean when you... er..."

"Died?" Sador supplied with a wry grin.

She flinched at the word but nodded.

"Hmm. Let me see. I had celebrated my sixty-eighth begetting day just a month earlier."

She stared at him in shock. Sixty-eight? He’d been only sixty-eight when some kinslayer had snuffed his life out at the end of a sword... and apparently without a qualm when he did it?

Sador looked at Netilmírë with concern, noting her sudden paleness. "Are you well, Mistress? Is there ought I can do for you?"

Netilmírë shook her head. "You seem so calm about it," was all she could say.

Sador gave her a long look, then shrugged. "I’ve had centuries in Mandos to get used to the idea." Then he picked up a besom and began sweeping the floors as his mistress had directed.

Netilmírë watched him silently, deep in thought.

****

The day Sador was forced to leave early, driven by need, Netilmírë stared after the retreating ellon with a wistful look. She hadn’t realized until then how quickly she had begun to look forward to Sador’s visits and how much she enjoyed planning a lesson. Today’s lesson had gone untaught and Netilmírë felt disappointed and... and...

"I believe the word you’re looking for my dear is ‘lonely’."

Netilmírë gave a startled gasp and spun around, her heart in her throat. "Who...?"

"Forgive me, my dear. I did not mean to startle you. I am Olórin, a servant to Lord Námo." The Maia bowed.

Netilmírë could only stand there stupidly, her heart racing, not sure what she should do next.

Olórin gave her a comforting smile. "Tea, perhaps?"

Tea. Yes, of course. Make some tea. Grateful for something as ordinary as preparing tea for a guest to occupy her mind she stumbled to the hearth and tried to put the kettle on the fire but her fingers were suddenly too clumsy.

"Allow me, child." Olórin gently took the kettle from her hands. "Why don’t you sit here and tell me what you think of young Sador while I make the tea?"

Netilmírë sat there watching in amazement as the Maia puttered about as if he knew his way around a kitchen.

"Which I do," he said with a twinkle in his eyes and winked. "One of my many talents. Now tell me about Sador."

"He...he’s very enthusiastic."

"Hmm. That describes most elflings I’ve known. Could you perhaps be a little more specific?"

"Why are you here?" she countered.

"I asked first, dear."

Netilmírë raised an eyebrow. The Maia was still smiling but something told her that in a contest of wills, she would be the definite loser. Though, come to think of it, she wouldn’t mind losing to this particular Maia. When Olórin raised an eyebrow at her, she suddenly felt herself blushing furiously. The Maia burst out laughing. It was a lovely laugh, Netilmírë decided, and kind. She knew Olórin was laughing more at himself than at her and started giggling like an elleth with her first serious crush.

"Ah, I think the tea is ready," the Maia said and for several moments he concentrated on getting the tea things together. Then he seated himself next to her and they sat in silence for a few minutes sipping their tea, or at least Netilmírë did. Olórin merely sat there watching her from the corner of his eye.

The Maia’s expression was somewhat wistful. "They miss you, you know."

Netilmírë wrinkled her brow. "They?"

The Maia nodded. "Lady Yavanna and Lord Aulë. They miss you."

The Master Potter put her cup down and stared across the room, her expression remote. "I can’t honestly say that I miss them, not after..."

"No? What a pity."

Netilmírë looked sharply at the Maia and rose, becoming incensed. "Why don’t we stop with the games and just tell me why you’re here so I can send you packing like I did the last Maia who had the temerity to importune me and waste my time."

For a long moment Olórin did not move, merely stared at the elleth fuming in front of him. His expression was compassionate, but there was a steely light in his eyes that Netilmírë had not seen before, and she was suddenly afraid. "Sit down, child," the Maia said. His voice was almost conversational in tone, but Netilmírë found herself sitting in spite of herself and she felt the blood drain from her face.

"Understand this, Netilmírë," Olórin finally said, looking at her directly, which made her feel faint, but she found she could not look away. "We do not play games, ever. If it seems that way to you, it is because we do not need to explain ourselves, nor do we necessarily play by the rules you Eldar have fashioned for yourselves. We play by our own rules, rules laid down from a Time Before Time when Arda was naught but a formless wasteland and the stars of Eä were newly come from Varda’s mind. Do not mistake me. My masters will never do anything against your free will, but neither will they be gainsaid."

He broke eye contact then to give her time to collect herself, producing a rather large handkerchief for her, which she accepted gratefully, for by this time she was crying. When she was sufficiently recovered, he continued, speaking less harshly.

"You’ve never forgiven them have you?"

Netilmírë shook her head. "They could have stopped it, but they didn’t. The Valar just let them go... my husband ... and Ezelmiril..."

"Ah, yes, Ezelmiril. Which brings me back to my original question: What do you think of Sador?"

Netilmírë stared at the Maia for a long moment. "You’re not going to give me an explanation are you?"

Olórin shook his head sympathetically. "No, dear. Explanations are useless at this point. What happened, happened. You and I can do nothing about it. What the Valar did or did not do is irrelevant. It is over and other issues take precedence."

Netilmírë stood up, her expression bordering on rage. "How can you be so cold? So cruel? Why won’t you answer me?"

"Coldness or cruelty have nothing to do with it, child. I..."

"Don’t call me that! I am not a child!" Even as she spoke, knowing to whom she spoke, she knew how ridiculous she sounded, but could not stop herself.

For several strained minutes neither spoke. Olórin sat there, allowing the elf to calm herself.

"Sit down, Netilmírë," he said quietly. There was no reproach or anger in his tone, only compassion and a patience that was too deep and too eternal for her to fully grasp or appreciate.

"I told you the Valar do not owe you an explanation, but I will give you one. Your husband Voronwë’s death should never have happened, but it did. The Valar could no more prevent it than they could prevent the deaths of the Two Trees. Some things are beyond even their control."

"Then what good are they?" she snarled.

"Many have asked that same question, including, I might add, the Valar themselves."

Netilmírë gave Olórin a startled glance. The Maia nodded. "Oh yes, my dear. Even the Valar can doubt themselves. Themselves," he stressed. "never Eru. And there lies the difference. You stopped trusting even Eru to set things right in time, including reuniting you with your family."

"I miss them so much." She started crying and Olórin finally stood up and took her into his arms.

"I know you do."

"Why did he have to go to Alqualondë? He should have been with me. But no, he had to go and visit a friend. They say he died defending the ships. The ships! Ships can be rebuilt. Lives cannot. He died for nothing." There was deep bitterness in her voice.

"No, Netilmírë," Olórin countered, stroking her hair. "No one ever dies for nothing even if we cannot see it. Voronwë died beside his childhood friend. He died trying to protect Eärnur, not the ships."

Netilmírë broke out of Olórin’s embrace. "He still has not been released from Mandos. Neither has Eärnur. Both were innocent of any wrongdoing, but Findaráto, who rebelled against the Valar themselves, gets released while my husband languishes..." she gave a bitter laugh. "I suppose rank does have its privileges after all, doesn’t it?"

"Not so!" Olórin stepped back, his eyes blazing. "Has it never occurred to you Netilmírë that Voronwë has not been returned to you because you haven’t ever forgiven him for dying in the first place? Why would he want to return to one so full of bitterness towards him?"

She stood there in shock, her mind gone numb. No, that can’t be! He would never...

She fell to her knees and began rocking herself in her misery. "It’s m-my fault," she stuttered. "He’s dead be-because of me." The tears came and she could not stop, crumpling completely to the floor. "Oh, Valar, help me, what have I done? Oh, Voronwë forgive me."

"Ah, child, whatever are we going to do with you?"

She looked up through her tears, startled, for it was not the Maia who spoke. Indeed, he was no longer there. Standing before her was Another and she tried to climb to her feet to give him a proper curtsey, but her legs became entangled with her skirts and she nearly fell on her face in her panic. Strong arms caught her and brought her to her feet. She felt herself reddening with embarrassment and could not look up for her shame.

"Tsk, tsk. None of that, my Little Jewel," Aulë said, his chestnut-brown eyes merry, though full of compassion for this suffering Child. He and Yavanna had longed to console their former pupil in her loss and bring her what comfort they could but her refusal of Manwë’s summons had prevented them from making the overture. Even now Aulë would not be here save that his brother Námo had offered his servant Olórin to ‘run interference’ as Námo had put it with a slight smile.

"As soon as Voronwë entered Mandos, his entire family became my concern," Námo had said when Aulë had questioned his willingness to intervene. "Unfortunately, other events had to occur before I could be in a position to help. Let me send Olórin, my brother. He’s very good at what he does."

Aulë could not dispute Námo in that. With great subtlety the Maia had been able to bring Netilmírë to a place where her fëa was open to the Valar at last and now he was here.

"Sérë, yeldenya," Aulë said as he cradled her in his brawny arms. "All is well. Too long have you allowed your heart to dwell in darkness. Too long have I waited to comfort you and you would not allow me to. Please, hinya, let me help."

Netilmírë began crying in earnest again and Aulë held her through it all, crooning softly as she clung to him. Finally the tears slowed and she became calm, nearly falling asleep. Aulë smiled down at her and kissed the top of her head, then picked her up and carried her to her bedroom, laying her on the bed.

"That’s it, my beloved Netilmírë, sleep and be refreshed," the Vala said as he pulled a blanket about her. "When you awaken, perhaps you will tell me all about your new apprentice. I understand he’s quite promising."

Netilmírë gave a weak smile. "He’s very enthusiastic, my lord."

"Ah, that describes most elflings I’ve known, including you," Aulë retorted with a wink. "Perhaps you could be more specific?"

Netilmírë giggled, then started laughing and Aulë joined her. When she at last fell asleep it was with a lighter heart and a smile on her face.

****

Besom: a broom consisting of twigs tied to a long wooden shaft. From Old English bes(e)ma.

Fëanorionnath: (Sindarin) The sons of Fëanor; meaning, in this case, Maedhros and Maglor, who are the only ones still alive when the Havens at Sirion are attacked.

Arda: (Quenya) The world; technically speaking, our solar system as a whole.

Eä: (Quenya) The Universe.

Sérë, yeldenya: (Quenya) "Peace, my daughter".

22: Bathtime and Bedtime Stories

Sador noticed a change in Netilmírë when he returned the following week to the workshop. Where she had been somewhat emotionally distant before, she seemed warmer now. He even heard her humming softly to herself as she worked, something she had never done before in his presence. She had always seemed to approach her work with such grim determination, as if the clay were her enemy and she needed to conquer it. Sador had found it difficult to be completely at ease around her.

Now, however, he found himself humming along. The tune was vaguely familiar to him but he couldn’t quite place it and decided he must have heard it while in Mandos. It never occurred to him to wonder how Netilmírë knew it.

Netilmírë, for her part, was still feeling bemused by the encounter with Olórin and then with Aulë and she often found herself stopping in the midst of her days to reflect on that visit and the one after that....

When she woke, she felt somewhat disoriented. Lord Aulë was no longer there; she was alone. The sunlight streaming through her bedroom window was the deep golden shade of late afternoon and at first she had no memory of why she was in bed. She remembered watching Sador climb the hill towards the palace that morning... was it this morning? She lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece everything together but her thoughts seemed to move too slowly and she could feel herself becoming disturbed, even a bit frightened, at her mind’s inability to function properly.

"Perhaps a soothing warm bath will help, dear."

Netilmírë sat up with a gasp, clutching the bedcovers. Someone sat down at the edge of the bed and embraced her. It took the elleth several seconds to recognize who it was.

"There, there, child. It is well. Take a deep breath... that’s it. And another..."

Yavanna pulled away to look into the elf’s eyes, her smile warm and inviting. Netilmírë noticed that a wreath of wildflowers crowned the Valië’s chestnut hair. She wore a cornflower blue gown shot with gold and trimmed with an interlacing of vines that almost looked real to her eyes.

"L-lady, what are you...?"

"Hush now, daughter," the Earth-Queen said. "Time for that later. Come. Your bath awaits you." Yavanna stood up and gently pulled the covers off the elleth and helped her out of bed. Netilmírë felt dizzy. What was wrong with her?

"Nothing is wrong, dear," Yavanna said soothingly. "Your fëa has suffered a shock, is all. A soothing bath will put everything to rights and afterwards we’ll talk."

The Valië led her towards the bathing room but when they entered Netilmírë stopped cold. This was not her bathing chamber. For one thing it was too large. For another...

She started to back away, but Yavanna was behind her gently pushing her forward. The room was easily twice the size of her own bathing chamber, floored in white marble, with dark green quartz veining it. Fluted columns made from the same green-veined marble graced the room. A profusion of plants in a riot of hues and shades, flowering and not, filled the spaces between the columns and somewhere birds twittered. The bath itself was a sunken pool in the middle of the chamber and the warm steamy air was filled with the perfume of lavender, lovage, rose, and even peppermint, as well as the cleaner scent of asëa aranion.

"This isn’t my bathing chamber," Netilmírë protested, her tone bemused.

Yavanna laughed. "No, dear, it’s mine. Now, you’ll find everything you need. Take your time, dear. I’ll be waiting for you when you’re finished."

With that the Valië left her to herself. At first she was unsure what to do, but the bath was inviting and soon she was slipping into the warm water. She found all the paraphernalia necessary to wash herself and soon she was relaxing, feeling refreshed and at ease for the first time in a long time.

Suddenly, for no reason she could fathom, she was crying, great wrenching sobs that tore through her. She realized dimly what was happening: she was finally grieving. For too long she had denied herself the pleasure of grief, for she had found no safe place in which to indulge in it and so had locked it away, ignored it, denied it even existed.

Now, she realized, Yavanna had brought her to that one place her soul recognized as ‘safe’ and she was being given permission to grieve for as long and as deeply as she needed to. The gift being offered her was more precious than any Silmaril and she could not fathom the depths of love by which such a gift or its giving had been wrought.

In the midst of her tears she felt the presence of the Valië in her mind. *Grieve, my daughter. Let your tears cleanse you even as the waters of the bath cleanse your body. Lay your grief to rest and know peace at last, my child.*

And then Netilmírë found herself, not in a small bathing pool, but in a large pond. The fluted columns could still be dimly seen if she looked hard enough but there was no ceiling, only the azure canopy of the sky and Anar shining down. She realized the water was still warm and inviting and soon she was swimming, long lazy strokes that gave her pure pleasure.

How long she swam or simply floated at times, she never knew. The Sun did not seem to move all the time she was there. Eventually, though, she knew she had had her fill and desired to leave the water. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she was back in the bathing pool climbing out and finding a large towel in which to dry herself off.

Looking about, though, she could no longer find her clothes. Instead there was a soft nightgown that evoked memories of her childhood. Deciding it was better than wrapping herself in the towel she put it on then dressed her hair simply. When she was ready she opened the door of the bathing chamber into...

Well, it looked like her bedroom, but she was sure that the bed that took up half the room was not the one Voronwë had built with his own hands for their wedding night. And she was pretty sure that she had put Ezelmiril’s stuffed toys away a long time ago. She glanced around. Yes, there were similarities, but the differences were telling. This was definitely not her bedroom, yet it spoke to her of comfort and safety and she climbed willingly into the canopied bed, idly putting an arm around one of the larger stuffed toys that was sitting at the head of the bed even as she pulled the covers over her. It was almost like being an elfling again.

"And a prettier elfling there never was," Aulë laughed as he appeared at the end of the bed with Yavanna by his side. "You are looking better than you have looked for a very long time, Netilmírë," Aulë continued, a pleased smile on his face. "I am glad you finally allowed us into your heart once again, daughter."

"My lord, why am I here? What is going on?"

Aulë came around and sat on the edge of the bed, while Yavanna did the same on the other side. It reminded Netilmírë of her own parents doing the same when she was small.

"You must forgive us, my dear. We couldn’t resist indulging in our own little fantasy," Aulë explained. "I do not call you ‘daughter’ from a whim. You have ever been as a daughter to us, from the first time you entered our domain, wide-eyed and eager, and quite covered with clay, though even we were never able to figure out where you had found any. The nearest clay pits were miles away."

The Vala laughed at the memory and Yavanna smiled indulgently. Netilmírë blushed, for she had forgotten that. Come to think of it, where did she find the clay? She couldn’t remember and gave herself a mental shrug. Clutching the stuffed toy a little tighter she gave the two Valar a sly look.

"Does this mean I get a bedtime story and a glass of water?"

Both Valar laughed and Yavanna took the elleth into her arms and hugged her. Aulë reached out and ruffled her hair much as her own atto had done.

"I tell you what, we’ll supply the water, you give us a story," the Vala countered.

"What story?" Netilmírë asked somewhat hesitantly.

"Tell us about your newest apprentice," Yavanna said.

Netilmírë raised an eyebrow at that but complied as Aulë handed her a goblet of, not water, but miruvórë. "King Arafinwë summoned me to attend him, telling me he wished to have an ellon apprenticed to me. I was going to refuse, but something stayed me and I agreed to come."

"Do you regret it?" Yavanna asked.

Netilmírë looked surprised. "Oh no! Sador is quite gifted and will make a wonderful potter, or he will when I finish with him." She gave them a sly look and a mischievous giggle and the two Valar grinned.

Then she sobered somewhat, a pensive look replacing the expression of mischief. "Why do I feel so... so protective of him, Atto Aulë?" she asked, reverting to her name for the Vala when she was barely ten.

Aulë stroked her hair, invoking an involuntary purr of pleasure from the elleth. "The reasons will become clearer in time. Continue teaching him and supporting him. He has not had an easy life and he still suffers for it."

She felt tears forming and she sniffed. "He was only sixty-eight, Atto. He was only..."

Aulë took her into his arms and rocked her. "Yes, my daughter. He was very young, but others there were who were even younger when they died. Treat him gently, child, as gently as we’ve treated you. I do not think you will regret it."

After another brief hug from both Valar, Netilmírë found herself feeling sleepy and before long she was lying back into soft pillows, the coverlet tucked around her.

"’Night, Atto Aulë, ’night Emmë..." She was asleep before she could complete the words.

Yavanna bent down and kissed this Child whom Ilúvatar had given into her care. "Good night, my darling. Sleep well."

****

Námo was waiting for them when they emerged from the bedroom where Netilmírë would sleep for the night, though she would waken in her own bed in her own home when morning came.

Aulë went to his brother Vala and took him by the shoulders and kissed him on the brow. "Thank you, brother," he said simply and stepped back.

"I only wish I could have helped you earlier." Námo’s expression was sad.

Yavanna shook her head. "Nay, brother, words cannot express what my spouse and I feel. With your help our beloved daughter has returned to us." She opened her arms and Námo welcomed her embrace. Aulë joined them and for a time that was timeless the three Valar were as one with their love for one another, now joined by a Fourth, whose love embraced them all, including the elleth sleeping peacefully in the other room.

****

Words are Quenya.

Atto: Hypocoristic form of Atar: Father.

Emmë: Hypocoristic form of Amillë: Mother. A variant of ammë.

23: Initiation

"The delegation from Tol Eressëa has arrived."

Glorfindel looked up from his book to see Finrod standing at the door of Arafinwë’s library. Placing a thin strip of silk into the book to mark his page, he closed it and stood up.

"Let’s go greet them then."

The two ellyn made their way to the formal audience chamber where Arafinwë often greeted embassies. Both were in formal dress. Finrod had on a tunic of deep blue watered silk over which he wore a tabard of white velvet stiffly embroidered with his atar’s device: a diamond-shaped panel, also white, with an eight-rayed golden star on a blue roundel, the rays extending beyond the roundel to the edge of the panel. On both sleeves of the tabard was embroidered Finrod’s personal device of a harp and torch set in a teal-blue diamond-shaped panel. He wore a circlet of gold with a single emerald on his head. His hair was carefully braided in gems, mostly diamonds and emeralds, with Sindarin warrior braids in the front and his house braid flowing down his back. The warrior braids were done in the pattern for Nargothrond.

Glorfindel was also richly dressed, but his watered silk tunic was the green of a field in spring over which he wore a tabard of blue velvet embroidered along the hem and neck with small golden flowers. In the center was a shield-shaped panel the same shade of green as his tunic charged with a rayed sun, the formal emblem of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin. He wore no circlet on his head, but his golden locks were as carefully braided as Finrod’s.

If anything, Glorfindel’s hair was even more intricately braided than Finrod’s, for he had included not only warrior braids denoting his allegiance to Gondolin and his house braid, entwined with the usual mix of emeralds, sapphires and gold and silver beads, but also two braids behind the warrior braids entwined with diamonds, rubies and gold beads, the ‘colors’ of the king’s House. His king. In addition, he had two eagle feathers braided into his hair in memory of the Lord of Eagles who had carried his broken body to its final resting place.

The feathers had been a gift from Finrod, who had discovered them lying on the path of one of the gardens one day, and knew to whom they had belonged. He had looked up in hopes of seeing Thorondor, King of Eagles, but there was no sign. Still, Finrod had no doubt for whom the feathers had been meant. When he had given them to Glorfindel that night at dinner, the ellon had burst into tears and it was some time before Finrod and his parents could calm him.

"You look positively barbaric," Finrod had told him when they had seen each other earlier. Glorfindel had laughed.

"I certainly hope so. Do you know how long it took me to get this effect?" and he twirled around so his braids flashed in the morning sun.

Indeed, the Noldor who saw the two ellyn that day looked somewhat askance at them, for, while it was common for ellyn to braid their hair, it was usually into a single braid in the particular pattern of their house. The addition of the warrior braids that these two sported was unknown to the elves of Aman, they having been a custom of the Sindar and Nandor of Beleriand.

As they reached the door that led to the audience chamber they found Sador waiting for them. Glorfindel looked upon the younger ellon with approval. His dress was less ornate than theirs but quite fine. The Sinda wore a tunic of grey watered silk. His velvet tabard was also grey though several shades darker than his tunic. Upon the tabard were two panels embroidered with emblems. On the right was the one for Arafinwë and on the left was the one for Findaráto. The Sinda wore no warrior braids, only a single house braid plainly adorned with different colored clay beads.

Sador bowed to the two Noldor as they approached. "You look splendid my lords," he said with a smile. "Let’s hope we can keep you that way for the rest of the day."

Finrod gave Glorfindel a jaundiced look. "Was that a challenge I heard from our young Sindarin friend?"

"Sounded like it to me," Glorfindel agreed with a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

"I do so love challenges," Finrod said, his eyes taking on their own gleam of mischief.

Sador’s grin was unrepentant. "Don’t look at me. That sentiment comes from Atar. I overheard him and Lord Rialcar laying bets on how long before either of you ends up without a stitch on."

Lord Rialcar was one of Arafinwë’s most trusted councillors. His only son, Laurendil, had recently sailed from Endórë and resided now in Tol Eressëa. Glorfindel understood the Noldo was part of the delegation whom they would shortly meet. Finrod, in particular, was eager to meet with him, for Laurendil had been the captain of Orod-nuin-elenath Company, one of a group of the King of Nargothrond’s rangers who had patrolled the fiefdom of Ladros in the forested highlands of Dorthonion before the Dagor Bragollach. Finrod had held the lordship of Dorthonion, and in particular, Ladros, though his brothers Angrod and Aegnor had ruled there in his name.

Finrod sighed and Glorfindel had a put-upon expression on his face.

"I don’t think we’re ever going to live that down, do you?" Finrod asked Glorfindel.

"Probably not," he frowned, then gave Finrod a sly look. "I’d hate to disappoint them, though."

Sador snorted at that and the two Noldor looked at him. "What’s so amusing?" Glorfindel asked in his haughtiest tone.

Sador merely grinned. "Lord Rialcar thinks one of you’ll be naked before noon. Atar has more faith in you. He’s betting you’ll be able to keep decent at least until the welcoming feast."

The two Noldor exchanged glances and something passed between them for they both nodded once before turning back to Sador. Finrod grinned as he faced his new diplomatic aide. "Shall we go?"

Sador gave them both an appraising look but said nothing, merely bowed, then opened the door leading into the audience chamber. As the three ellyn entered, they saw that most of the Noldorin councillors were there, as were Arafinwë and Eärwen, both dressed formally, standing together near the throne dais. The King of the Noldor saw his firstborn and the two he now thought of as his foster sons and beckoned them forward, smiling.

"You two look positively barbaric," he said with a laugh and both Finrod and Glorfindel obliged him by spinning around, letting the gems from their braids catch the light.

The others in the room stared at them unabashedly. Some of the older courtiers who had fought in the War of Wrath smiled at the sight, well remembering their own encounters with the Sindar. Many of the younger courtiers, however, were not sure how to react, though one or two seemed to have envious looks on their faces. Arafinwë noticed the reactions of his court and hid a smile. He would not be surprised to see the younger set sporting warrior braids in the near future and almost looked forward to having to tell them that such braids were earned and they would have to undo them. He had learned that much from his son and Glorfindel.

The Queen laughed and turned to Sador standing to one side. "You look lovely, too, dear. That tabard fits you well."

Glorfindel and Finrod had stopped twirling by then. "Yes, he does, my lady," Glorfindel said, "but he’s not completely dressed."

"You’re right, brother. I should have realized," Finrod said, with feigned shock, for he and Glorfindel had planned this earlier, though they had told no one, not even Arafinwë. He took a bemused Sador by the arm. "Where are your warrior braids, penneth?"

Sador raised an eyebrow at that and shook his head in denial. "I-I don’t deserve..."

"Nonsense," Finrod stated flatly. "You fought against my cousins’ armies, twice. Don’t think I don’t know about what you did in Doriath, young Sador. You’ve earned those braids and you will wear them."

"B-but I died!" was the only thing Sador could think of in protest.

Both Finrod and Glorfindel laughed, their faces lit with not only humor but with joy. "So did we," they said almost simultaneously and laughed even harder.

Arafinwë glanced at his son in consternation. He had no idea what was going on and was none too pleased with Findaráto at that moment. "What are you talking about, Findaráto?" he spoke somewhat sharply. "What did Sador do in Doriath? I understand he was only an elfling at the time."

Finrod shook his head. "Later, Atar. Can you stall the embassy long enough for Glorfindel and me to finish getting this youngling properly dressed? It won’t take long with both of us doing it."

Arafinwë glanced at his wife with a bemused look but she merely raised an eyebrow and gave a small shrug. He sighed, wondering what his atar-in-law’s reaction would have been. Probably he would have laughed himself silly, then done exactly what you’re about to do, he thought wryly.

"I think I can manage that. Calandil," he motioned to his chief guard. "My regrets to Lord Laurendil and his people, but there will be a brief delay. Have some refreshments brought to the delegation."

Calandil bowed and left to fulfill his lord’s orders, while Arawfinwë and the rest of his court stood and watched as Glorfindel and Finrod began deftly braiding Sador’s side locks in spite of the ellon’s protestations.

"Do you remember what Doriathrin warrior braids look like?" Glorfindel asked Finrod, ignoring Sador completely.

Finrod nodded. "I should, considering how often I visited my sister in Doriath. Celeborn showed me once how the braiding was done. When I founded Nargothrond, I designed my own pattern based on the Doriathrin one for the warriors who served me. I even brought the right colored beads and gems. Here. There’s enough for us both." He reached into a pouch under his tabard and handed Glorfindel a handful of silver beads, along with pearls, black opals and ithilhern. Then he preceded to give the ellon instructions.

"You start with a twist to the left and then insert a silver bead and a pearl, then two twists to the right followed by another to the left. Insert an opal between two moonstones, then..."

The court stood there fascinated as they watched their prince finish off one braid and carefully inspect the one Glorfindel was doing, pointing out where there should have been a right twist instead of a left at one point. The error was quickly corrected and in short order Sador stood there, the pearls, opals and moonstones in his hair glittering in the light of the sun. He looked stunned and Arafinwë had unobtrusively come behind him to place a comforting hand on the ellon’s back for support.

"Now, for the finishing touch," Finrod said and motioned to a page who approached with a small box. The page also carried three strips of white linen across his arm. While the page held the box Finrod opened it and pulled out a beautifully wrought knife made of silver and mithril.

Glorfindel recognized it and gave a short whistle. "Wherever did you find one?" he asked in an awed tone and many there looked upon him and the knife in wonder, for they did not understand its significance. All there saw Sador turn white at the sight of the knife, and try to back away, but Arafinwë blocked him and Glorfindel grabbed his arm to hold him.

Finrod shrugged. "I made it myself, when I was in Lórien. I did not know why at the time, for I did not think it would be needed. Yet..."

Glorfindel nodded and held out his right hand. Then to the utter surprise of the Noldor, Finrod grabbed the proffered hand and neatly sliced the palm so that a thin bead of blood welled. Glorfindel never flinched. Before anyone could react Finrod flipped the knife into his left hand and did the same to his own right hand. Both warriors then placed their bleeding hands on the braids they had just done and wiped the blood from their hands onto the braids, staining both hair and gems.

"Sereg e-maethor af finnil e-maethor," Finrod intoned and Glorfindel echoed him. Then for the sake of those listening, Finrod repeated the words in Quenya: "Sercë ohtar’ ohtaro findin. Wear them well, son of Doriath."

Finrod then took one of the strips of linen which the page held out to him, wiped the blade clean of blood and returned it to the box. The page handed the two warriors the other strips of linen to wrap around their hands. When that was done, Finrod placed his hands on either side of Sador’s face and gave him the three kisses of the warrior, one each on eyes and mouth, before stepping back to allow Glorfindel to do the same. Sador never moved but there were tears streaming down his face.

Eärwen fished out a handkerchief and handed it to the ellon who nodded his thanks. Glorfindel and Finrod stood there beaming. "Maethor onnen, gwador onen," Glorfindel said.

Finrod nodded. "Onnen ah onen," he said and then translated it into Quenya. "Ohtar ontaina, otorno antaina."

"Ontain' ar antaina," Glorfindel repeated.

That seemed to be the end of the ceremony, for Finrod looked at Arafinwë and said, "I think we’ve kept our guests waiting long enough, Atar."

"But what about Sador’s braids, dear?" Eärwen asked in distress, for they were obviously bloodstained, though both Glorfindel and Finrod had been careful not to get any blood on the ellon’s clothes. "Whatever will Lord Laurendil and the other members of the embassy say?"

Finrod’s smile was enigmatic. "Why don’t we wait and see?"

****

Orod-nuin-elenath: (Sindarin) Mountain-under-stars; the name of one of Finrod’s company of rangers patrolling Dorthonion.

Dagor Bragollach: (Sindarin) Battle of Sudden Flame, First Age 455, in which the Siege of Angband was broken and much of northern Beleriand, especially Dorthonion, was overrun by Morgoth’s troops and lost to the elves. Dorthonion afterwards became known as Taur-na-Fuin, or "Forest-under-Nightshade", the original "Mirkwood".

Penneth: (Sindarin) Young one.

Ithilhern: (Sindarin) Moonstones; the singular would be ithilharn. The Quenya equivalent would be isilsar/isilsardi.

Sereg e-maethor af finnil e-maethor: (Sindarin) "Warrior’s blood for warrior’s braids". The Quenya translates the same way.

Maethor onnen, gwador onen: (Sindarin) "A warrior is born, a (sworn) brother is given". The Quenya translates the same way.

Onnen ah onen: (Sindarin) "Born and given". The Quenya translates the same way.

A note on Sador’s warrior initiation ceremony: The knife of silver and mithril was called the sigil e-hereg or "blood knife" and was made for the sole purpose of "blooding" the new warrior with the blood from the two oldest warriors present. Traditionally, the new warrior would not wash the blood out of his hair until the following sunset.

24: The Embassy from Tol Eressëa

The court arranged itself accordingly; Arafinwë and Eärwen stood on the dais before their thrones, while Finrod stood just below and to Arafinwë’s right with Sador standing next to him and Glorfindel just beyond. At a signal from Arafinwë his master of ceremonies announced, "Your Majesties, Lord Laurendil Rialcarion, and the embassy from Tol Eressëa." The doors opposite the thrones opened and the delegation entered.

Glorfindel saw a tall Noldo stride into the room behind whom came a mixed group of Noldor and Sindar. Not all of them were ellyn but those who were sported warrior’s braids, including Laurendil. The former captain of the Dorthonion rangers took in the scene before him and without breaking stride moved to stand before Finrod, ignoring Arafinwë altogether and knelt before the former King of Nargothrond. The courtiers gasped at the affront. Neither Arafinwë nor Finrod moved. Many in the delegation, recognizing Finrod, followed Laurendil’s example.

Laurendil kept his eyes on the floor as he gave his greeting. "Aran Meletyalda, I regret I no longer have a sword to offer you but know that you still have my life." Then he looked up and there were tears in his eyes, tears and great sorrow. "I-I would have come with you, aranya, on your last quest if I...forgive me for my cowardice...I failed you and..."

Finrod finally moved and stooped to raise the Noldo up and gave him the kiss of liege to vassal. "You did not fail me, Laurendil. Never think that. Hush now. What is past is past and cannot be undone. Rejoice instead that we are reunited once again." Then he smiled at the Noldo who had once been his subject and Laurendil attempted to smile back as he wiped the tears from his eyes and collected himself. "That’s better. Now why don’t you introduce me to your people?"

The other members of the delegation were still kneeling and as Finrod moved among them they all attempted to take his hand and kiss it, awe and joy at the sight of him warring in their expressions. Not a few uttered tearful apologies, for they had been from Nargothrond and had turned against him at the end. Yet he never spoke in condemnation but greeted them graciously and even had a personal word or two for some of them whom he remembered with fondness.

The King’s court stood there in shocked silence at the tableau: their prince surrounded by kneeling elves, all hoping to receive forgiveness from a one-time king of a drowned kingdom. They saw Findaráto with new eyes as the dignity of his rank and the weight of his authority became evident from the way the members of the delegation responded to his presence, even those who were Sindar. It was obvious to all there that they were as much in awe of the prince as any of the Tol Eressëan Noldor, if not more so, and the courtiers became thoughtful.

At last, Finrod bade the members of the delegation to rise and, taking Laurendil by the hand, led the Noldo before the King. "Atar, may I present Lord Laurendil Rialcarion, once a captain of my rangers and a loyal friend to our House."

Laurendil bowed before Arafinwë. "Forgive me, my lord. I fear the shock of seeing my ki... I mean, Prince Findaráto again overwhelmed me. I meant no insult to you or your court."

"Did you not know that Findaráto would be here, Lord Laurendil?" Arafinwë asked. He had been just as shocked as the others at the sight of this proud Noldo kneeling before his son, and even more shocked at the way Findaráto had acted. For the first time Arafinwë honestly believed that his firstborn had been a true king among the Exiles, worthy of fealty given and received.

The head of the delegation nodded, looking rueful. "Yes, lord, but... I knew it in my mind, but my heart...." and he broke down again and Finrod put a comforting arm around him and held him close.

"Hush now, captain. I expect better from you. The last time I saw you weep it was because you were cutting up onions for our stew," he said teasingly.

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow in question and Finrod smiled. "I was traveling through Dorthonion, visiting my brothers and checking on our defenses. I joined Laurendil’s patrol in Ladros for a time and I witnessed Eregil, one of the scouts, tricking his superior into cutting the onions for a stew one night even though it was Eregil’s turn to prepare the meal."

Laurendil smiled through his tears. "He even managed somehow to convince you to peel the carrots."

Arafinwë and Eärwen both had incredulous looks on their faces and Finrod laughed gaily. "It was an interesting experience to say the least and I was not offended, though I fear many in the camp were scandalized at the sight of their king with a peeler in his hand instead of a sword. Certainly my brothers were."

Laurendil sniggered. "I made sure Eregil spent the next season in the coldest, remotest outpost I could find for his pains." He shook his head at the memory. "Poor lad, he never made it out of the Dagor Bragollach."

"Many did not," Glorfindel said, coming to stand next to Finrod. "Well met, my lord. I am Glorfindel, formerly of Gondolin."

The Noldo gave him a startled look and awe swept across his face as he bowed low. "My lord, I am honored to meet you at last." And to the surprise of many of the Noldor of Arafinwë’s court, every member of the delegation bowed to the Balrog-slayer and one or two even went so far as to kneel and kiss the hem of his tabard. Glorfindel took it in his stride, little though he liked it, and urged the elves to rise, giving them a warrior’s embrace.

All this time, Sador stood quietly where Finrod had left him, watching as his two gwedyr were honored by the Noldor and Sindar from Tol Eressëa. As was only right. He was so pleased to see Finrod being accorded the respect his own people denied him and was glad that he had been there to witness it. So he was somewhat taken aback when Finrod came and pulled him towards the crowd of elves standing around Glorfindel.

"And this is our otorno, Sador, who comes from Doriath," Finrod said by way of introduction. Several of the delegation, warriors and daughters of warriors, saw the blood drying on the ellon’s braids and recognized its significance. Laurendil looked at his former king with a raised eyebrow.

"Glorfindel and I initiated him just before your arrival," Finrod explained. "It is the reason for the slight delay to your audience."

"Which reminds me, Findaráto," Arafinwë said somewhat dryly. "You still haven’t explained why you waited until now to initiate Sador into your... warrior society."

Finrod looked at his atar with a slight frown. "Do you disapprove, Atar?"

"Disapprove?" The King shook his head. "I do not have enough information to approve or disapprove anything, yonya. Perhaps you will enlighten me. Us," he amended, nodding to his court. "It is my understanding that only proven warriors are permitted to wear these braids." He flicked a finger towards Finrod’s own braids and noticed with amusement the looks of disgust on some of his younger courtiers. No doubt some of them had thought to imitate his son with their own braids, but he already had decided he would squash that idea from the very beginning. "Of course, Aman has no need for warriors..."

"At the moment."

Arafinwë glanced in surprise at Laurendil, who bowed. "Forgive me, my lord, if I speak out of turn, but it has been my experience that just because a need is not acknowledged does not mean it does not exist. Aman may indeed never know war, and I pray that it is so, but as one of my rangers was very fond of saying, ‘If wishes were orcs, we’d all be in a lot of trouble’."

Several chuckled at that and the King smiled. "True, Laurendil, too true." Then he turned his attention to Sador, his gaze thoughtful. "What did you do, yonya, in Lestanórë, to have earned these braids of yours?"

Sador shook his head, his face white. "Nothing, m-my lord. I swear..."

Finrod took him by the shoulders and shook him. "Hush, now. That isn’t what we have heard. You saved several elflings from death, an elfling yourself, defending them against my unlamented cousins’ troops. I believe you accounted for three of the kinslayers."

Sador noticed the looks of respect on the faces of the Tol Eressëan elves as Finrod recounted his supposed deeds, and the looks of disbelief on the faces of the courtiers. He shook his head, trying to get them to see. "B-but it was all a mi-mistake!"

"A mistake to defend children from madmen?" Glorfindel asked in surprise.

"No... I mean... I didn’t mean to...I was just so scared... and...." He couldn’t help it. He started crying and tried to pull away from Finrod’s grasp, hoping to flee and hide his shame. He wasn’t a warrior, whatever his gwedyr said. But Finrod refused to release him and simply held him close. He heard the prince give Lord Laurendil and the other elves an explanation.

"...only sixty-eight when Maedhros and Maglor attacked Sirion. He died trying to protect his little sister."

"That means he wasn’t even forty when Doriath..." Laurendil began then stopped, looking at the Sinda still weeping in Finrod’s arms. He gave his former liege a questioning look and Finrod nodded. Laurendil turned to one of the elleth in his company, a Sinda herself. "Manwen..."

The elleth nodded, knowing what Laurendil wished, and smiled, giving the Noldo lord a respectful curtsey. "Of course, my lord." She moved to Sador’s side and gave Finrod a smile before turning her attention to the Sinda, stroking his hair. "I remember that day very clearly," she began softly, almost to herself. "There was so much confusion, and fear and blood. It was everywhere and I think it was weeks before I could smell anything else." She paused, still stroking Sador’s hair. "What do you remember?"

At first Sador said nothing, merely sniffed dejectedly in embarrassment, though none there seemed to be condemnatory in their attitude towards him. When he did speak it was in a whisper, though all there heard his words. "I was tossing a ball with my friends in one of the courtyards when we heard screaming and then people were running. There was panic everywhere and then... then there were warriors, but they weren’t our... their eyes..."

He stopped, unable to go on, and no one moved. Finrod rubbed Sador’s back and Manwen continued stroking his hair. Finally he continued, straightening up in Finrod’s embrace and staring directly into Glorfindel’s eyes, as if he were telling the story only to him. And perhaps that’s not far from the truth, Glorfindel surmised.

"My friends all scattered. Most, I never saw again. I couldn’t move." He stopped and took a few deep breaths before continuing. "There were some elflings in the courtyard, maybe five or six, the oldest I don’t think was even twenty. They were huddled in a group by a fountain, too scared to move... to hide. The warriors saw them and...I remember throwing the ball and hitting one of them, hoping to distract them. I remember yelling and running at them. I don’t know why I did that... it was so bloody stupid. I wasn’t even armed, except with a small knife. Then one of the attackers was on me and I managed somehow to get under his sword reach and stab him. Not very hard or even in a vulnerable spot, but it surprised him. Surprised him enough that I was able to yank the sword out of his hand. It was so heavy and I felt so clumsy with it. Somehow I managed to hit him with it."

He had to stop again, the memory of his first kill overwhelming him. He had managed to forget but now it was all coming back. "H-his head... rolled and..." He had to close his eyes then and will himself not to be sick. Glorfindel moved and took him fully into his embrace and held him as another wave of weeping swept over the Sinda.

Finrod took up the tale. "I heard from someone who was there that Sador managed to take two more of the kinslayers down, then herded all of the children from the courtyard and led them to safety into the forests of Region. It took them the better part of three days to find other refugees fleeing from Doriath."

"From whom did you hear this, Findaráto?" Arafinwë asked, looking upon Sador with new eyes. "I don’t recall anyone from Lestanórë..."

Finrod gave his atar a wry look. "I heard it from Lord Námo, Atar. He felt Glorfindel and I should know."

Sador pulled out of Glorfindel’s embrace to stare wide-eyed at Finrod. "L-lord Námo told you?"

"Yes, and we’re glad he did," Glorfindel answered instead, shaking the Sinda by the shoulders. "You should have told us, hanno."

"But I didn’t even mean to kill him... don’t you see? I just wanted him to go away. I don’t even remember killing the other two at all. I just remember running through the forests with one of the elflings in my arms. I-I’m not a warrior... I don’t deserve..."

Laurendil started laughing, which stunned everyone, including Sador. "Forgive me, youngling. I am just remembering the day I was initiated as a warrior by my Sindarin companions not long after arriving in Beleriand. I believe I kept telling everyone that I didn’t mean to kill the orc that was attacking me, I just wanted it to go away."

Sador stared at the Noldo for a moment and saw the truth in his eyes and the humor of what he had just said and started to giggle. Before long he was laughing and Finrod and Glorfindel and many of the other elves joined him.

"It’s true, though...I really d-did just want him to... to go away," Sador said between fits of laughter.

"True or not, Sador," Finrod replied. "The fact remains that you ran towards death, not away from it. You picked up a sword to defend those who could not defend themselves and brought them to safety. That is all a warrior can do. That is all a warrior is — someone who defends those who cannot defend themselves against the evil that assails them."

Sador gave a sigh, looking at his feet. "I couldn’t save Ninniach."

"Just as I couldn’t save Gondolin," Glorfindel said.

"Or I Nargothrond," Laurendil added. "But each of us saved what we could, and that has to be enough or we would never lift up our swords again. The fact that you were untrained in warfare and an elfling yourself makes your feat all the more incredible, otornya. So do I name you," he said at Sador’s startled expression. "My king has called you his brother. How can I do any less?"

And with that, Laurendil took Sador by the shoulders and offered him the three kisses of a warrior, then started to remove a small knife from his belt, but Finrod stopped him with a gesture, beckoning for the page still holding the box to step forward. Finrod lifted the lid and Laurendil gasped.

"You have a sigil e-hereg! How..."

"I made it soon after being re-embodied, though I did not know why at the time, not knowing I would have a need for it."

Laurendil took the knife with his left hand and with one sure movement sliced his right palm, then taking hold of first one than the other of Sador’s braids, wiped his blood on them. "Maethor onnen, gwador onen," he said then moved aside. Immediately one of the Sindarin ellyn from Tol Eressëa stepped forward, took the knife from Laurendil and did the same thing. One by one all the warriors took a turn until the last had completed the ritual. Finrod, meanwhile, had ordered additional strips of linen to be brought for the warriors to wrap their hands.

All this time none of the Amanian elves made a sound or movement. It was as if they were frozen in place. Only when Finrod was returning the now cleaned knife to its box did Arafinwë stir. He looked at Sador, his braids red with blood, still looking pale, but his eyes were calm and there was a new sense of dignity in his stance. Glorfindel was grinning and speaking animatedly with one or two of the ellyn from the delegation in rapid Sindarin, while Laurendil stood beside Findaráto, both of them with their arms around Sador, the three of them speaking softly about their lives in Beleriand, speaking of people and places about which he, Arafinwë, knew nothing. He finally cleared his throat to get their attention.

"Why do I get the feeling that I’ve just lost control of my own court?" he asked no one in particular. Findaráto blushed and Glorfindel laughed.

"That’s because you have, my lord," the former Balrog-slayer said, suddenly twirling around to let his braids fly, the gems sparkling in the sun. "But we will gladly return it to you, if you wish."

"Why thank you, yonya," Arafinwë said somewhat sarcastically, though the smile that accompanied the words belied the tone. The last few moments had been informative on many levels, as well as being entertaining.

His son laughed, as did Sador, while Laurendil looked upon them with bemusement, not sure how to respond. "Please forgive me, lord king," he finally said with a bow to Arafinwë, "I did not mean to..."

Arafinwë waved a hand in dismissal. "I do not blame you, Lord Laurendil, nor any of your people. Come. Let us dispense with formality. Time enough for that when we sit down to speak of your mission. Let us assume we have exchanged the proper greetings and protocol has been observed and move on." He dismissed the court with a nod and waved Laurendil to walk with him and the queen. "We will retire and take our ease before tonight’s feast. I wish to hear more about this warrior tradition you have. What is the significance of the knife? Glorfindel did not believe there was even one in existence in Aman and was very surprised when my son produced one...."

They left the room with Findaráto, Glorfindel, Sador and the rest of the Tol Eressëan elves trailing behind them.

****

Aran Meletyalda : (Quenya) Your majesty; literally "king your mighty".

Aranya: (Quenya) My king.

Gwedyr: (Sindarin) Plural of gwador: (sworn) brother. The Quenya otorno has the same meaning.

Otornya: (Quenya) My (sworn) brother; contracted from otornonya, cf. yonya. 

25: Feasts and Follies

Amarië stood back to admire her work. The feast hall was exquisitely decorated. Everything was perfect, right down to the floral arrangements on the high table. She smiled and nodded to no one in particular, proud of the job she’d done. Amarië had decided not to attend the formal audience to greet the embassy from Tol Eressëa, for in truth, she found such functions tedious. Of course, she knew she would have to endure such things once she and Findaráto were married (if they ever were), but at the moment she could enjoy all the advantages of being a member of the royal family without having to suffer any of the disadvantages. So she had offered to oversee the feast that evening and Eärwen had gratefully accepted.

Now it was nearly time for her to get ready. She decided to detour to the kitchens one more time to check on things there before going to her bath.

****

The feast was something of a disappointment for Amarië after all her hard work. Oh, the food was as superb as ever; the cooks had outdone themselves with the savories and subtleties which graced the high table and had everyone asking for more. Everyone complimented her on the decorations and the table settings and praised her for her choice of musicians who entertained the company as they ate.

But it was all for nothing, as far as she was concerned.

As soon as the elves from Tol Eressëa entered the feast hall, they had literally taken it over. She was surprised to see Sador in their midst and even more surprised to see him sporting those ridiculous front braids that Findaráto and Glorfindel always wore. And then when she realized that those braids were covered with blood....

She searched for Findaráto in the crowd, hoping for an explanation, but had to settle for asking her closest friend Ercassë, who had attended the audience as one of Arafinwë’s junior courtiers. Her account sounded somewhat muddled and she wasn’t sure what this Lord Laurendil offering to kill himself in front of Findaráto had anything to do with Sador’s braids. She finally cornered Glorfindel between the second and third removes when he stepped outside for some air. She found him sitting alone on a garden bench. He was inclined to brush her off, but seeing the genuine interest in her eyes, gave her a brief sketch of what had happened.

"And he can’t wash his braids until tomorrow night?" was all she could think to say when the former Balrog-slayer had filled her in.

Glorfindel grinned at the fastidiousness of her tone, but elected to keep his opinions to himself. "I don’t think Sador is going to mind. And there’s a ritual that goes with that, too, though it’s more private."

Amarië glanced at the elf with a questioning look. "Finrod will teach Sador the proper pattern for the braids and instruct him on the warrior’s code as he bathes," Glorfindel explained and started laughing. "At least he gets to do it in a warm bath. I ended up having Gilvor instruct me while sitting in a very cold stream that fed Lake Linaewen in Nevrast. That was before Turgon removed to Gondolin," he added when Amarië looked blankly at the reference to Turgon’s first kingdom.

Amarië nodded, though she truly had no head for geography and didn’t care where Nevrast was or how cold the streams feeding Lake Linaewen were. However, she thanked Glorfindel for the information and went back inside the hall to find that all her carefully planned entertainments had come to naught — the Sindar were singing.

Not only that, but they apparently were singing some rather bawdy songs, not the sort one usually hears in a formal feast presided over by the King of the Noldor. To make matters worse, Findaráto seemed to know the songs too and was happily translating them into Quenya for the benefit of those unfamiliar with Sindarin. Amarië felt her face grow warm as she listened to the words, though she tried her best to ignore them.

She wondered how any of them dared to sing such songs in the presence of the King and half expected him to politely but firmly reprimand the singers, but when she saw Arafinwë laughing at a particularly ribald verse, she felt herself beginning to cry. She had worked so hard...

Amarië wanted to scream but forced herself to remain calm and keep her temper. She still remembered her encounter with Him and had no desire for a repeat performance. She remained unfailingly polite and smiled graciously at all and sundry. One of the Noldor from Tol Eressëa began a new song, which began innocuously enough — something about a Mortal fruit vendor selling an Elf some cherries.

"Oh! I know that one!" Sador exclaimed from the high table where he was seated between Lord Laurendil and Lady Manwen, who, it turned out, was his wife. Amarië had been somewhat taken aback when Lord Laurendil had insisted that Sador join him at the high table, forcing her to shift the seating around a bit at the last minute. Favored by the King or not, Sador should have been seated at the table just below the dais, as protocol demanded, but the elves from Tol Eressëa apparently had never heard of the word.

Laurendil gave the younger elf an amused look. "And how do you know this particular song, youngling?"

Sador sniffed disdainfully. "I’m not that young, my lord. I was well past my majority when I died. I heard the song when I was living at the Havens. Some of the Edain among us sang it often." Then he smiled slyly. "I even know the words to verse thirty-one."

At that revelation the entire delegation broke out in laughter and Amarië noticed that Findaráto was laughing the loudest.

"Verse thirty-one?" Arafinwë asked in confusion. "What’s verse thirty-one?"

Findaráto laughed even harder when he heard his atar’s question but was finally able to gasp out an explanation, of a sort. "Anatomically impossible but very inventive nonetheless."

Laurendil chimed in, grinning hugely. "The Edain are nothing if not inventive."

That set Findaráto laughing again, as who should know better than he the inventiveness of Mortals? "I remember the first time I heard that song," he gasped, his face merry with the memory. "Barahir... young Beren’s father... sang it to me and when he got to verse thirty-one I was so flabbergasted I just stared at him with my mouth hanging open. I must have looked ridiculous. And...and all I could think to say when he finished the verse was ‘Is that what you Mortals do with turnips? We Eldar simply eat them!’" and then he was caught up in another fit of laughter, tears running down his face, and the Tol Eressëan elves joined him.

Amarië noticed that the elves of Tirion wore bemused looks on their faces, though some of them were laughing out of sympathy. She was surprised to see that Glorfindel had the same look of bemusement; apparently, living in hidden Gondolin had had its disadvantages... if one considers not knowing the words to the mysterious verse thirty-one a disadvantage.

"I was never so confounded in my entire life," Findaráto added when he had calmed down somewhat, wiping the tears from his eyes, "and it took a Mortal to do it, too."

"So, do we get to hear this song, yonya?" Arafinwë asked, but Findaráto shook his head and even Lord Laurendil was shaking his.

"I think not, Atar, at least not here. Perhaps I will have Sador give you a private recitation," and Findaráto flashed a wicked grin at his gwador, who blushed but otherwise did not protest.

Arafinwë chuckled. "I look forward to it."

Then, Glorfindel suddenly stood up, grabbed Findaráto by the hand and dragged him to the center of the hall where all could see them. Everyone gave them a somewhat mystified look.

"I think it’s high time all bets were off," Glorfindel exclaimed loudly and then he and Findaráto doffed their boots and their tabards and began dancing a madly twirling dance that reminded Amarië of when these two had been reunited at the Gates of Return. There was only one difference...

She gasped along with everyone else when the two ellyn began flinging off other pieces of clothing. Somehow they even managed to remove their breeches without breaking a step until the two of them were twirling about dressed only in their warrior braids. Everyone sat there in stunned silence, except for Arafinwë, who had begun laughing.

As suddenly as they had begun, the two elves stopped and stood facing the high table, their hands on their hips, identical grins gracing their faces, and neither with a single stitch on.

"You lose the bet, Atar!" Findaráto exclaimed with a laugh. "You and Lord Rialcar both lose the bet." Suddenly everyone in the hall started laughing, even those from Tol Eressëa as Sador quickly filled them in on the joke.

That was the final straw! Amarië strove to keep her temper, but failed miserably. She moved to stand before the high table, stamped her foot in frustration, her face dark with fury and nearly screamed, "Finrod Felagund! You put your clothes on right now or so help me my next tapestry will show you in all your... your glory and I will hang it in the front portico of the palace for all of Tirion to see!"

Most of the elves started laughing and some even sniggered at Amarië’s threat, but Findaráto just stood there, his mouth open and his eyes wide. "Wh-what did you call me?"

Amarië stared at her betrothed in confusion, her anger suddenly gone. "Wh-what...?"

Now the hall began to quiet as the elves sensed a different sort of drama unfolding between the erstwhile lovers. Finrod stepped quietly before Amarië, looking up at her. "What did you call me?" he asked softly.

"F-finrod," she stammered, suddenly afraid. "I-I called you Finrod Fe-felagund. That is your name isn’t it?"

"One of them," Finrod conceded.

For a long moment after they just stared at one another, and suddenly Finrod smiled and then he laughed and before she realized what he meant to do he swooped her up into his arms and was planting a most delicious and highly unchaste kiss on her lips. She started to protest but instead wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back just as unchastely, astonished at how good it felt to be in his naked embrace.

Neither she nor Finrod paid any heed to the collective gasp from the watching elves, or Eärwen’s rather plaintive, "At least wait until you’re married, dears."

Glorfindel gave a loud sigh that sounded to many as if he were about to suffer a major respiratory attack. "Why does he get to kiss all the pretty ellith?" he protested, throwing Finrod’s tunic at him, though the ellon was still too busy kissing Amarië to notice.

"Stop whining," Sador said, flinging a tomato that landed squarely in Glorfindel’s face. "And put your clothes on. You look ridiculous."

****

High on Taniquetil, several of the Valar were laughing at Olórin’s description of the audience with the elves of Tol Eressëa and the feast that followed.

He had come among the elves guised as one of them, though none there recognized him and instantly forgot his existence as soon as they left his presence. He had witnessed Sador’s initiation with approval. Lord Námo had been right to tell Finrod and Glorfindel the truth about Sador’s past. He had watched how Amarië handled the unexpected disruptions to her carefully laid-out plans for the feast and had been pleased with her efforts to keep her temper. He had grinned at Finrod’s description on hearing ‘The Elf and the Fruit Vendor’ for the first time and had watched with amusement Amarië’s tantrum when Glorfindel and Finrod had removed all their clothes before the entire court.

"Why did you tell Findaráto and Glorfindel about Sador?" Vairë asked her beloved spouse at one point and Námo smiled upon her, amusement in his eyes.

"Because Sador wouldn’t, even when Irmo insisted he should."

"But that’s interfering with Sador’s right of free will not to tell," Vairë protested. "Isn’t it?" She turned to Manwë, who shook his head.

"Eru himself wished it so," the Elder King explained.

Námo nodded. "I...accosted Finrod and Glorfindel a few days ago." He chuckled at the memory of finding the ellyn in the baths together. Sador had just left. Their expressions when he had appeared standing in the middle of the bathing pool as naked as they had been priceless. "I told them about what happened in Doriath. It was their idea to initiate him into their warrior society."

"And that will be important for many in the days and even years to come," Manwë added, though he declined to explain further and none there pressed him.

"So did they ever sing ‘The Elf and the Fruit Vendor’?" Varda suddenly asked Olórin, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

Olórin laughed. "Nay, Lady. Findaráto decided that prudence was the better part of valor and offered to give Arafinwë a more private recitation, or rather, offered to have young Sador give it."

That set everyone laughing.

"Pity."

They all looked at Varda in surprise, including Manwë. The Star-Kindler gave them all a virtuous smile. "I’m rather fond of verse thirty-one."

And to the utter amazement of the other Valar and Olórin, the proper Queen of the Valar began singing the very raucous and quite explicit words of verse thirty-one. By the time she reached the end of the first stanza, the others had laughingly joined her.

26: The Cost of Kingship

The elves of Tol Eressëa had come to Tirion for one reason and one reason only, though it was not the reason they had given.

Laurendil met with Arafinwë and Finrod two days later. They sat in the smaller council chamber with Glorfindel, Sador and Lord Rialcar on one side and Laurendil’s wife, Manwen, and two others from the embassy on the other, a Sinda named Arodeth and a Noldo named Elemmacar who preferred to be called Gilvagor.

"The truth of the matter is, we’re bored," Laurendil said when all were seated.

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Bored?"

Laurendil looked somewhat sheepish but held his ground. "You have to understand, my lord. Many of us have spent the last millennium at war and our Sindarin kin were at it for even longer. I frankly find it difficult to remember what it is like to live in the peace of Aman. Even now I find myself reaching for my sword at the slightest unidentifiable sound." He paused, his expression grim. "I must confess that when I first returned to Tol Eressëa I slept with one of my long knives by my side."

Arafinwë looked surprised, as did Lord Rialcar, who grimaced at the thought of what his beloved son had seen and done to drive him to such things. Finrod and Glorfindel, on the other hand, only nodded.

"I learned early on never to sleep without my sword by my side," Finrod commented.

Glorfindel smiled, though there was no warmth to it. "When I was first re-embodied and began to remember my former life I felt... uneasy without a weapon at my side while I slept."

Arafinwë and Rialcar exchanged startled glances. "But why...?" the King began.

Finrod laughed. "Old habits die hard, Atar, even after death."

Glorfindel nodded. "Olórin finally let me have a very blunt kitchen knife that wouldn’t have sliced butter to put under my pillow. Even though I knew that knife couldn’t hurt anyone I still felt immensely more at ease knowing it was there."

"And now?" Lord Rialcar asked, though he was looking at his son rather than at Glorfindel.

"Now, I don’t need it." Glorfindel said with a shrug and Rialcar was relieved to see Laurendil nod as well.

"The point is, my lord," Laurendil continued, "most of us don’t know what to do with ourselves anymore. I’ve known nothing but warfare for so long, I can’t think past the next battle, the next patrol, or even the next meal taken on the run."

There was silence for a while as Arafinwë pondered the Noldo’s words, then the King nodded. "You need a purpose, something to justify your existence."

There were nods all around from the Tol Eressëan elves.

"I used to be a healer," Manwen said. "I learned my craft from Lord Elrond Peredhel himself." Several pairs of eyebrows rose at the elleth’s words and Glorfindel felt a thrill run through him, though he could not understand why. "There was always a need for healers in Middle-earth," Manwen continued. "There isn’t any need here."

"Not true, lady," Finrod interjected. "Even here in Aman harm can come to us. And there are the Reborn and those who come from Endórë sick to their fëa with weariness who must be treated. You might consider going to Lórien and asking permission to join the Lóriennildi. Such skills as you have will always be welcomed by my Lord Irmo and the Lady Estë."

"That may be true, aranya," Laurendil said, using Finrod’s former title without thinking, "but what of the rest of us? All we know is how to be warriors."

Glorfindel cast a quick smile at Sador who smiled back. "That’s not all you know, Laurendil," the Balrog-slayer said and the former captain of the Dorthonion rangers looked baffled. "You know how to be loyal," nodding towards Finrod, "and you know how to love," nodding to Manwen, who blushed, "you know how to lead and inspire others. There are many things you know, you just have to remember."

"Have you thought of taking up a trade or a craft?" Sador asked somewhat hesitantly. He was not sure he really belonged there but Finrod had insisted, as, surprisingly, had Laurendil. His hair was cleaned of blood and carefully braided. Finrod had spent half the night before patiently teaching him the intricacies of braiding his hair in the correct pattern. Now he sat there feeling a little out of his depth.

Laurendil looked at the young Sinda thoughtfully. The tale of what had happened to Sador was nothing new, for he knew too many with similar tales. He found the young ellon engaging and quite intelligent, once you got past his shyness, and did not dismiss his words lightly.

"Some have done so, for in truth, not all of us were warriors, even among the Noldor."

"What did you do before you left Aman?" Finrod asked. He suddenly realized that in all the time he had known Laurendil, he had never asked about his life before Endórë.

"Very little, as I recall," Lord Rialcar said with an amused snort and a wink at his son and Laurendil laughed.

"That about sums it up."

All joined in the laughter at that. When it calmed down, Arafinwë looked at Laurendil, his eyes piercing.

"What you say needs reflection. I am King of the Noldor, but only of those of Aman and over the Sindar I have no sway. Those Noldor who left Aman or were born elsewhere are not under my jurisdiction, though many have indicated that they accept my overlordship since your own kings have not been returned to you."

"One has, my lord," Gilvagor responded with a pointed look at Finrod, deciding to take advantage of the opening the King had unwittingly given them.

Arafinwë caught his breath and glanced at Findaráto who had suddenly turned white. Glorfindel reached out a hand to comfort him and Sador left his seat on the other side of the Balrog-slayer to stand behind his gwador and begin kneading his neck, willing calmness. In truth, Arafinwë had not thought of it in that light, that his firstborn was a king in his own right. Yet, he had seen the evidence of that only two days previously. The thought that Findaráto might actually want to rule again...

"Findaráto?" the King said hesitantly.

Finrod shook his head and abruptly stood up and moved to one of the embrasures looking out onto a garden. For long moments no one moved and Laurendil cast a withering look at Gilvagor, who remained unrepentant.

Finrod finally turned around, his expression set, his eyes glowing with a deep resolve. None there could ever fully appreciate the internal struggle he had had with himself just then, though a few there could guess. When he spoke, it was to Gilvagor, though his eyes remained on his atar.

"Understand Gilvagor, I turned the rulership of Nargothrond over to my nephew, Orodreth, before I left with Beren. I held the crown of Nargothrond for over three centuries. I could have kept it and many of my subjects begged me not to go." Here he glanced briefly at Laurendil, who had gone pale himself and had begun to weep silently. Manwen wrapped a comforting arm around her husband.

"I deemed my oath to Barahir of greater worth than Nargothrond’s crown," Finrod continued. "Even if I had not died, but had returned to Nargothrond in triumph, I would not have taken it back."

"Yet, you are still the only king of Beleriand to return from the Halls of Mandos, aranya," Laurendil whispered, his throat tight with emotion. "Surely that must mean something."

Finrod moved then and went to stand before his former ranger who stumbled to his feet. Arafinwë watched the interplay between his son and the Noldo, amazed at the depths of love and loyalty between the two ellyn that not even death could diminish.

Finrod took Laurendil by the shoulders and leaned forward so that their foreheads touched. It was an act of deep intimacy between lord and vassal and some had to look away. Then the former King of Nargothrond gave a great sigh, and kissed Laurendil’s brow before stepping back, a rueful smile on his face. "I do not know if it means anything at all, otornya. I can only tell you that I have no desire to rule again, at least not for the present," he amended, seeing the stricken look on Laurendil’s face. "I think I was allowed to return because my atar needs me by his side. Someday the Crown of the Noldor will come to me, but at the moment I am content to sit at my atar’s feet and learn from him the true meaning of kingship."

Arafinwë felt his own eyes tearing at his son’s words and vowed to himself to do his best in teaching Findaráto what he knew of being a king, though, looking at the ellon now, he doubted he had anything worth teaching him.

Laurendil fell to his knees, catching Finrod’s hands in his, tears flowing. "Wh-when that day comes, aran meletyalda, I b-beg you to allow me the honor of being the fi-first of your subjects to swear fealty to you."

Finrod stood still, looking down at the ellon, then shook his head. "No, Laurendil. I will not allow it."

"Aranya, please..." Laurendil cried.

"Hush," Finrod ordered, placing a finger on the ellon’s lips. "I will not allow it," he repeated. "I already have your fealty, but more importantly, I already have your love, as you have mine. No other oaths are needed between us."

Then he reached down and lifted the Noldo to his feet and embraced him, rocking him gently, silently offering Laurendil his permission to let go. It was several minutes before the ellon’s weeping slowed, but finally he pulled back from Finrod’s embrace, attempting vainly to wipe the tears from his face.

"Ávartyara nillo, aranya," he said sheepishly.

"Ú-moe an ngohenad, Glorendil," Finrod replied softly.

Arafinwë sat there, deep in thought, and wondered again what he could possibly teach his son of kingship that he didn’t already know.

"This is the real reason for your coming to Tirion, isn’t it?" Sador asked, suddenly enlightened. "It was never about being bored."

The members of the embassy looked chagrined. Glorfindel gave Sador an appraising glance. "I think you have the right of it, hanno."

"Is this true?" Arafinwë asked. Things were becoming clearer now.

Laurendil bowed to the King. "Please believe me, my lord, we did not mean to deceive you. What I told you is the truth. I fear many of our people feel restless in the eternal peace of Aman and there is none to guide them away from their discontent."

"There is no one among us whom we can agree to lead us," Manwen added. "We had hoped..." She looked regretfully at Finrod who shook his head and gave a deprecating laugh.

"Have you dealt with any of the Reborn since their release from Lórien, my lady?"

For a moment the elleth gave Finrod a blank stare and then comprehension dawned and she smiled. She turned to Laurendil. "Gilanneth, remember?"

Before Laurendil could respond both Finrod and Glorfindel began laughing. "Don’t tell me," Glorfindel said, "she can climb up but she can’t climb down."

"How do you know this, lord?" Manwen asked incredulously.

But it was Finrod who answered, giving a snort of amusement. "I well remember the time Gilanneth managed to climb one of the columns that graces the Halls of Mandos, one shaped in the likeness of a tree. How she did it none of us knew, though we were all busy trying to figure it out so we could do the same. The poor elleth got all the way to the top and froze, unable to come down."

Glorfindel took up the tale, his eyes bright with amusement. "Lord Námo finally had to send four of his Maiar up after her and bring her down. When she finally collapsed into Lord Námo’s arms she was so distraught it took him some time to calm her down long enough to give her a scolding." His face became stern and his voice deepened in a fair imitation of the Lord of Mandos. "‘If you ever do anything like that again, elleth nîn, I will have to be very angry with you.’"

Finrod laughed. "Poor thing, she got hysterical all over again, but I suspect Lord Námo’s words were more for our benefit than for hers; she had learned her lesson."

Glorfindel nodded and chuckled. "I remember studiously not thinking how much fun it would be to climb that column."

"You, too?" Finrod laughed. "Lord Námo knows his elflings too well."

Sador snorted in agreement and nodded. "Remind me to tell you what happened once when I decided swimming in one of the fountains would be a good idea. Lord Námo took one look at me and threw his hands up muttering something about needing a vacation, whatever that means."

Glorfindel and Finrod laughed while the others gazed at the three ellyn in wonder at this glimpse of their experiences within the Halls of Mandos. "You’ll have to tell us the tale during lunch, hanno," Finrod said, "I’m sure we’d all like to hear it."

"Well, Gilanneth must be improving," Laurendil finally said with a smile and chuckled at the others’ enquiring expressions. "The last time she ended up in a tree it only took two Nandor to get her down."

That set them all laughing.

"So you see, my lady," Finrod said when the laughter had died down a bit. "it would not be possible for me to accept the lordship of the elves of Tol Eressëa at this time. I fear I am not emotionally ready for such an important responsibility."

"Yet the fact remains that without clear leadership we are adrift and cannot find our way," Manwen replied, obviously frustrated.

"That is true, my dear," Arafinwë answered. "And you have given us much to think over. Let us adjourn for the time being and reflect on what we have heard here. We will meet again tomorrow." He stood and the rest followed, bowing as the King strode from the room. The others began filing out but Laurendil held back and when Finrod nodded, the two of them remained behind.

Once the door was closed, Finrod asked, "What is it, otornya?"

Laurendil stared at the floor, suddenly uncertain. Now that it had come to it, he wondered that he dared ask what he longed to ask his king. Taking a deep breath, he looked up. "I have watched many, mortal and immortal alike, as their fëar slipped their hröar and it always left me to wonder..."

"Wonder what, Laurendil?"

"Wh-what was it like...t-to die?"

Finrod stood there stunned and Laurendil immediately regretted his words and started to apologize, but Finrod raised a hand to forestall him.

"I am not angry, meldonya. I confess I am somewhat taken aback, but not at your presumption, if that is what it is. It’s just... it’s just that no one has ever asked me that question before, not even my atar."

"I’m sorry, aranya," Laurendil said contritely. "I did not mean to stir up painful memories."

"Painful? No, Laurendil. Whatever pain there is lies on your side of my death. I have no real memory of it." He put an arm around the ellon’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He smiled conspiratorially. "Come now. Let us see what mischief my gwedyr and your wife are getting up to between them."

Laurendil laughed and allowed Finrod to lead him out of the council chamber.

****

Otornya: (Quenya) My (sworn) brother, contracted from otornonya.

Ávartyara nillo, aranya: (Quenya) "Forgive me, my king". The person to be forgiven is in the ablative while the matter to be forgiven would be in the dative.

Ú-moe an ngohenad, Glorendil: (Sindarin) "There is nothing to forgive, Glorendil". The phrase literally translates as "It is not necessary for forgiving". Glorendil is the Sindarin form of Laurendil's name.

Elleth nîn: (Sindarin) My girl, literally, "My elf-maid". 

Meldonya: (Quenya) My friend, if referring to a male friend. If referring to a female friend, it would be meldenya.

Note on Finrod’s relationship with Orodreth: In the published Silmarillion, Orodreth is Finrod’s brother. This, Christopher Tolkien later admitted, was an editorial mistake on his part. Tolkien had decided that Orodreth was the son of Finrod’s younger brother, Angrod, and that he had two children, Finduilas and Gil-galad. This is the scheme I have chosen to use in this story. See Christopher Tolkien's discussion of this in The War of the Jewels.

27: Judgment Recalled

[A/N: Some scenes in this and the next chapter may prove disturbing to some readers and you may skip these two chapters without losing the thread of the story. All you need to know from these two chapters is that, because of Laurendil's question to Finrod about dying, Finrod remembers in greater detail his judgment before the Valar. Lord Námo comes and helps him put the memories in perspective. When Glorfindel looks in on Finrod the next morning he finds him still sleeping and Lord Námo is there watching over him. The story picks up again in chapter 29.]

****

Finrod was still pondering Laurendil’s earlier question when he finally retired for the evening. It wasn’t that the question upset him; no one had ever come out and asked him before and he wasn’t sure how he should respond. It had been a very long time since he had actually thought about his death... and afterwards.

He remembered dying, of course, but whatever pain he felt at the time did not survive his memory. One moment he was saying farewell to a weeping Beren and the next...

****

He was standing in a hall staring at a tapestry, one that disturbed him immensely, though he did not know why. He could not recall why he was there or even how he had gotten there. Wherever ‘there’ was.

"Findaráto."

He gasped. How long had it been since anyone had called him that? He barely recognized the name as belonging to him. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with the Lord of Mandos. Finrod took a deep breath and unconsciously straightened, waiting for the Vala’s wrath to fall upon him, as he no doubt deserved. Námo, for his part, merely stood there watching as the erstwhile King of Nargothrond mentally girded himself for what he knew must come. It was most amusing, though he did not allow his amusement to show. He held out his hand.

"Take it," he commanded.

Finrod never hesitated, never knowing that he had passed his first trial, never knowing that Námo had just won the bet with his brother, Irmo.

As soon as the elf took Námo’s hand he found himself standing alone in the middle of a ring of thrones, all occupied, and for the first time felt fear. Knowing, as a mental exercise, that this day might come was one thing, being there for real was something else altogether....

One of the Valier stepped down from her throne and walked into the center to face the Elda.

"Well, Findaráto," Varda said, unsmiling, "here we are at last."

Finrod was tempted not to bow to the Queen of Stars, but his innate courtesy and early training made that impossible and he gave her his obeisance, though it was just short of being rude. "My Lady."

"We had high hopes for you Arafinwion," Varda said with a sigh. Her eyes were sad and Finrod found it difficult to look at them directly.

"Had, my Lady?" the once King of Nargothrond echoed. "Does that mean you have lowered your expectations or have given up on me altogether?"

Varda smiled thinly. "I see death has not made you any humbler."

"Was it supposed to?" Somewhere in the back of his mind Finrod was appalled by his own temerity but had decided, as he no longer had anything to lose, it no longer mattered.

"We will see," was all Varda would say.

"Why did you leave, Findaráto?" Námo asked from his throne.

"And more importantly, why did you not turn back with your atar?" Manwë added.

Finrod sighed. How could he possibly answer either question, especially, when, in his mind, they were one and the same? It wasn’t because of his uncle, Fëanáro. Finrod had never trusted him and trusted his sons even less, except possibly Macalaurë. No, he had left because of his love for Turucáno and the lure of adventure, the need to see new places and people. He would not have, could not have, turned back. He never blamed his atar for returning to Tirion. If anything, it had been a relief not to have him there. He was not sure his atar could have survived the Helcaraxë. Not all the elves who made it to the shores of Beleriand made it with their minds intact. Some, Finrod always suspected, had survived the Crossing physically whole, but with their fëar damaged by what they had suffered in that land of eternal white.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. "I fear no answer I give could adequately explain why I did what I did."

Varda shook her head. "You must give an answer Findaráto, however inadequate. You will not be permitted to leave the Rithil Anamo until you do."

"Why did you go with the Mortal Beren?" Námo asked suddenly.

"I gave my oath to Barahir," Finrod said simply, facing the Lord of Mandos, as if that explained everything, which, to his way of thinking, it did. "I had no choice."

"Did you not?" Námo countered.

Finrod could feel himself growing angry. His expression darkened and there was a dangerous light in his eyes. "No, my Lord. I did not. I do not give my oath lightly, which is why I did not follow Fëanáro and his sons into madness."

"Yet you willingly gave your aid to a Mortal to help retrieve one of the Silmarils," Námo commented. "Does that not constitute ‘following Fëanáro into madness’ as you put it?"

"It was never about the Silmarils!" Finrod shouted. "At least, not for me."

"Do you hate us, Findaráto?’ Varda asked.

Finrod faced the Star-Kindler with surprise at the unexpected question. "Why would any of you even care if I did or not?"

"We cursed you," Varda replied sadly, "and have forbidden Aman to you."

Finrod shook his head. "We cursed ourselves, Lady. Or rather, I should say, Fëanáro did it for us."

"You still haven’t answered the question, Arafinwion," Manwë said.

Finrod stood there for a long time contemplating the question. He remembered gently chiding the mortal wisewoman Andreth for disparaging the Powers one spring morning and had meant it... at the time. Now? He shook his head in confusion and looked at Varda, his expression troubled. "I-I don’t know."

"An honest enough answer," Varda allowed. "Perhaps by the end, you will."

Finrod felt himself blushing, as if he were an elfling who had just been reprimanded by an elder.

"Do you regret your rebellion against us, Findaráto?" Námo asked softly.

Finrod lifted his head and stood a little straighter, knowing that the next words he uttered would damn him completely. Never taking his eyes off Varda he answered the Lord of Mandos. "My only regret, my Lord Námo, is that I did not leave Aman sooner."

There was a rustle from the other thrones, a sort of mental sigh that Finrod could not interpret. Varda stared at the Elda for another moment before asking a final question. "And what of your beloved, Findaráto? What of Amarië? Would you abandon her a second time?"

The former King of Nargothrond laughed, though there was no humor in it. He suddenly felt on surer ground and throwing caution to the wind almost sneered. "You’ll have to do better than that, Lady. Sauron got to me with that question first. I suggest you not attempt such games with those of us who know how to play."

It was the closest thing to a slap in the face that Finrod could possibly achieve against the Valar. So much for asking for mercy, he thought with grim humor. Not that he would have ever stooped so low. He may have lost everything, may be deemed the lowest creature to crawl under the Sun, but he knew himself to be the King of Nargothrond and he would go to his doom on his feet, not on his knees.

"And we will see about that, as well," Varda said, her eyes looking even sadder.

Before he could react to her words, Varda returned to her throne, looked at her spouse sitting next to her and nodded. "I think we’ve heard enough, my beloved."

"Yes," the Elder King said slowly, almost regretfully. "I think we have indeed." Then he looked directly at Finrod and, in a voice that was colder than anything Finrod had ever heard before, intoned, "Let judgment commence."

As if those words were the key that unlocked his memories, Finrod suddenly found his mind flooded with images from his past, images of startling detail, as if he were there, living them all over again. Then the sifting began, the peeling away of all the illusions and delusions he had used to cover up and cover over those aspects of himself he no longer wished to acknowledge as belonging to him.

The onslaught of images drove him to his knees with a startled gasp as he attempted to resist what was happening to him. He never felt himself collapse all the way to the ground, writhing in the throes of the Valar’s unrelenting probing. He was unaware of Nienna weeping or even that Estë held him for a time when the true memories of his part in the Rebellion became so overwhelming he began screaming and some dim part of him, aware of what was being done to him, feared he would never stop.

And then when the images focused on a dungeon on the island of Tol-in-Gaurhoth...

****

Finrod jerked awake with a cry, his breath ragged. He was surprised to find he had fallen asleep. Why was he dreaming about his judgment? His limbs shook with something akin to terror and he felt himself beginning to panic. His first thought was to find Glorfindel, but dismissed it almost immediately. His second thought was not to fall asleep again, but even as he came to that conclusion he felt himself inexplicably succumbing to great weariness. He lurched out of his bed and went to a large clothespress and opened it, searching frantically. There. He grabbed the stuffed toy from the bottom of the press and slid ungracefully to the floor, clutching it, as if it alone could stave off whatever was happening to him.

"No child," came a soft voice from out of the darkness, and Finrod gave a stifled scream and scrambled across the floor into a corner, nearly cowering, as Námo materialized before him. The Lord of Mandos looked down upon the ellon with grave sympathy and knelt to stroke the elf’s hair. Finrod cringed even further into the corner, the stuffed toy his only shield. Námo shook his head in dismay. "Let the images come, Finrod. Do not be afraid. No harm will come to you. Let them come. It’s time you remembered everything."

Finrod shook his head. "No... please, not again, not again..." he sobbed and Námo reached out and took him into his embrace and held him, though Finrod tried vainly to resist.

"Let them come, child," the Lord of Mandos said again. "Shh. It will be well, I promise you... let them come. I will not leave you to face them alone."

"Why now?" Finrod cried, still resisting, anger beginning to take over. "WHY?"

Námo held him tightly. Finrod squirmed in the Vala’s embrace, screaming invectives as he tried to escape — escape the Vala, escape the memories beginning to overwhelm him again. He did not want to surrender, he wouldn’t surrender, he wouldn’t allow these memories to surface, he wouldn’t...

"Finda! Remember what you promised your atto," Námo suddenly said, his words unlocking the final door to the ellon’s memories. Finrod gave another shuddering sob of despair and collapsed completely into Námo’s arms, surrendering himself to his memories, weeping inconsolably even as he was swept away into the past once again....

****

All words are Quenya. 

Arafinwion: Son of Arafinwë, Finrod’s patronymic.

Macalaurë: Maglor.

Rithil Anamo: Ring of Doom, literally "Circle of Judgment", also called Máhanaxar, 'Doom Ring', a word adopted and adapted from Valarin.

28: Judgment Passed

How long it lasted, he never knew. Eventually the probing stopped and he found himself lying on his back, staring into a cerulean sky. He tried to remember that last memory... something important... something to do with Beren... no, not Beren... with Mortals... something he was forgetting, or refusing to see....

He shuddered and cried out in despair as he finally faced the truth. Manwë was suddenly standing over him, looking down with great sadness.

"Yes, Findaráto, I think you are finally beginning to understand." He knelt down and gently stroked the ellon’s hair. "It’s all right for you to hate us. It’s even all right for you to hate Eru, but know why you hate. You will never return to Endórë. That door is forever closed to you. Never again will you speak with any of the Secondborn, and I think that is the greatest punishment for you, isn’t it, Mellon-in-Edain?"

Finrod could only lie there, tears streaming down his face. That had been the one thing he had refused to acknowledge to himself. He could give up his crown — had, in fact, done so. He could accept that he could never return to what he would always think of as his true home. It was the knowledge that he would never speak to any of the Edain again that left him feeling bereft. He would never sit by their fires and listen to their songs and their stories, so different from those of the Eldar, yet no less beautiful and wondrous to him because of it. Bëor, Andreth, Barahir, Beren and countless others... he had lost them all to Time and Eru’s inexorable Gift. Yet there had always been others. But now...

From the depths of his soul he screamed his rage and despair at this final loss. His Children! — for so he had always thought them. He had lost his Children forever and there was no comfort for him anywhere.

"No, Findaráto!" Manwë said somewhat sternly, his expression implacable. "They were never your Children. They did not belong to you. They do not even belong to us. They belong to themselves and to Eru alone. Just as you Eldar do. As they were never yours to begin with you cannot say you have lost them. You cannot lose what you never had in the first place."

And that was the final assault on his self-delusions, and as the walls of his conceit crumbled, he screamed again and flailed against Manwë, needing to lash out in his rage. Manwë scooped the ellon into his arms and held him tightly as he returned to his throne, allowing Finrod to spend his rage and sorrow on him and on him alone.

How long he continued in his fury he did not know, but eventually he was empty of all anger and despair. Manwë looked down at the ellon nestled in his arms, waiting for Finrod to open his eyes, waiting to see what judgment Arafinwion had passed on himself. For in truth, the Valar did not judge. They merely provided these exasperating yet loveable Children the means by which to judge themselves.

Finrod finally sighed and slowly opened his eyes and the Elder King nodded to himself, accepting the judgment he saw there. Gone was the proud King of Nargothrond. The eyes that looked back at him in confusion and a little fear were those of a six-year-old elfling....

Finda opened his eyes and through his tears saw his atto looking down at him. He wasn’t sure why he was in his atto’s arms but if he’d been crying, he must have been naughty. He didn’t remember being naughty, but he knew what he was supposed to say now. Gulping back tears he lisped, "I-I thorry, atto. Fi-finda thorry."

Manwë looked down with great tenderness at the ellon in his arms and accepted the role he’d been given in the elfling’s eyes.

"Atto knows that," Manwë said quietly, silently signalling Námo to approach his throne.

"Atto not angry?"

"No, my little elfling. Atto’s not angry. Atto loves his little Finda."

"Wh-where’s Ammë?" the once King of Nargothrond stammered, looking about but seeing nothing. Varda neatly stepped into the role being offered and came to stand beside her beloved’s throne to look down at this most adorable elfling sniffling in the arms of his "atto".

"Ammë is right here, titta meldanya," Varda reached down and stroked the ellon’s hair and little Finda gave a tremulous smile and sighed. "Do you promise your atto not to be naughty again?"

The ellon nodded. "Finda promise."

"Good," Manwë said. "Now, go with your Uncle Námo like a good little elfling." Námo stepped forward with his arms out, ready to take on the role given him and feeling rather amused by it all. Truly these Children were amazing creatures. Finda shrank back into his atto’s arms, not willing to leave the safety he felt there. "Hush, now, remember your promise."

Finda looked up at his atto, lips trembling. He wanted to be good but he was afraid he couldn’t be and he didn’t want to leave his atto’s arms. Námo knelt beside the throne and gently stroked the ellon’s hair, well aware of the conflict the elfling was experiencing.

"I have a surprise for you, titta quén."

"Wh-what surprise?" Finda asked, curious in spite of himself.

Námo smiled and whispered conspiratorially. "Oh, but if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise. You have to come with me to see it. Would you like that?"

The ellon thought about it and all the Valar sat in perfect stillness waiting for his answer. Finally, after looking up at his beloved atto for approval, he nodded and held his arms out to be lifted up into his uncle’s arms.

"That’s my good elfling," Manwë said as he stood up to give the ellon a kiss on his brow. "Atto is very proud of his little Finda."

Finda smiled, feeling warm and loved and surprisingly safe in his Unca’ Námo’s arms. Then everything dissolved and he found himself inside a chamber and being lowered onto a bed, the covers tucked around him. Unca’ Námo leaned down and gave him something.

"Here, my elfling, here’s your surprise." It was a stuffed toy and Finda fell in love with it immediately. He took it into his arms and cuddled it, immensely happy with such a gift. Soon he was fast asleep....

He did not know that he slept that first time for twenty years of the Sun, nor did he know that afterwards his waking hours for the next century were spent happily crawling on the floor of his sleeping chamber, playing with his stuffed toys and simple games while his Maiar attendants looked on with indulgent smiles. Sometimes one of them even got on the floor and played with him and that pleased him very much. Yet he was most happy when his Unca’ Námo came to visit and he would spend hours nestled in Námo’s arms while the Lord of Mandos told him stories of how much his atto loved him....

****

When Finrod came to himself he was surprised that he was still in Námo’s arms and that the hour was so late. Dawn was not far off. The two of them were sitting on the floor.

"Welcome back," Námo said with a smile.

Finrod was suddenly aware of the fact that he was still clinging to the stuffed toy and with a muttered oath threw it away from him and tried to move out of Námo’s embrace, embarrassed and angry, but his limbs felt weak and the room started to spin so he settled back into the Vala’s arms.

"Why now?" he finally asked, his eyes closed against the dizziness. "Why am I remembering all this now?"

"Because you refused to remember before," Námo answered softly, "and we let you remain forgetful. However, the time is past when such luxuries can be allowed. Laurendil’s question was not accidental."

Finrod opened his eyes. "You made him...?"

"Not so!" came the vehement denial. "Say rather that we inspired him to ask the question that had burned in his heart for these many centuries, wondering if he could have faced what you faced in your final hour. We did not have to make him do anything, Finrod. You should know us better than that by now."

Finrod nodded and closed his eyes again, reliving the memories of his judgment and the aftermath. "I can't believe I crawled around like an infant!" he exclaimed in dismay.

"But you were an infant," Námo laughed. "A most adorable elfling, if I do say so myself. Shh. Don’t be embarrassed. Are you embarrassed about when you were an elfling in truth, toddling about after your older cousins? Why should you be embarrassed now?"

"Yet, for how long?" Finrod couldn't help asking.

"About a yén," Námo said with a smile.

"A whole yén!?" Finrod protested, finally scrambling out of Námo’s embrace. The Vala let him go.

Námo shrugged, looking at the ellon standing over him, outraged. "And so? You took the time you needed to be an infant again, to relearn innocence and the joy of delighting in simple things like stuffed toys and bedtime stories. There is no shame in that and no condemnation."

For a long time Finrod stood there, not really seeing the Vala staring at him calmly, allowing him all the time he needed to accept what was already in the past and could never be changed. He could see the ellon wavering, not wanting to give in to the truth, but he knew that the outcome was already assured. Findaráto would not disappoint.

Nor did he.

Without saying a word, he sank back to the floor and leaned against Námo’s shoulder while the Vala wrapped an arm around him. He sighed in contentment as he felt his 'Uncle' Námo’s arms giving him comfort. In a soft hesitant voice he asked, "W-will you tell me again how much my atto loves me, Unca’ Námo?"

Námo smiled at his favorite 'elfling'. "Would you like me to show you, instead?" he asked gently and when Finrod nodded, he leaned over and kissed the ellon on the brow.

Finrod gasped and attempted to resist what was happening. He was suddenly and inexplicably afraid and his greatest fear was having his sense of self destroyed by the Other that was even now drawing near to embrace him. For an eternity that could be measured in the blink of an eye he held his ground and then, in a desperate act of blind estel, he flung his fëa into the abyss and allowed the Other to take him.

Námo held the elf’s writhing form close to him, offering his support, making sure that none in the palace heard their prince’s shrieks of joy as wave after wave of indescribable divine ecstasy drew him ever deeper, ever higher and ever more closely into Love’s eternal embrace. His Light of Being shone brightly, brighter than it ever had before or ever would after and only the stars and the Valar were witnesses.

When he finally became aware of himself and his surroundings, he lay still, his senses numb, his mind reeling with what had happened. All of Eä had opened up to him and his fëa felt too large for his hröa, though that feeling began to subside as memory faded to more acceptable levels.

"Is... is it always like... that?" he whispered, his voice husky with emotion.

Námo smiled, though Finrod could not see. "Usually. Sometimes it’s even better."

Finrod shifted his position and then made a sound of disgust. He was wet. Every part of him was wringing with sweat. Even his hair felt gummy. Námo gave a snort of amusement at the ellon’s fastidious disgust and helped him rise.

Finrod stripped the sweat-soaked nightshirt off, preparing to use the tepid water from the washstand to wash the sweat from him, but suddenly realized that a tub of steaming hot water sat in the middle of the room. He glanced at Námo who merely smiled. "Don’t let all that hot water go cold." Then he handed Finrod a soft cloth, and a bar of soap.

Finrod laughed at that and climbed into the tub while Námo held a large towel ready for when he was ready to come out. In a short while Finrod was dried off and dressed in a clean nightshirt. He climbed into bed, pulling the covers around him. Námo picked up the discarded toy from the floor where Finrod had thrown it and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Do you still want this, or should I put it away?" His tone was not condescending, for he was genuinely interested in Finrod’s answer.

Finrod hesitated, feeling stupid, then reluctantly held out his arms and nodded. Námo smiled warmly, gave the toy to the elf and kissed him on the brow. "That’s my favorite elfling now." He started singing an ancient lullaby as he stroked the ellon’s hair and soon Finrod was fast asleep.

****

When Glorfindel peeked in several hours later to see Finrod still sleeping, the stuffed toy nestled in the ellon’s arms, he felt tears forming in his eyes at the sight, though he could not say why. It was only when he tiptoed further into the room that he noticed that Lord Námo was sitting in the rocking chair, wreathed in shadows.

"He had a difficult night," the Vala whispered, putting a finger to his lips.

Glorfindel nodded, glad that his gwador had not been alone in his hour of need. He bent down and gave Finrod a kiss on the brow before bowing to Námo and exiting.

Finrod never woke, but he gave a soft sigh and nestled further under the covers.

****

Mellon-in-Edain: (Sindarin) Friend-of-Men, one of Finrod’s titles.

Titta meldanya: (Quenya) My little dear (one).

Titta quén: (Quenya) Little one.

Yén: (Quenya) An elvish century, numbering 144 solar years.

Note: As an 'elfling' of six years, Finrod would have been only 2.5 years old in human terms.

29: Travel Plans

When he joined the rest of the royal family for breakfast Glorfindel told Arafinwë that Finrod was still sleeping and didn’t look to be waking anytime soon. He decided against mentioning Námo’s presence. Arafinwë looked at the ellon in surprise.

"Still sleeping?"

Glorfindel nodded, suddenly thoughtful. "I... I think maybe something happened last night. He was very quiet all evening, I noticed."

"But... what could possibly have happened?" Eärwen asked, looking concerned.

Glorfindel shrugged. "All I know is that when I peeked in to see if he was awake yet, I found him cuddled with a stuffed toy." The ellon giggled. "He looked so cute, just like an elfling."

Arafinwë sighed and closed his eyes and shook his head ruefully. Elfling indeed! He remembered when Findaráto had first come home and Arafinwë had found him sleeping with that ridiculous stuffed toy. He’d been angry at first, appalled that his grown son would resort to such childishness, but Eärwen had seen more clearly than he, as a mother usually did, and had forbidden him from even mentioning the toy to their son.

"Let him be an elfling again, love, and simply enjoy the fact that he’s with us once again," she had said and he had reluctantly agreed.

The King opened his eyes to see Glorfindel smiling wickedly, his eyes full of mischief at Findaráto’s expense. "We will not mention that to anyone, yonya," Arafinwë said a bit more sternly than he had intended, but the effect was all he could hope for. Glorfindel looked suitably chastened and mumbled an apology. Arafinwë exchanged an amused look with Eärwen. He was only grateful that Amarië had not yet joined them in the dining hall and had not heard about the stuffed toy.

"Well, all I want to know is," Sador suddenly piped up as he helped himself to some more toast, "if Finrod gets to have a stuffed toy, why can’t I?" and then he and Glorfindel were both laughing. Arafinwë simply rolled his eyes while Eärwen leaned over and whispered, "Elflings, indeed!"

So, Arafinwë sent a message to Laurendil informing him that due to the demands of kingship, their next meeting would have to be postponed until after lunch, then made sure there was some truth to his words by spending the morning drilling Glorfindel and Sador on the history of Aman and the relationship between the various elven kingdoms and the Valar.

When they finally gathered in the smaller council chamber once more, Arafinwë stole a glance at his firstborn, trying to ascertain what might have happened to him the night before. Finrod, however, greeted everyone with a ready smile, his eyes clear, his laughter unforced. Arafinwë had to conclude that whatever had happened had had no ill effect on his son. Once all were seated, Finrod spoke before Arafinwë could open his mouth. "I think I should return to Tol Eressëa with Laurendil."

Arafinwë looked at his son with some surprise. There was a level of maturity in his son’s voice and a look of resolve in his eyes that had not been there before and he wondered. "Why?" he asked, though he thought he could guess at one reason, stealing a glance at Laurendil who looked as startled as any there. So, the former ranger of Dorthonion was not privy to Findaráto’s decision. Interesting.

"I think someone should go and see for himself what is happening there and speak with the people. It might help us find a solution to both problems."

"I think Finrod is correct, my lord," Glorfindel said, "but he shouldn’t be the one to go."

Finrod looked at his friend in disbelief. "What do you mean?"

"Yes, Glorfindel, what do you mean?" Arafinwë echoed. There was a hardness to the ellon’s tone that he had never heard before and it made him wonder.

"It might send the wrong message," Glorfindel replied, then turned to Laurendil. "Who knew the real reason for your embassy, besides the members of the delegation?"

Laurendil raised an eyebrow. "I can think of one or two reclusive Wood Elves who might not have heard, but otherwise..."

"As I thought," Glorfindel nodded. He looked again at Arafinwë. "If Finrod goes many there will assume it is because he has accepted the lordship of Tol Eressëa. When they discover that is not the case, disappointment may well turn to anger and some might take it as a personal insult."

The others all looked thoughtful at that and Arafinwë could see the reluctant acceptance of Glorfindel’s words in his son’s eyes.

"Who should go instead? You?" Finrod asked somewhat heatedly, feeling hurt.

"I’m not the one they want to make king, gwador," Glorfindel replied, also somewhat heatedly.

"No! Neither of you will go, " Arafinwë interjected and shook his head at the rebellious looks on both their faces. "You, my son, for the reasons Glorfindel has stated, and you, Glorfindel, because you are equally renowned. You might inadvertently invoke other, older, conflicts of loyalty among the elves there and they may feel threatened by your presence. No, I have in mind to send someone whom none know, someone who will not be considered a threat to anyone." He looked pointedly at Sador, a sad smile on his face.

Sador turned white. "Me?" he squeaked. "But...I can’t go... I mean, Netilmírë.... I’m no... I’m too young!" He was babbling and knew he was babbling but couldn’t help it. His brain had frozen and he could not think straight for the fear he suddenly felt. He could almost feel the tears beginning to flow and hated himself for them. He leapt up, to flee, suddenly unable to breathe properly, but strong arms took him, held him, and soft words were spoken in his ear, though he did not understand them, until he felt himself calming and he could breathe again, think again. He opened eyes he was unaware had been closed to find himself wrapped in Arafinwë’s arms and sagged into the King’s embrace with a moan, feeling embarrassed by his hysteria.

"No dínen, ellon dithen veren nîn," Arafinwë whispered so only Sador could hear his words. "I would not send you if I did not feel you capable of performing your duty to me. Trust me."

Sador nodded and with a gentle kiss on his forehead, Arafinwë released him and led him back to his seat. The others remained silent. Finrod and Glorfindel had identical looks of concern on their faces, but were reassured when Arafinwë smiled at them.

"I think I will be sending my own embassy to Tol Eressëa," Arafinwë said as he resumed his seat. He looked at Laurendil. "Something Sador said yesterday gave me the idea."

"Wh-what did I say?" Sador asked, wracking his brains, trying to remember what he could have said that was so important.

Arafinwë smiled. "When you asked Laurendil about taking up a trade or craft. I was reminded that we have guilds that might be of use to the elves of Tol Eressëa who work in such trades and crafts."

"We have our own guilds, though, my lord," Arodeth said. "I myself belong to the Embroiderers’ Guild."

Arafinwë nodded. "Yes, exactly. Yet, I wonder if your guilds would not benefit from making alliances with ours. A sharing of arts and techniques might well benefit both groups."

Laurendil gave the King a jaundiced look. "Forgive me, my lord, but I doubt that any of the Guilds of Aman will consider ours to be on an equal footing with them. I fear we are considered poor cousins, especially we who were once Exiles."

"All the more reason for the heads of the guilds to meet. It is high time that the elves of Tol Eressëa be considered and think of themselves as part of Aman. Sending some of our guildmasters to speak with yours will be a start."

"That’s why you want to send Sador, because you mean to send Netilmírë," Finrod said, suddenly divining his atar’s plans. "And while Netilmírë and the other guildmasters are speaking to the Tol Eressëan guildmasters, Sador will be conducting his own, more private, enquiry."

"And the fact that a Sinda is apprenticed to a Noldo of Aman might cause resentments to flare even more than they already do has not occurred to anyone?" Glorfindel asked skeptically.

But Arodeth shook her head. "Nay, my lord Glorfindel. The fact that a Noldo of Aman would even consider a Sinda worthy of being her apprentice will go a long way to stemming such resentment."

The other members of the embassy nodded in agreement.

Finrod gave his atar a wry grin. "I think it’s an excellent idea, Atar. Now all you have to do is convince Netilmírë and the other masters that it is so."

Arafinwë smiled. "Nay, yonya. Not I. You." And Sador was the first to laugh at the look of horror on Finrod’s face.

****

Actually, Netilmírë, when she was told of the King’s wishes, thought it was an excellent idea.

"And Sador will accompany me?" she asked her prince.

Finrod nodded. "Atar would not wish to have his lessons with you interrupted because of your absence. I know there will be little opportunity to ply your craft, but..."

Netilmírë held up a hand. "There are many different lessons, my lord. Young Sador’s training will not be neglected."

"Good. Good. I know he was worried about that when Atar told him." Finrod smiled. "I should also tell you that Atar has given Sador his own mission, but I assure you, it will not interfere with yours. This is a separate thing, a concern of the Crown. What arrangements you and the other guildmasters make with the Tol Eressëan guilds is up to you, although the King hopes that you will strive for equity and fairness in your dealings with our kin."

Netilmírë nodded. "I must speak to the other guildmasters first, of course, but... you’re right, my prince, this meeting is long overdue." She gave Finrod a brilliant smile and there was a glint of mischief in her eyes. "When do we leave?"

****

The Tol Eressëan embassy left Tirion three days later, augmented by four guildmasters, including Netilmírë, plus Sador, but minus two of their own.

Arafinwë called Laurendil and Manwen to attend him one evening. They met in the King’s private study. Finrod was there as well, but not Glorfindel.

"I was wondering, my lady," Arafinwë began after they were all seated, "if you would consider not returning to Tol Eressëa just yet."

Manwen exchanged a worried glance with her husband before answering. "What do you have in mind, my lord?"

"I assure you, nothing ill," Arafinwë said. "I was wondering if you would like to go to Lórien and speak to Lord Irmo about the possibility of becoming his apprentice for a time."

Manwen gasped. "But why...?"

"Does the idea displease you, my daughter?"

And suddenly the room became too small for all of them, for a Presence was felt and all stood to bow before the Lord of Lórien. Manwen felt her knees go weak and her husband put out a hand to steady her, concern for her overriding his own sense of awe. Manwen gulped. She had lived in Doriath under the protection of the Maia Queen, true, but she had never bothered to think of the Powers or Dor-Rodyn as actualities until she and her husband had finally had no choice but to sail West, though neither truly wished to do so. She still found the idea of living in a land where one could converse freely with the Belain unnerving. She well remembered the scorn with which the Noldor first greeted her people for having forsaken the Great Journey for Beleriand and wondered if the Valar had ever forgiven the Sindar for their desertion.

Irmo stood there gazing at the elleth, waiting for her answer, but all she could manage was an uncertain shake of her head. Irmo smiled sympathetically and beckoned to her. "Come here, child."

Manwen gave a small gasp and stumbled towards the waiting Vala who took her hand, placing his other hand behind her head, forcing her to look into his eyes. She felt her heartbeat slow under the warm regard of the Lord of Lórien and realized there was nothing to fear here.

"That’s correct, child. No fear, no condemnation," Irmo said soothingly. "I’m afraid your kin here in Aman do not fully realize the role your people have played in the furtherance of Eru’s plans for Arda, but someday they will. Now, about becoming my apprentice..."

Manwen found herself crying and she bit her lips in anguish. Some deep part of her opened up under Irmo’s gaze, some hidden desire she was unaware of even having made itself known to her and all she could do in response was to weep, but whether in joy or sorrow, she could not say.

"Now, now, elleth nîn," Irmo said gently as he drew her into his embrace. "Enough of that. I think you will do very well under my tutelage. Anyone who has trained under the Peredhel is welcome in Lórien. Come to me in two weeks’ time. Findaráto will escort you. He knows the way to my demesne."

Irmo bent down and kissed the elleth on her brow, stroking her hair, and smiled. She managed a tremulous smile of her own and then he was gone. Laurendil had just enough time to catch her before she collapsed to the floor. She had fainted but came out of it shortly thereafter, though she refused to leave her husband’s embrace.

When he was assured that his beloved was well, Laurendil looked at the King and snarled. "Did you plan this, my lord? You and Lord Irmo? Do you Amaneldi and the damn Valar take such pleasure in tormenting us in this fashion?"

"Peace, Laurendil," Arafinwë replied. "It is true that I spoke with Lord Irmo about Manwen, but I never thought he would appear in person. You must place blame where it belongs. And I would take care how you speak of the Powers, my son. You’ve suffered under their wrath once before. I do not think you wish to suffer further."

Laurendil grimaced, his face still red with fury born of fear for his wife. "Manwen was right," he practically shouted. "We should never have sailed. I left Aman to get away from the Valar and I vowed never to have anything to do with them again. And now..."

"Why did you return, then?" Finrod asked in a reasonable tone.

Laurendil paled and he looked down at his wife, sorrow etched on his fair face as he bent and kissed her gently on the lips. "I...I couldn’t stop dreaming of the sea," he finally said in an anguished whisper and then he was weeping, all anger fled.

He felt hands on his shoulders and looked up through his tears to see his former liege lord standing behind him, smiling gently. "Then perhaps the Powers called you home for your own healing, otornya. I well remember the bitterness of heart you had towards the Valar and it grieved me that it was so, for in truth, our sufferings were of our own making. The Valar had nothing to do with them. Perhaps, Laurendil, Irmo wove the sea into your dreams and Ulmo set lips to the Ulumúri to bring you home again, to healing long postponed."

*And perhaps, hinya, I wove those dreams to lure your wife to me as well.* Irmo’s voice was heard by all in their minds though he was not visible. Laurendil gave a shudder.

"If Manwen goes to Lórien, so shall I," he said defiantly. "I will not be parted from her. I found my beloved in the midst of war and horror unimaginable. If Morgoth in all his might could not separate us, no other Vala will either."

"I wouldn’t have it any other way, my son." Irmo reappeared, a smile on his face. "You, too, shall become my apprentice."

Laurendil looked at the Vala in shock. "I am no healer! I go to be with Manwen. I want nothing else to do with you or any of the Valar."

"No? Well, we’ll see," Irmo said, and there was a foreboding tone to his words that sent shudders through them all. He looked straight at Finrod, his expression implacable. "Bring them to me in two weeks’ time, Arafinwion." Then he was gone again and it suddenly became easier to breathe.

For a long moment none there moved. Laurendil held his wife close to him and she was content to cling to him, both weeping gently. Finrod bent over the two of them, speaking softly, trying to bring them both comfort. Arafinwë sighed, then knelt before the weeping couple and placed one hand on Laurendil’s knee and another on Manwen’s head. They looked at him through their tears.

"It is decided then," Arafinwë said quietly. "You will both go to Lórien and become Lord Irmo’s apprentices. Shh. Do not grieve so, my children. The Lord of Lórien is a kind and loving master. There is naught to fear from him. He will teach you much and perhaps along the way he will help you towards your own healing, for both your fëar are wounded by grief and the horrors of war. I have seen it, though I deem you little recognize it in yourselves. Now, go, and take what rest you may this night. In two days time you will set out."

Laurendil helped his wife to her feet and they bowed to the King and his son before leaving, dejection written all over them. Finrod watched them leave with some concern. Arafinwë put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"It will be well, yonya. You’ll see."

****

No dínen, ellon dithen veren nîn: (Sindarin) "Hush, my brave elfling". Literally, "Be silent, my bold little elf". Arafinwë obviously has been practicing his Sindarin.

Dor-Rodyn: (Sindarin) Valinor.

Belain: (Sindarin) Plural of Balan: Vala.

Amaneldi: (Quenya) Attested plural of Amanelda: An Elf of Aman, particularly one who never rebelled against the Valar.

Ulumúri: (Quenya) The Great Horns of Ulmo.

30: Departures

"I don’t understand why I can’t go to Lórien with you," Glorfindel said to Finrod in a querulous tone as he watched the prince pack.

"Lord Irmo didn’t invite you," Finrod said reasonably, hiding a smile.

Glorfindel bounced on the bed with a dramatic sigh. "I can’t go to Tol Eressëa, I can’t go to Lórien. I’m no more than a prisoner here."

Finrod laughed. "Hardly a prisoner. Why you’ve barely explored Tirion since you arrived."

Glorfindel shrugged. "What’s to explore? It’s the same as it always has been. Nothing changes around here."

"Well, that’s just silly," Finrod said in some exasperation. He was suddenly reminded of his younger brothers and sister from before.

"It’s just that everyone is off on a mission but me."

"Oh, so that’s it," Finrod said, feigning indignation. "You aren’t really interested in joining me, you just want to feel important."

Glorfindel paled and then blushed furiously, looking away, biting his lips. "I-I’m sorry. I’ll be good."

Finrod looked upon his brother and friend in surprise, suddenly feeling as if those words weren’t meant for him, but for another... or possibly, he amended to himself, Another. He sat down on the bed next to Glorfindel who had not looked up and placed an arm around his shoulders.

"Shh. It’s all right. I’m not really angry. I wish you could come with me, too, but then Atar and Amillë will be all alone again. I think they’ve gotten used to having us around."

Glorfindel leaned into Finrod’s embrace and nodded. "I’ll miss you."

"I’ll miss you, too, but it’s not forever, pityaván. I’ll be back before you know it."

Glorfindel sighed dramatically, but otherwise did not offer any more protests. Still, it was a dejected elf who stood on the front portico of the palace watching Finrod ride off with Laurendil, Manwen and a royal escort, though he tried to pretend otherwise. Arafinwë wasn’t fooled, nor Eärwen.

"Come along, dear," the queen said soothingly. "Standing here will not bring Findaráto back any sooner. Why don’t you help me and Amarië this morning? We need to inventory the palace kitchens. Winter is coming, you know. Do you remember winter?"

Glorfindel allowed himself to be led away, though the last thing he wanted to do was to spend the day taking inventory, but could see no polite way out of it. Arafinwë watched his wife manage their unofficial ward, recognizing her intention to keep Glorfindel too busy to brood. He knew he would have to come up with something to occupy the ellon as well; the inventory would not take long, for most of it had already been done.

Thus, two days later, Arafinwë called Glorfindel to his study.

"There’s a delegation from Ingwë coming tomorrow," he said without preamble as Glorfindel sat down. "It’s a trade delegation, for the most part, but some of the younger elves in the party will be staying beyond the planned meetings for the winter. It’s an exchange between the two courts, you see. I will be sending some of the younger members of my court back with the delegation when it returns to Vanyamar, Ingwë's city at the foot of Taniquetil, in case you've forgotten. I would like you to go."

Glorfindel stood up in surprise. He remembered Olórin’s words to him, so long ago it seemed: If you go to Taniquetil, do not go alone. Was this it? Was this his chance to get some answers? Answers to questions he had pushed aside in the exigency of learning to live again, but had never truly forgotten? A sudden joy leaped up within him at the thought, followed almost immediately by fear and another emotion he did not recognize and for which he had no words.

"Glorfindel?" Arafinwë asked with some concern as he saw the stricken look on the ellon’s face. "What is it, yonya? What troubles you?"

The ellon could only stare at the king, shaking his head. "I...I don’t... what if Finrod comes back and I’m not...and... and you and Amillë Eärwen be all alone again... and..."

Ah, so that was it. Arafinwë stood up and embraced the ellon, holding him tightly. "I’m pleased that you would think of others and be concerned for their happiness, but I assure you that we will not be alone. Your amillë and I will miss you, will miss all of you, but it is only for a brief time. Neither Sador nor Finrod will return before the New Year. You will be back by then yourself."

Glorfindel stepped back from Arafinwë’s embrace. "How do you know Finrod won’t be back until then? He’s just escorting Laurendil and Manwen to Lórien, isn’t he?"

Arafinwë sighed. "Do you think Lord Irmo would bother ordering Finrod to act as escort if he had no other purpose for having him come to Lórien? I could have easily arranged for Laurendil and Manwen to travel to Lórien without my son. No, Lord Irmo has a need for your brother. I suspect Finrod will be staying in Lórien for a time."

Glorfindel looked at the king doubtfully. Arafinwë did not seem unduly upset, yet in his own mind being sent to Lórien could only mean one thing...

"Is...is Finrod going to be... punished?"

Now it was Arafinwë who stepped back in surprise. "Punished? Whyever would you think that, yonya?"

Glorfindel looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling unsure. So much was still new to him and his memories of his previous life didn’t seem to help him much. "Th-there was an ellon... when I was in Lórien... he...Olórin took him away because he was...and I thought Finrod was too and..."

Arafinwë stood there trying to figure out what Glorfindel was stammering on about, but was at a loss. He did understand one thing, though. Reaching out he took Glorfindel into his arms again and held him, rubbing his back to give him some comfort. "Hush now. Finrod’s not being punished. I promise you. Being sent to Lórien is not a punishment. Laurendil and Manwen have been sent to Lórien. Do you think they’re being punished?"

"Laurendil might think so," came the surprising answer and Arafinwë couldn’t help but chuckle.

"Yes, well, I assure you it’s not the case. Not for Laurendil and certainly not for Finrod. If Lord Irmo has sent for Finrod it’s because there is a need for him to be there. Just as you knew there was a need for Sador to go to Tol Eressëa. Just as I feel you need to go to Vanyamar."

For a long moment Glorfindel remained in Arafinwë’s embrace enjoying the sense of security that he felt there. He vaguely remembered being held in another’s arms long ago when he was an elfling in truth, but he could not recall whose arms they were and now it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Finally, he drew back, gathering his courage.

"I will go to Vanyamar, if that is your wish, Atar," he said quietly, not quite able to meet Arafinwë’s eyes.

Arafinwë smiled and kissed the ellon on the brow. "That’s my good little elfling."

For some reason Glorfindel didn’t mind being called an elfling just then.

****

The delegation arrived in due course. The Vanyar were in bright contrast to the darker Noldor with their golden tresses that ranged in shades from winter white to deep summer gold. They were tall and proud. Glorfindel thought them haughty and condescending, even to Arafinwë. When the King introduced Glorfindel to the head of the delegation, one Lady Tinwetariel, who appeared to be a kinswoman of Arafinwë, she looked at the ellon in surprise.

"What is your parentage, child, that you have the golden locks of my people?"

Glorfindel looked at the lady in unfeigned disgust. "First of all, my lady, I am not a child. I am Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin. I’ve fought against the legions of the Esselóra and have slain valaraucar in my day." He paused just long enough for that to sink in. "And my parentage is no one’s business but my own."

Tinwetariel raised a delicate eyebrow at that and glanced at Arafinwë, who maintained an impassive mien. The King nodded. "Lord Glorfindel died in Ondolindë, Aunt, saving the life of my great-niece Itarildë and her son Eärendil."

That brought murmurs of surprise from the Vanyar, though Glorfindel did not understand why. Tinwetariel, however, looked at the ellon with something bordering on disdain. "Ah, one of the Reborn. Insolence is unbecoming to one who has passed through Mandos. Did you learn nothing while in the Halls of Waiting, child?"

"I learned that the Valar and Ilúvatar have forgiven me," Glorfindel said quietly, still seething, but keeping himself in check.

There seemed to be nothing that could be said to that, so Tinwetariel let it go. Eärwen, standing next to her husband, decided it was time to step in.

"Perhaps you would care to refresh yourself after your journey, Tinwetariel. Your rooms are ready for you."

"Thank you, my dear," Tinwetariel said. She looked at Glorfindel one more time and gave a sniff as she followed Eärwen into the palace. "Ridiculous looking braids. He looks so barbaric, Eärwen. How do you tolerate it?"

Whatever Eärwen replied was lost in the bustle of the delegation moving into the palace. Glorfindel stayed where he was, still as stone, shocked at the utter rudeness of the lady. Soon only he and Arafinwë remained. The king looked at Glorfindel and squeezed his shoulder in sympathy.

"She’s really not so bad once you get to know her."

Glorfindel declined to answer, giving Arafinwë a skeptical look before turning to go into the palace. Arafinwë sighed, beginning to wonder if sending the ellon to Vanyamar in Tinwetariel’s company was such a good idea.

****

The trade talks lasted a week. Glorfindel attended each session as required, but sat with the younger courtiers rather than with Arafinwë, much to the king’s sorrow. He studiously avoided Tinwetariel and most of the other Vanyar except when duty demanded otherwise. Even then he was barely civil. Tinwetariel, for her part, tended to ignore him. Whatever his claims to fame, she did not think much of the Noldo. When she learned the meanings of the front braids, she was appalled and could not believe that Eärwen would suffer such barbarity in her presence.

"Really, my dear, I thought better of you," she said. "The child is obviously refusing to accept his status in this society. He may well have been a lord in the Outer World, but he is no such thing here."

"Oh?" Eärwen said quietly. She never liked Tinwetariel but had long schooled herself to be polite in the older woman’s presence. "And what is he then?"

"Why, one who lives on sufferance of the Valar’s good will, of course. The Reborn really need to know their place in Aman."

"Even the Vanyar who have returned from Mandos?" Eärwen asked blandly.

Tinwetariel gave her a withering look, tinged with great anger. "None of the Vanyar have been released from Mandos, Eärwen. None."

Belatedly, Eärwen recalled that Tinwetariel’s own son had died during the War of Wrath, but did not offer an apology, knowing it would not be accepted anyway.

The other members of the delegation took their cue from Tinwetariel and felt free to treat Glorfindel with disdain, if they bothered to treat with him at all. Whenever they did, they insisted on using his Quenya name, which just made things worse. By the end of the fourth day Glorfindel had had it. During a break in the talks he cornered Arafinwë in the king’s study, eyes afire with rage.

"I will not go with that... that woman, Atar," he practically screamed. "You cannot make me. I’ll run away to Lórien first, or Mandos!"

Arafinwë sighed, feeling torn. He was half in agreement with the ellon, but knew that some things needed to be done, however distasteful. He could not let his own feelings interfere with what he knew was demanded of him and Glorfindel both. His expression became stern as the ellon fumed before him.

"Enough!" he exclaimed, though he did not raise his voice. Glorfindel’s eyes widened. "No one is running away to anywhere, least of all you. The decision has already been made. When the Vanyar leave you will be with them. I speak now not as your atar but as your king. Do not disobey me in this, yonya. You will not like the consequences."

For a long moment there was silence between them, then Glorfindel bowed and left without saying another word. He did not speak to Arafinwë for the rest of the week unless it was absolutely necessary and when he left with the Vanyar he refused to say good-bye to Arafinwë or allow Eärwen to hug him, which grieved them both. Glorfindel rode with the other Noldor who would also be spending the winter in the High King’s court, tears coursing down his cheeks.

****

Pityaván: (Quenya) Little goose.

Vanyamar: City of the Vanyar at the foot of Taniquetil. Tolkien never mentions this city but it seems reasonable to suppose that the Vanyar would settle close to Taniquetil, for they were the closest to the Valar of all the Eldar and Ingwë is said to sit at Manwë’s feet. The name means "Vanya home"; cf. Valimar/Valmar, the city of the Valar. 

Esselóra: (Quenya) The Nameless, a title of Melkor.

Valaraucar: (Quenya) Plural (sic) of valarauco: balrog.

Ondolindë: (Quenya): Gondolin.

31: Glorfindel Among the Vanyar

Five other Noldor accompanied the Vanyar besides Glorfindel. Two were ellith — Elemmírë and Amarië’s friend, Ercassë. The other ellyn were Lómion, Vorondil and Elemmírë’s twin, Elessairon. Lómion and Elessairon were pleasant enough company, as were the ellith, but Vorondil was somewhat moody and disinclined to talk. Glorfindel kept to himself most of the trip, though he was polite enough when necessary, especially towards the ellith.

The journey was not long, but neither was it comfortable, at least not for Glorfindel, who had to suffer the disdain of the Vanyar along with the heartache he felt. Yet, much of that was forgotten as they came closer to Oiolossë and its high peak of Taniquetil where dwelt the Elder King and the Elentári. Even Vorondil stopped brooding long enough to gasp in wonder at the mountain rising majestically before them. Glorfindel had to remember to close his mouth.

Vanyamar was a graceful city of tall spires, flowing fountains and lush gardens set against the foot of the mountain. The palace of the High King of All the Elves stood on a precipice overlooking the rest of the city. Before long the six Noldor were being ushered into an audience chamber that was easily twice the size of the throne room in Tirion.

The Noldor stopped and stared. Crystal globes hung from the ceiling, providing light as the sun shone through high windows. Pillars of pure white marble lined the nave, seven on each side. Each pillar was carved with a likeness of one of the Valar with Manwë and Varda nearest to the throne. The floor was also marble, but of different shades and hues, creating a design that was difficult to make out from their perspective. The room was meant to overawe and the Noldor were certainly that, though Glorfindel was the only one to successfully hide it. The two ellith held hands as they approached the throne before which stood Ingwë the High King.

Ingwë, Glorfindel saw, was easily the tallest of the elves there, his hair fair, almost white, as was his beard, a sign of his age as one of the oldest Eldar in Aman. His ancient eyes were a piercing blue-green. The Light of the Trees still glowed from them and the memory of the stars above Cuiviénen shone through them. He was richly dressed but wore only a simple coronet made of mithril with a single blue diamond in the center. He greeted Tinwetariel with a smile and a kiss.

"Greetings, sister. I trust your mission went well?" Ingwë’s voice was melodious with a lilt that Glorfindel found familiar but could not place.

"Well enough, sire," Tinwetariel said with a brief curtsey.

"Good. Perhaps you will introduce me to our guests."

Tinwetariel nodded. "Allow me to make you known to Lady Ercassë and Lady Elemmírë." The ellith curstied deeply, still looking ill at ease. Ingwë smiled graciously at them.

"Be welcome to my court, my dears. I hope you will enjoy your stay here." Ingwë’s voice was warm and welcoming and the ellith visibly relaxed.

"And this is Elemmírë’s brother, Lord Elessairon," Tinwetariel continued. "Also Lord Lómion and Lord Vorondil."

The three ellyn bowed and Ingwë gave them his greeting. Glorfindel stood beside them, keeping his expression as bland as possible although inwardly he was seething at Tinwetariel’s obvious slight.

The High King raised an eyebrow at Tinwetariel. "I believe you forgot one, my dear," he chided gently and Glorfindel had the pleasure of seeing the haughty Vanya blush. However, he wasn’t about to let her introduce him. Glorfindel took a step forward and bowed.

"I am Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Ondolindë, now residing at the court of Arafinwë, Ingwë Ingweron."

Ingwë’s eyes widened. Tinwetariel, mistaking the High King’s reaction for disapproval, gave a mirthless laugh. "That’s right, brother. Arafinwë has seen fit to foist one of the Reborn on us. Laurefindil is somewhat barbaric, true, but perhaps we can civilize him before sending him back to Tirion. Certainly we can convince him to get rid of those ridiculous braids."

Ingwë gave Tinwetariel a surprised look which quickly turned to one of disgust. He turned his attention to Glorfindel. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?" Glorfindel asked with some heat, quite forgetting to whom he was speaking. "True that I’m a lord of Ondolindë or true that I was stupid enough to get myself killed and now have to spend the rest of my life having the rest of you spit on me."

There was an audible gasp from the onlookers and even the other Noldor paled at Glorfindel’s outburst, though Vorondil looked more disgusted than upset. Tinwetariel rolled her eyes dramatically.

"See what I mean, brother?"

"Silence, Tinwetariel." Ingwë’s tone was chilling and Tinwetariel looked positively stunned. "Come here, child." Ingwë motioned for Glorfindel to approach, which he did with some reluctance. The High King stared at the ellon for some time, then reached out and let one of Glorfindel’s braids slide through his fingers. "How long have you been Reborn?" he asked quietly.

Glorfindel shrugged. He had no idea how long it had been since his re-embodiment and didn’t much care. Time didn’t seem quite as important to him as it once did.

"He’s been Reborn for nearly three coranári, my lord."

Glorfindel turned in surprise to see Olórin striding up the nave towards the throne. "Olórin! What are you doing here?"

The Maia laughed and held out his arms. Glorfindel ran to him gladly and Olórin embraced him. "My dear boy," he said quietly, humor in his eyes. "You’re looking well."

Ingwë gave the Maia a respectful nod and then smiled wryly. "I take it you two know each other."

"Oh indeed we do," Olórin laughed again. "I had the dubious honor of being this one’s caregiver while he was in Mandos. Terrible whiner, you see."

"I never whine!" Glorfindel protested, playfully slapping the Maia on the chest. "And you asked to be my caregiver as I recall."

Olórin gave the ellon another hug even as he laughed. "Indeed I did, child. Indeed I did." He winked at the High King over Glorfindel’s head.

"You are always welcome, my lord Olórin," Ingwë said, smiling warmly at the interplay between the ellon and the Maia. "Is this a social visit or are you here officially?"

"Both actually. And my first order of business is with Glorfindel."

"Me?" Glorfindel asked in surprise as he stepped away from the Maia.

Olórin suddenly looked grave as he silently handed Glorfindel a small piece of parchment folded once but unsealed. Glorfindel looked at the parchment in the Maia’s hand blankly. Ingwë frowned and glanced at the Maia who shook his head slightly at the High King’s unspoken question but never took his eyes off Glorfindel.

"It helps if you actually take it, Glorfindel," he said quietly and not unkindly.

Glorfindel started at the Maia’s words and then slowly took the piece of parchment from him and opened it. He read the words there, turned absolutely white and started to crumple to the floor.

"Ingwë!" Olórin shouted even as he grabbed Glorfindel by the arm to hold him up. Ingwë snapped an order even as he grabbed Glorfindel’s other arm and led him to the throne where he made the ellon sit. Someone came with a goblet of water and Olórin urged Glorfindel to drink though it took several minutes for the ellon to respond to the Maia’s words.

Ingwë picked up the piece of parchment that had fallen from the ellon’s lifeless fingers and began reading. He was unaware that he was reading the words aloud.

"‘Remember our last conversation, elfling. Next time won’t be quite as pleasant. Námo.’"

Ingwë ignored the gasps that ran through the room. He looked up at the Maia, his eyes full of curiosity. "What happened the last time?" he asked, but Olórin only grimaced and shook his head.

"I...I threw up," Glorfindel whispered, staring at nothing.

Ingwë gave the ellon a sympathetic look. Glorfindel was still white but it was obvious he was trying to pull himself together. He pushed himself out of the seat, wavering slightly, and looked directly at the High King, attempting a bow, though he had to clutch Olórin’s arm to stop from keeling over.

"My apologies, my lord. I meant no disrespect."

"On the contrary," Ingwë said with a hint of amusement lurking in his eyes. "You meant every word. It is I who should apologize to you for any discomfort anyone from my court may have caused you." The High King did not look at anyone specifically but all there saw the Lady Tinwetariel pale at her brother-in-law’s words. "I welcome you to my court, Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Ondolindë, Balrog-slayer."

Glorfindel did not even question how Ingwë knew that last bit, but nodded his acknowledgment as Ingwë turned to Olórin with a twinkle in his eye.

"So was that the social part of your visit?"

The Maia’s laugh was rich and joyful and even Glorfindel found comfort in it as tension eased throughout the room. "Hardly, my lord." He gave Glorfindel an appraising look, gauging his physical and mental state. "And my business with Glorfindel was completely unofficial."

"Then let us go and we will talk," Ingwë said. He turned to his chamberlain. "Sorontor, dismiss the court and see to our guests." Sorontor bowed and Ingwë turned to the five young Noldor, all looking a bit uncomfortable. He smiled at them warmly. "We will have a welcoming feast for you tonight. I hope your stay in Vanyamar will be pleasant and educational. Go now and Sorontor will see to your needs." The five courtiers from Tirion gave the High King their obeisance before allowing the chamberlain to lead them away.

Ingwë then turned to Tinwetariel, his expression turning grave. "We will talk later, my dear. Please keep yourself in readiness for my summons." Tinwetariel nodded dumbly and curtsied, her face pale. She managed to keep the fury she felt from showing in her eyes. Her brother-in-law was not pleased and she knew who to blame for that.

"Glorfindel, come with us," Ingwë finally said, and the ellon found himself walking between the High King and the Maia, each with a supporting hand on his arms, for he was still feeling unsteady. He never noticed the court bowing as they left the chamber.

****

Cuiviénen: "Water of Awakening", where the Elves first awoke. Ingwë is one of the oldest elves living, as his name testifies. Tolkien states that in the third phase of their lives, male Eldar tend to grow beards; cf. Círdan the Shipwright.

Ingwë Ingweron: "Chief of the Chieftains", the proper title of Ingwë as High King.

Coranári: Plural of coranar: "sun-round"; a solar year.

Oiolossë: "Ever-snowwhite". A name of Taniquetil, "High White Horn". Properly, Taniquetil refers to the topmost peak of which Oiolossë is the entire mountain.

Elentári: "Star-Queen"; a title of Varda.

32: In the High King’s Garden

Glorfindel found himself being led into a small study, richly appointed yet cosy in its own way. One look and you knew that this was where Ingwë preferred to spend his time. Ingwë indicated some seats and the elf and the Maia took them, while the High King went to a sideboard and poured some wine into a couple of goblets. He handed one to Glorfindel.

"Drink, child," he said. "You still look pale."

Glorfindel managed to mumble his thanks before taking the goblet, and was embarrassed to find that his hands were still shaking. Olórin reached over and took the goblet from him.

"Allow me, child," and the Maia gently placed his left hand against the back of Glorfindel’s head to support him and held the goblet while he drank. It was a familiar and comforting gesture to Glorfindel, the memories of his early days of re-embodiment coming to mind. After a few sips the trembling ceased and Glorfindel was able to take the goblet for himself.

"You dropped this," Ingwë said quietly and handed the piece of parchment to him. Glorfindel found himself instinctively recoiling and a whimper escaped from him before he could stop himself. Ingwë reached down and took the goblet from the ellon’s hand and handed it to Olórin who sat there in watchful silence, willing to allow the High King to deal with the youngster.

Ingwë then reached down and pulled Glorfindel into his embrace, rubbing his back to calm him. "It does no good to cower child," he said almost in a whisper, though Olórin heard him well enough. "It only makes Them more eager to see you in such a state."

Olórin raised an eyebrow at that statement and saw Ingwë wink at him. He smiled and nodded.

"Wh-why?" Glorfindel asked, curious in spite of himself.

"Because, deep down they’re like elflings poking a stick into an ant hill just to see the ants scurry around. Give them a reason to see you scurry even more and they will take it with all the manic glee of a twelve year old."

Somehow that image forced a giggle out of Glorfindel and he began trembling again, but with suppressed laughter rather than with fear. Ingwë continued to rub the ellon’s back as he held him through the spasms. Soon the laughter ended to be replaced by tears. Whatever Ingwë might say it had still been a shock to read those words from Námo. Ingwë held him then as well, never scolding him for breaking down. Finally, Olórin decided to take a hand and stood up, gently pulling Glorfindel out of Ingwë’s embrace and into his own.

"There now, child," the Maia crooned. "You’ve been properly scolded for your bad behavior and have been forgiven. Now dry these tears. You don’t want the High King to think you’re too young to remain here and learn from him, do you?"

Glorfindel shook his head and wiped the tears from his face with his hand but didn’t otherwise try to leave Olórin’s embrace. Ingwë placed a comforting hand on the ellon’s shoulder.

"I’m very glad you were able to come, Glorfindel," he said warmly. "I hope we can both learn from each other while you are here."

"Wh-what could I possibly teach you, m-my lord?" and there was just a trace of bitterness in the ellon’s voice that brought sorrow and anger to the High King’s heart, though Ingwë was careful not to show it in either face or voice.

"You’ve taught me much in just the short time since your arrival, hinya. Never doubt that." He squeezed the ellon’s shoulder and handed him the parchment a second time. After a brief moment of hesitation, Glorfindel took it and slipped it into an inner pocket of his outer robe.

Ingwë nodded. "That’s better." He then made his way to his desk and sat. Olórin and Glorfindel took their own seats again. Ingwë looked at the Maia and smiled. "So, was that the social part of your visit?"

Olórin broke out in laughter at the words and Glorfindel snorted, trying hard not to laugh at his elders. "You’re incorrigible, elfling," the Maia pronounced as he continued to laugh.

"I try my best, and I learned from the best," Ingwë said with a pointed look at Olórin.

"What?" the Maia feigned indignation. "Are you accusing me of blatant disobedience to my Lord Manwë?"

"Blatant, no," Ingwë responded dead-pan and was awarded with another round of laughter from his Maia guest. Glorfindel finally broke down and joined in.

Then Glorfindel gasped, for their laughter was joined by Another, whose Presence, though only barely felt, was nevertheless quite tangible. He had the sense of blue eyes ringed with gold gazing upon him with love and then they were gone, so quickly that he thought he must have imagined it. Yet there was a feeling of peace and well-being that lingered in the air after the image had faded, leaving Glorfindel feeling refreshed.

Ingwë shook his head at the ellon’s bemused expression, guessing what Glorfindel must have felt. "Nay, child. It was not your imagination. Lord Manwë was here, if only for a brief moment."

Olórin nodded when Glorfindel cast him a questioning look and the ellon shivered slightly, then pulled himself together with visible effort. "Sorry," he mumbled with some embarrassment.

"There is nothing to be sorry about, child," Olórin said kindly.

"So, why are you here, if I may make so bold, my lord?" Ingwë asked Olórin.

Olórin reached inside his robe and pulled out another sheet of parchment. This one was larger than the one he had given Glorfindel and was properly sealed. Glorfindel craned his neck to see the seal without seeming to do so. Both Maia and High King hid smiles at the youngster’s obvious curiosity. Ingwë took the proffered missive and broke the seal. Glorfindel was able to just make out what looked like the image of an eagle embedded into the wax. Ingwë began reading, his face carefully neutral. He glanced up once at Olórin and there was silent communication between them. As the High King went back to re-reading the missive, Olórin turned to Glorfindel.

"Have you seen the High King’s garden yet, Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "I haven’t seen anything of Vanyamar. We went directly to the audience chamber."

"Well, I think you might enjoy them, especially this time of the day."

"Olórin is correct, my son," Ingwë said, looking up from the parchment. "Why don’t you spend some time there? Olórin and I have some business we need to discuss. You can reach the gardens through that archway there." Ingwë pointed to an open arch with steps leading down into a paved courtyard. "Turn left at the end of the courtyard and the gardens are straight ahead. I will send for you and we will talk."

Glorfindel recognized a dismissal when he heard one. He stood up and gave High King and Maia a brief bow and walked out of the study, down the steps, making his way to the gardens. He was not sure why he was being singled out by the High King, other than the fact that he was a novelty, being Reborn. It wasn’t as if he had any special talents or knowledge about statecraft, though more and more of his memories of his days as one of Turgon’s chief councillors were beginning to surface and those memories made him seem older and wiser than the other young courtiers from Tirion. He didn’t think he was either but....

He stopped dead, feeling his jaw drop and his eyes bulge. He knew the palace gardens in Tirion and they were indeed beautiful but this...

Words couldn’t begin to describe the riot of colors. There were fountains everywhere. Shade trees and wild blooms graced the walkways. He actually was standing at the top of a set of stairs where water ran on either side in troughs from a fountain in the courtyard behind him. The water continued to run into a nénuvar where yellow water-lilies floated. Statues of exquisite beauty graced the area. The statue in the middle of the lily pool depicted Ulmo with Ossë and Uinen riding dolphins. Birds of every shade and hue trilled their songs in the trees, flashing across the space between one tree and the next like colored smoke, too quick for the eye to catch.

He began to wander, lost in wonder, forgetting the resentment he had been feeling since arriving at the High King’s court. How long he wandered there he did not know. They had come to Vanyamar at midmorning and already the sun was dipping down towards the west. Glorfindel found himself unable to tear himself away or even care that he had been effectively abandoned to his own devices by the High King. He was too entranced by the beauty surrounding him to feel concern.

He was bending over a particularly exquisite bloom, a flower he did not know. Deep violet it was with tinges of rose near the outer edges of the petals. The stamen was a brilliant yellow-orange and its fragrance was sweet without being overpowering. He was sniffing the flower when he heard someone approach.

"What are you doing here?" a light voice enquired. Glorfindel straightened to find an elleth staring at him in consternation.

He bowed. "I am here at the High King’s request, my lady."

The elf-maid gave him a skeptical look. She stood a little shorter than himself, her hair the color of ripened wheat, her eyes a cornflower blue. She was dressed finely but simply and carried a garden basket full of fresh-cut blooms.

"Are you kin?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Nay, lady, for all that my hair is as golden as yours, I am Noldo."

"Hmmph," was the only comment the elleth gave, frowning slightly.

"Does my lady disapprove?" Glorfindel asked teasingly. He suspected that she must be some relation of the High King, perhaps a niece, and wondered if she were kin to the haughty Lady Tinwetariel as well. It would be just his luck to meet another high-born lady who despised him because of his history.

"What’s your name, seldo?" she suddenly asked.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at the form of address. It was insulting on many levels and he couldn’t begin to list them all.

"His name, hinya, is Glorfindel, and he is no seldo, least of all to you."

Both Glorfindel and the elleth turned to see someone coming towards them. It was no one Glorfindel recognized, but the elleth apparently did.

"What do you mean, Cousin?"

Glorfindel saw an elven lady, as fair-haired as all the Vanyar were. She had a merry smile and there was something familiar about her. She ignored the elleth’s question, her eyes on Glorfindel.

"Well met, my lord," the lady said with a brief but correct curtsey. "My brother has told me much about you and I am honored to finally meet you."

"Your brother, lady?"

"Arafinwë is my brother. I am Findis, oldest daughter of Finwë and Indis."

Glorfindel gave Findis a low bow. "The honor is entirely mine, lady."

Findis then turned to the elleth who had stood there looking petulant at being ignored. "I don’t believe you’ve been properly introduced, my dear. This is Lord Glorfindel, who presently resides in my brother’s court. My lord may I make you known to my cousin, the Lady Alassiel Intarioniel. I believe you’ve already met her anamillë, the Lady Tinwetariel." There was just a hint of mischief in Findis’ eyes.

Glorfindel started and stared at the elleth looking at him so haughtily. "That figures," he said under his breath, then, remembering the small piece of parchment in his pocket, he gave the elleth a bow. "Lady Alassiel," he said properly, if somewhat cooly.

"Lord... Glorfindel, is it? A most unusual name. Surely you have a proper Quenya name."

"If I do, lady, I choose not to use it. Glorfindel is the name I prefer."

"Hmmph. Well... I suppose that’s all right, then," she said somewhat doubtfully.

"I’m so glad you approve, my lady." Glorfindel didn’t try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He was pleased to see Alassiel blush.

Alassiel gave him an appraising look under lowered lashes and sighed. "Forgive me, my lord, I’ve been extremely rude. Perhaps we should start again." She gave him a proper curtsey. "I am pleased to make your acquaintaince, my lord Glorfindel. I hope your stay in Vanyamar will be a pleasant one and we can be friends."

Glorfindel could detect no sarcasm in the elleth’s words and concluded that she was actually being sincere. However, he still couldn’t resist one last jibe, remembering Tinwetariel’s attitude towards him. "And do you wish to be friends with one of the Reborn?"

Alassiel gave him a surprised look. "Oh, is that what you are? How wonderful!"

"Excuse me?" Glorfindel raised a skeptical eyebrow, noting that Findis was looking on in amusement.

Alassiel nodded brightly. "Oh yes. My atar is in Mandos even now. Someday he’ll be reborn. I want to hear all about it, so I’ll know what to expect when he returns."

"I think that would be wonderful, my dear," Findis said smoothly. "I know the High King will be pleased that you and Lord Glorfindel have become friends."

Alassiel beamed. Glorfindel glowered. Being friends with Lady Tinwetariel’s granddaughter did not appeal to him. He suddenly had a glimmering of why the lady loathed him. None of the Vanyar who had died during the War of Wrath had yet been released from Mandos, according to Arafinwë. It must gall many of the elves of Aman to see rebel Noldor being reborn before faithful Vanyar. Lady Tinwetariel was obviously bitter over it, but her granddaughter did not seem to be and he wondered at it.

"Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel looked up into Findis’ eyes, full of concern, and smiled. "Your brother allows me to call him ‘Atar’."

Findis nodded, smiling in return. "Yes, he told me."

He gave her a sly grin, then. "So does that mean I get to call you ‘Auntie’?"

Her laughter was merry. "I would be honored... Nephew." She took him by the shoulders and planted a kinsman’s kiss upon his cheek and he returned the gesture. "Now, I was asked by Uncle Ingwë to escort you back to his study, my lord."

Glorfindel nodded. "Then we shouldn’t keep the High King waiting." He allowed Findis to take his arm and lead him back through the gardens.

Alassiel trailed behind them, uninvited and presently forgotten.

****

Nénuvar: Pool of lilies.

Seldo: The etymology of this word is unclear. It possibly means "child", and in this case is translated as "boy", a rather insulting word under the circumstances.

Anamillë: Grandmother.

Note on Ingwë’s family: I have based Ingwë’s family tree on the reading found in Laws and Customs of the Eldar, HoMe X, in particular, §10 and the footnote to §27. Here, Indis is Ingwë’s sister rather than his niece. Below is a partial genealogy of Ingwë’s family which will feature prominently in this story:

Ingwë = Elindis           Indis = Finwë                        Ingoldo = Tinwetariel

   Ingwion (son)             Findis = Valandur                     †Intarion = Lirulin

   Indil (daughter)          Fingolfin (Ñolofinwë)                          Alassiel

                                    Finvain                                                                    

                                    Finarfin (Arafinwë) = Eärwen, dau. of Olwë of Alqualondë

                                                            Finrod (Findaráto)

                                    Faniel

Names that are underlined are Original Characters.

†Presently residing in Mandos

33: Connecting the Dots

They made their way back through the garden to the High King’s study. Ingwë was alone and Glorfindel felt somewhat bereft that Olórin had not stayed long enough to say good-bye. Ingwë noticed the crestfallen look on the ellon’s face but chose to ignore it.

"Here is Lord Glorfindel, Uncle," Findis said with a curtsey. Glorfindel bowed and Alassiel gave her own curtsey to her great-Uncle.

"Thank you, my dear," Ingwë said. "Would you leave us, please?"

"Of course, Uncle," Findis replied. "Valandur and I will see you tonight at the feast. Come along, Alassiel." She herded the younger elleth from the room. Glorfindel breathed a sigh of relief. Ingwë hid a smile.

"I see you’ve met Alassiel."

Glorfindel nodded. "I don’t think she quite believed me when I told her I was in the garden by your leave, Sir."

Ingwë chuckled. "Alassiel is somewhat opinionated at times, but she has a good heart and isn’t afraid to admit when she is wrong." He gave Glorfindel a shrewd look.

Glorfindel nodded again in acknowledgment, wondering if the High King somehow knew what had passed between him and his grand-niece.

"Good. Now come sit down and we will talk." Ingwë gestured towards a chair and Glorfindel complied. For a long moment they sat in silence. Glorfindel tried to act nonchalant, but didn’t quite pull it off. Ingwë, for his part, was relaxed and self-assured.

"You never did answer my question," he finally said.

Glorfindel started in confusion. "My lord?"

"Is it true you fought a valarauco?"

Glorfindel stared at the High King for a moment. "You called me Balrog Slayer before your court. You already know the answer to your question."

"Indeed. But I wanted to hear it from you."

Glorfindel felt confused and shook his head, afraid he was being played at for some reason. "Why..."

"Child, I never do anything without a reason," Ingwë said in a kind voice. "I know we’ve just met, but will you trust me enough to believe that I mean you no discourtesy? Nor am I amusing myself at your expense."

"It’s just... everything is so confusing... Atar... I mean, King Arafinwë..."

Ingwë held up a hand in interruption. "If my nephew has seen fit to give you his permission to call him ‘Atar’, child, I see no reason why you cannot continue doing so. I certainly have no objections. Indeed I am pleased that Arafinwë has opened his heart to you. It gives me hope that he is finding healing at last."

Glorfindel nodded, though he wasn’t too sure what the High King meant. "Atar and Amillë have been so kind and they... they don’t laugh when I make mistakes... or look down at me because... and then when Lady Tinwetariel...." He found he couldn’t go on, whether from embarrassment for sounding like a petulant child or from anger, he couldn’t tell.

Ingwë frowned at the mention of his brother Ingoldo’s wife. She was typical of many of the Vanyar who found it incomprehensible that Noldor who had defied the Valar were not only allowed to return to Valinor, albeit only as far as Tol Eressëa, but that they were being released from Mandos before faithful Vanyar who had died in a war not of their making, sacrificing themselves because the Valar had asked them to. He understood the reason but had realized that imparting that information to his people would have only exacerbated their resentment, and so he waited and trusted in Manwë’s and Námo’s decisions on the matter.

"I’m sorry, my lord," Glorfindel said. "I didn’t mean..."

Ingwë looked up at the ellon and realized Glorfindel had misinterpreted his silence. "Nay, child. You have done nothing that needs forgiveness. I was merely thinking." He stood up and Glorfindel followed suit, still feeling uncertain.

"I-I don’t want any special treatment just because I’m..."

Ingwë gave the ellon a warm smile. "Don’t worry, yonya. I have no intention of embarrassing you that far. I will be interviewing each of Arafinwë’s people to ascertain the extent of their knowledge, their aptitudes and weaknesses, so I have a better idea what each needs from me. You were just conveniently the first."

Glorfindel nodded, feeling relieved. "Sorry. I’m being silly, I know. People either don’t want to hear about my life or they want to hear about it for all the wrong reasons."

"Then let us walk in the garden and you may tell me about your life in Ondolindë for all the right reasons."

Glorfindel looked at the High King doubtfully. "I’m not even sure I know what the right reasons are myself."

Ingwë smiled and placed a hand on the ellon’s shoulder. "Well, I do, and the right reason is because I am genuinely interested. Come, let us walk and you will tell me about Turucáno and how he ruled Ondolindë and your role in his government."

So they walked and Glorfindel found himself telling the High King about his life in Beleriand. At first he was somewhat hesitant and suddenly shy, as if somehow in telling about his daily life in the seven-tiered city the High King would find him too ordinary and uninteresting or worse, consider his lordship a sham with no real substance. When Ingwë offered no disapproval, though, he relaxed enough to be more forthcoming in details.

Ingwë said little, listening intently to the ellon describing his elevation to the Lordship of the House of the Golden Flower after the death of its previous lord in a skirmish with orcs when Turgon was still residing in Vinyamar, the sense of pride and awe he had felt when he had taken his oath before Turgon. He stood silently, gazing at nothing, when Glorfindel told him of the coming of Tuor and the birth of Eärendil. He wept when Glorfindel described his final battle with the balrog and held the ellon close to him.

Glorfindel did not weep, having gotten past all that, but he found himself feeling comforted by Ingwë’s embrace and some of the hurt and resentment he had felt earlier was assuaged.

"I’m sorry, child," Ingwë finally said, still holding Glorfindel close to him. "It grieves me that any of you had to suffer as you did."

Glorfindel shrugged. "It was a long time ago, my lord, and our suffering was of our own making."

"Indeed."

Glorfindel turned in Ingwë’s embrace, shocked to see Lord Námo standing there. Both he and Ingwë bowed to the Lord of Mandos. Ingwë did not address Námo, for he realized the Vala was intent on Glorfindel, who squirmed a bit under his gaze.

"Come here, Glorfindel," Námo said quietly.

Glorfindel gulped, not sure what he had done wrong this time, but obeyed the Vala without hesitation, trembling only slightly in anticipation of punishment. Námo gazed at the ellon for a moment, solemn and reserved, then he reached out and stroked the elf’s hair, attempting to soothe him.

"I want you to listen to me carefully, Glorfindel," Námo finally said. "I know what you are thinking. Under no circumstances are you to attempt to climb Taniquetil. Now is not the time. While you are here in Ingwë’s court you will remain in Vanyamar or you may travel to Valmar, but you will not be permitted to set foot on Taniquetil itself. Do not even think of disobeying me in this, yonya. You will not enjoy the consequences."

Glorfindel found himself suddenly on his knees though he had no idea how he had gotten there. He looked up at Námo and nodded mutely, fear in his eyes and suddenly he was no longer in Ingwë’s garden but back on the dark shore of Valinor, trudging after Turucáno, the silent Vala standing on the headland above them, watching, judging, and he started screaming and weeping. Strong hands pulled him up and he was embraced.

"Glorfindel! It’s all right, child. You’re safe." He heard the words but didn’t understand them. He only knew the terror of what he was feeling. It was long moments before he even felt the hand rubbing his back and he found himself once again in Ingwë’s garden, bright sunlight warming him, butterflies dancing in slow circles above the flowers nearby. When he came to himself, he was surprised to find that he was in Ingwë’s arms rather than Námo’s. He decided he wasn’t in any hurry to disengage himself from the High King’s embrace.

"Would you like to tell me what just happened?" Ingwë demanded without bothering to be polite about it and Glorfindel realized that the question wasn’t addressed to him. Apparently long association with the Valar had given Ingwë some lattitude and Námo did not take offense. He also did not answer the High King's question. Instead he forced Glorfindel to turn around and look at him.

"Tell me where you were."

Glorfindel shook his head and closed his eyes, just wanting to be left alone. He was suddenly tired of High Kings and Valar and everything in between. A deep longing for Gondolin smote him and he began weeping again.

Námo stroked Glorfindel’s hair. "No, Glorfindel, do not shy away from the memory. It’ll be less painful if you face it. Tell me where you were."

Glorfindel opened his eyes and there was such desolation in them that Námo nearly wept himself. "You weren’t laughing," the ellon whispered and Námo realized what had happened. He moved towards a nearby bench and motioned for the two elves to join him, Glorfindel sitting between Vala and High King, looking forlorn and a bit lost.

"No, I wasn’t," Námo said quietly after they were all seated. "You could not see, but I, too, was weeping. All the Valar were, for we knew far better than you what you would be facing."

Glorfindel stared out into the garden without really seeing it anymore. "I wanted to turn back."

"I know," Námo whispered gently, rubbing the ellon’s back to comfort him.

"Why didn’t you?" Ingwë asked quietly.

Glorfindel looked at the High King. "Turgon would not give us his leave to depart if we so desired."

"What!?" Ingwë stood up in shock.

Námo nodded. "Turucáno has much to answer for, not the least of which for his arrogance."

Glorfindel blushed for his lord’s sake at the Vala’s words and felt he had to defend him. "He was a good ruler."

Námo smiled slightly at Glorfindel coming to Turgon’s defense. "Indeed he was, for all his other faults. You have no need to feel shame for giving him your loyalty, Glorfindel."

"But to deny his followers the right to turn back!" Ingwë protested, sitting down again.

Námo only shook his head. "Arrogance was always Turucáno’s failing. It was his arrogance that brought destruction to Gondolin... and your death, Glorfindel."

The ellon started and paled visibly. Both Námo and Ingwë looked at him sympathetically.

"Yes, child," Námo continued. "Gondolin’s fall and your death and the deaths of all who perished that night and afterwards must be laid at Turgon’s feet. In his arrogance in ignoring Tuor’s message from my brother Ulmo, Turgon forgot that Gondolin was never built for his benefit, but for another’s."

"Whose, then?" Glorfindel asked.

The Lord of Mandos shook his head. "No longer important now, for Gondolin lies buried under the waves, never to be seen again."

"So you’re saying my death was in vain?" Glorfindel asked after a moment of silence.

"No, Glorfindel. Unnecessary, perhaps, but never in vain. Do not belittle yourself in that manner. Gondolin’s fall is not your fault."

"I could have convinced Turgon..."

"Nay, child," Námo actually smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. "Turgon was not your responsibility. Put all thought of blame from your mind."

Glorfindel reluctantly nodded, still looking pale and unsettled. Ingwë looked at him in sympathy.

"What happened, child? Where did your memories take you?"

It was Námo who answered the High King. "He was in the past, Ingwë, experiencing anew the terror he felt as he passed me on the way to the North, believing himself forever damned. But that’s not true, is it, child? You know differently now, don’t you?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Why did it hurt so much?"

"You made an emotional connection. It was overwhelming, like coming upon bright light after being in darkness for so long. Painful, but not to the death."

"Will...will it happen again?"

"Perhaps. I do not know. Somehow a connection was made and you experienced the scene as if for the first time. It was too overwhelming for you and so you collapsed."

"There will be more such incidents?" Ingwë asked with some concern.

Námo actually shrugged. "I do not know. Each case with the Reborn is different. Some never regain emotional connections with their past. Glorfindel will have to learn to deal with any such connections if and as they come."

The Vala rose. "I must leave you now. Remember what I said about Taniquetil, Glorfindel."

"Is this ban directed only at me, my lord, or are all the Reborn forbidden from sullying the Halls of the Valar with their presence?" Glorfindel asked with some heat.

Námo sat down again and shared a look with Ingwë who shrugged, then turned back to Glorfindel. "Child, your bitterness under the circumstances is understandable, but entirely misplaced. I never said you were forbidden to come to Taniquetil, only that now is not the time to do so. You will not be welcomed if you tried."

"But..."

"There is a time and place for everything, Glorfindel," Námo continued over the ellon’s protest. "Now, no more questions will I answer." The Lord of Mandos leaned over and kissed Glorfindel on the brow, stilling any protest the ellon might have wished to utter. Glorfindel suddenly felt lethargic and with a sigh leaned against Ingwë, who wrapped an arm around him in support. Námo rose again and walked away, fading into the fabric of the garden. As the Vala disappeared Ingwë realized that Glorfindel had fallen asleep. The High King did not mind. He sat there deep in thought for the longest time, quietly rocking the sleeping ellon, rousing him only when the chamberlain came to remind the High King that he had yet to get ready for the upcoming feast.

34: A Lesson In Manners

Author's Note: Warning for a somewhat graphic description given by Glorfindel of his own death when, in a fit of adolescent pique, he tries to gross out the Vanyar. Then Lord Námo enters the picture....

****

Glorfindel was somewhat embarrassed to wake in Ingwë’s arms, but opined that he felt better for the brief rest when Ingwë asked. The shock of emotions he had felt earlier had dimmed to more acceptable levels and he was able to put them into perspective. The past was the past, he realized. It could not be altered. He did not turn back, he went forward. That alone made him the person he was at that moment.

Since the feast was a formal affair, Glorfindel dressed in his finest brocade robes with the yellow flowers of his House figured prominently in the pattern. He had embroidered the flowers himself while still in Lórien. He braided his hair carefully, making sure each braid was absolutely correct.

When he joined the other Noldor waiting in an antechamber to be announced, the ellith giggled at the sight of him (he didn’t mind that because they always giggled at the sight of him), and Vorondil frowned in disgust (he didn’t mind that either because Vorondil always frowned in disgust whenever he saw Glorfindel). Elessairon and Lómion, on the other hand, greeted him civilly, Elessairon going so far as to admire his braids.

"I wish I could wear warrior braids like yours if only to shock my atar to the core," the ellon said with a smile.

Glorfindel smiled back. "I wish you could, too, just to see your atar’s face." Glorfindel had met the imperious Lord Calmacil and was in complete sympathy with the ellon.

"Well, perhaps someday I can earn them," Elessairon said.

Glorfindel felt his smile melt away and shook his head. "I fervently hope that you never have to, Elessairon. The price paid for these comes too dear." He lifted one of the braids and let it fall through his fingers.

"Yet you paid it," Lómion countered.

"Aye, and then spent the next several centuries in Mandos for my trouble. You don’t fully appreciate how very fortunate you are, all of you. The Mahtalë Únótimë Nírion was not named thus because it sounds good in a minstrel’s song."

"Were you there?"

Glorfindel turned to see Alassiel approaching. She was in the company of several others, including Findis, who smiled at him. Some of those accompanying Alassiel bore a remarkable resemblance to the High King and were obviously his kin to one degree or another. Lady Tinwetariel was notably missing from the crowd for which Glorfindel was grateful. "My lady?" he asked with a brief bow which included everyone there.

"At the battle you just mentioned. Were you there?"

"Yes, I was," he said shortly, not wishing to elaborate, for how would any of them understand?

"Is that how you died?"

"Alassiel!" Findis reprimanded the younger elleth. "Are you deliberately being rude?"

Glorfindel shook his head and held up his hand, a grim smile on his face. "Peace, Aunt. It’s a fair enough question and perhaps it’s about time it was given an answer."

Findis looked doubtful. One of the ellon with her, who reminded Glorfindel of Ingwë in looks, raised an eyebrow at Glorfindel. "Answer then, Etyangol, for we would all like to hear what you have to say."

Glorfindel stared at the ellon in surprise then shrugged, deciding the insult was not worth the trouble, then turned to Alassiel. "No, child, I did not die at the Mahtalë Únótimë Nírion, but some four decades later at the fall of Ondolindë. I was charged with seeing to the safety of the Lady Itarildë and her young son, Eärendil."

There was a stir at the mention of Eärendil’s name but no one interrupted. Glorfindel made a mental note to ask about that later. He continued, never taking his eyes off Alassiel.

"We were making our way through one of the northern passes of the Echoriath that surrounded the city. We were almost through. We thought we were safe. Then, one of Melkor’s valaraucar found us."

He paused, more for effect than anything else and smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. When he spoke it was softly, without any emotion, and that made his words sound even more terrifying to his listeners.

"I attacked it. A creature of flame and shadow and I attacked it. My eyes were the first to go, burned out of their sockets by the monster’s flames. I was blind, but still I fought. My flesh melted and was charred to the bone, but still I fought. The pain was excruciating, but I could not scream because my throat had been burned away, and still I fought. I was cuivië-lancassë, already dead, but I didn’t know it. All I knew was that I had to destroy the creature or all was lost. Finally, we fell, the valarauco and I, into an abyss. We died together, embracing one another in the end like lovers in the throes of ecstasy."

He looked around, noticing the sick looks that some of the listeners wore. He switched to a light, conversational tone. "I am told that Sorontar himself brought my body out of the abyss. They built a cairn for me on the side of the path below the pass... I wouldn’t know. By then my fëa had fled to Mandos and I was groveling naked at Lord Námo’s feet begging to go back." Then he smiled. "Of course, that didn’t happen, and so, here I am." He spread his arms out.

For a long moment no one spoke. Indeed no one moved. Then Alassiel gave a short brittle laugh. "You’ve made that up, seldo," she said accusingly.

There was a rush of air and then Námo was in their midst looking grim. They all stood back in shock and attempted abortive bows and curtsies. Glorfindel sighed dramatically and scowled.

"Now what did I do?" he demanded. "Aren’t you getting as tired of this as I am?"

Námo gave him a quick glance then laughed. He pulled the ellon into his embrace and rocked him. "Ah, Glorfindel, you are such a delight." Námo kissed him gently on the head and then released him, his expression growing grim as his dark eyes swept the assembled elves. They lighted upon Alassiel, who trembled slightly but held herself upright. Glorfindel had to admire her courage, or her stupidity, he thought as he stood beside the Lord of Mandos.

"Come here, Alassiel," Námo gestured and with a nervous swallow the elleth complied. Námo gazed at her for several minutes without speaking. Alassiel tried to return the Vala’s regard but was not able to maintain eye contact. Glorfindel sympathized. Few could face the Lord of Mandos with any amount of equanimity, and not for long.

The Lord of Mandos ran a finger lightly down the elleth’s cheek. She gasped, closed her eyes and shivered, but whether from delight or fear, none could tell. "When one of the Reborn tells you of their death, child," Námo said softly, "it is best to believe them. The manner of one’s dying is nothing anyone can make up."

Alassiel opened her eyes and stared at the Lord of Mandos for a moment before nodding. Námo continued stroking her cheek for another minute as he allowed the silence to lengthen. Then he glanced at Glorfindel who gave the Vala a cheeky grin.

"As long as you’re here, my lord, would you tell Alassiel to stop calling me ‘seldo’? I’m older than she is."

"Hmmph. I find that hard to believe," Alassiel whispered, sounding affronted, then blushed when Námo looked at her.

Námo turned back to Glorfindel and raised an eyebrow. "Thion sui naneth gîn achen?" he asked deliberately in Sindarin.

"Dan, pedithal assen?" Glorfindel replied in the same language with a laugh.

Námo glanced back at Alassiel who glowered at Glorfindel. He smiled and several elves blanched at that smile and stepped back, including Alassiel and Glorfindel. "Oh no, my children," he said, grabbing their hands, "I think you both need a lesson in manners." He then forced them to hold each other’s hand though both struggled mightily against it. As soon as their hands touched, Alassiel’s eyes widened, then she fell to her knees and screamed. Glorfindel looked on, horrified.

"What’s happening to her?" he shouted, going to his own knees, grimacing at the death grip with which Alassiel held him. "My lord, stop it. You’re hurting her. Don’t hurt her." He was crying now, begging, trying to pull his hand out of hers but Námo’s grip on both their hands was implacable and he could not escape.

"Do you wish to relieve her of the pain she’s feeling, child?" Námo asked, a dark flame glowing from his eyes.

Glorfindel looked up and nodded, his face white with terror, not for himself, but for the elleth writhing on the floor before him, lost in agonies he could only imagine. "Yes! Yes!" he practically screamed. "I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt her. She’s just a child."

Námo nodded. "Very well, Balrog-slayer. All you have to do is...let go," and he released his grip.

Glorfindel had to pry Alassiel’s fingers apart enough for him to slip his hand out of hers. All the while she continued to scream. He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly, rocking back and forth in an attempt to comfort her. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry," he wept. "Shhh. Please. Don’t cry anymore. It’s over. Shh."

Alassiel, however, continued screaming though her screams turned to gasps and they eventually became soft whimpers as she leaned against him, finally succumbing to unconsciousness. Glorfindel looked up at Námo, who had remained unmoved. "What did..."

"She did not believe in your death. I decided she should experience it for herself."

Glorfindel’s horror turned to anger. "You had no right!" he screamed, beyond caring to whom he was speaking. "That was my death. Mine! No one should have had to experience it but me!"

"Have you really experienced it, though, child?" came the infuriatingly calm voice of the Vala. "Have you?"

Glorfindel stared at the Vala in consternation and then slumped slightly. "I-I don’t remember the pain," he said quietly.

"Alassiel does. She remembers everything you’ve forgotten about your own dying. If you wish to help her, you must open yourself to her and let her give you back your memories."

"W-will she forget, then?" Glorfindel asked hopefully. The idea of this lovely child, however irritating she might be, being forced to live his death appalled him. No one deserved such punishment.

"This is not a punishment, Glorfindel," Námo said, shaking his head. "It’s a lesson... for both of you. And no, she will not forget, but neither will the memories overwhelm her."

"So how do..."

"Kiss her."

"Huh?"

Námo’s smile was actually genuine. "On the lips."

Glorfindel stared at the Vala in disbelief. "Are you sure this isn’t a punishment?"

Someone actually sniggered. "What’s the matter Glorfindel? Don’t you like ellith?"

Glorfindel looked about to see Elessairon smiling. He had quite forgotten everyone else during the ensuing drama. He glowered at the ellon. "Of course I like ellith," he replied with feigned disdain, "just as long as they’re not in the same room with me."

This elicited laughter all around. Findis knelt down beside him. Like the others, she was pale and distraught at what she had witnessed but she was in control of herself and her eyes even held a twinkle of amusement in them. "Don’t worry, Nephew. I’ll act as chaperone so there’s no accusation of impropriety."

Glorfindel looked back up at the Lord of Mandos. "There’s no other way?"

"None."

The ellon nodded resignedly, grimaced somewhat in embarrassment at having an audience, then leaned over and as gently as he knew how, kissed the elleth on the lips. She never stirred, but the lines of agony on her brow began to smooth. He had just enough time to release his hold on Alassiel and yell, "Findis, take her!" before falling on his back, his eyes wide open.

If he screamed, he did not afterwards remember.

****

When he came to, Glorfindel found himself staring up at Ingwë, whose look of concern changed to one of relief. The High King had come upon the scene just in time to witness Námo forcing Glorfindel and Alassiel to hold hands. He still felt a little shaken himself at what he had seen and heard.

Námo stood impassively behind him. Glorfindel realized his head was in someone’s lap and rolling his eyes up saw that the ellon who had challenged him to tell about his death was gently stroking his hair. He was speaking to Ingwë.

"It’s my fault, Atar. I was the one who encouraged Glorfindel to tell us about how he died. Cousin Findis was right to accuse Alassiel of being rude, but I was just as rude. I’m sorry."

Ingwë shook his head. "We’ll speak later, Ingwion. Let us concentrate on these two children for the nonce."

Ingwion nodded, then looked down at Glorfindel. "How are you feeling, meldonya?"

Glorfindel tried to sit up but collapsed back into Ingwion’s lap and closed his eyes. "I think I’ve been better."

"The dizziness will pass," Námo assured him, sounding not unkind. Glorfindel opened his eyes again.

"Alassiel?"

"She sleeps," the Vala answered. "She will have little memory of what happened, but she won’t entirely forget."

"And you, hinya? Are you well now?" Ingwë asked.

Glorfindel closed his eyes again, feeling suddenly weary. "No, my lord, I am not... but I will be."

"Well, in that case you should probably retire and get some rest," Ingwë said.

"But what of the feast, my lord?" Glorfindel asked, opening his eyes again and frowning.

"I think we’ll forget the feast for tonight," Ingwë replied with a smile. "Most of the food’s gone cold anyway and the cooks are not happy. I’ll have something sent to you, if you like."

"Forgive me, my lord. I seem to have spoiled everything."

Elessairon suddenly knelt beside him, facing the High King. He was smiling, though his face was still pale from the distress he had felt earlier. "Not everything, Glorfindel. Lómion and I never cared for having to dress up anyway. Now we can get out of these ridiculous robes earlier than we had hoped and relax. Thank you."

"You’re welcome... I think."

The High King stood up, satisfied that all was well and looked at Námo. "It isn’t that I’m not glad to see you, my lord," he said with an ironic smile on his lips, "but under the circumstances...."

Námo simply nodded though there was a glint of humor in his eyes. "Next time, I’ll be sure to send sufficient notice."

"Next time?" Ingwë asked, raising an eyebrow.

Námo sighed dramatically and pointed at Glorfindel who was still lying with his head in Ingwion’s lap, the sense of dizziness he had felt earlier beginning to fade. "With this one, there’s always a next time."

Glorfindel stuck his tongue out at the Vala. The elves were startled when they heard Námo’s laughter even as he faded from sight.

****

Words are Quenya unless otherwise noted. 

Mahtalë Únótimë Nírion: The Battle of Unnumbered Tears; Dagor Nirnath Arnediad in Sindarin. Mahtalë is the abstract form of the verb mahta- "to fight (with a sword)".

Etyangol: Exiled Noldo. Could be considered an insult at this point in time.

Cuivië-lancassë: On the brink of life; describing a perilous situation in which one is likely to fall into death.

Sorontar: Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin Thorondor.

Thion sui naneth gîn achen?: (Sindarin) "Do I look like your mother?" (literally, "Appear/seem I like your mother to you?")

Dan, pedithal assen?: (Sindarin) "But, will you speak to her?"

35: Post Mortem

"He’s nothing but trouble."

"A disaster waiting to happen."

"Waiting to happen? It already has. He’s been here one day and he’s turned this place upside down and inside out!"

"A child, and a dangerous one at that. Look what he did to poor Alassiel."

"He has no sense of propriety."

"All those centuries among the Heceldi. No wonder he’s so barbaric. And those braids!"

"He does lovely embroidery."

Everyone stopped and stared at Findis, who looked back with a smile. "Well, he does. That robe he was wearing tonight? He did the embroidery on it himself while he was in Lórien. Lady Ercassë told me."

The High King sighed. He had invited several members of his family and court to his study after he had seen that Alassiel and Glorfindel had been taken care of. Both children were sleeping now. Lirulin, Alassiel’s amillë, sat with her daughter, while Elessairon and Lómion had agreed to watch over Glorfindel. Ingwë had decided that neither should be left alone that night.

Beside himself and his two children, Ingwion and Indil, there were Findis and her husband, Valandur, his brother Ingoldo and his wife, Tinwetariel. She had insisted on joining him as soon as she had heard what had happened even though Ingwë had not invited her to this meeting. Hers was the comment about the braids. Along with his family, three of his closest councillors were also present.

His children, as well as Findis and Valandur had witnessed the confrontation between Glorfindel and Alassiel from beginning to end; Ingwë had come upon the scene just before Námo had appeared, though no one had noticed him. Neither his councillors nor his brother and sister-in-law had seen anything. Naturally theirs were the loudest voices in protest.

He looked at his firstborn and heir. "You haven’t voiced your opinion yet, yonya."

Ingwion smiled. "I think he’s the most interesting thing to happen in Vanyamar in a long time."

Indil snorted. "News to me, the way you goaded him, calling him ‘Etyangol' of all things."

Ingwë raised an eyebrow at that and Ingwion blushed. "And I regret it. I was nearly as bad as Alassiel, except I believed every word he uttered about how he died."

"Not all of us believed him," Indil said. "It seems unfair that Alassiel should be punished for it."

"But Alassiel was the only one who was stupid enough to say so," her brother countered. "And Lord Námo said it wasn’t a punishment."

"Could have fooled me." Ingoldo muttered darkly. Ingwë looked at his brother and Alassiel’s anatar.

"Sometimes, the ways of the Valar seem harsh to us, but I assure you that Lord Námo would never deliberately harm any of us, least of all a sweet child like Alassiel. If he thought she needed lessoning, I don’t think any of us would be in a position to argue."

"He didn’t care," Tinwetariel sobbed. "He just stood there and let it happen."

"Who? Lord Námo?" Ingwë scowled.

"No!" Tinwetariel wailed. "That barbarian. He just stood there. He was probably glad my granddaughter was being hurt."

"Oh nonsense, Tinwetariel," Findis exclaimed in disgust at her aunt’s histrionics. "I was there, you weren’t. Glorfindel was as horrified as the rest of us, more so, I suspect. He knew what memories Alassiel was living through. If you had heard him pleading..." She shook her head, the memory of what had occurred still fresh in her mind.

"He showed remarkable compassion towards someone whom he obviously found irritating," Ingwion said musingly. "And remarkable courage."

"Courage?" Ingoldo demanded in disbelief.

"Yes, Uncle, courage." Ingwion gave Ingoldo a cool stare. "He never hesitated to do what Lord Námo demanded of him even though he must have known what he would face. He accepted his humiliation with great poise."

"And how was that insufferable Noldo humiliated?" Tinwetariel demanded.

Findis answered with a wicked smile. "You don’t know much about adolescent ellyn, do you dear?"

"He is not an adolescent!" Tinwetariel exclaimed.

"He might as well be," Ingwë commented with a chuckle. "I have been told by those in the know that Glorfindel will spend the next century or so re-maturing into the adult he was before his death."

Ingwion laughed and turned to Findis. "And Arafinwë and Eärwen have three Reborn ellyn to deal with? I almost feel sorry for them."

"Don’t," Findis sniggered. "Eärwen wrote and told me that my brother has never been happier since Glorfindel and the Sinda... what’s his name?... Sador... came to live with them. I suspect it’s like having my other nephews back."

"Adolescent or not, he’s a menace," Ingoldo added.

Ingwë gave his brother his own cool look. "Odd that you would have such an opinion of one you’ve never met."

"It’s enough to know that he allowed my granddaughter to suffer harm," Ingoldo countered. "I don’t need to meet him."

"Well, at the moment," Ingwë said, choosing to ignore his brother’s dismissive comment, "we’re stuck with him."

"You can always send him back to Arafinwë, my lord," one of his councillors said.

"No. I will not." Ingwë’s tone brooked no contradiction.

"I don’t see where there’s a problem, Atar," Ingwion said in the ensuing silence at the High King’s declaration. "What happened tonight cannot be laid entirely at Glorfindel’s feet. Alassiel should bear some of the blame. Frankly, she only brought it upon herself."

"How can you say that?" demanded Tinwetariel hotly.

"Because, Aunt," Ingwion said with cool self-possession, "Lord Námo intervened on Glorfindel’s behalf, not Alassiel’s."

"Did Glorfindel really stick his tongue out at the Lord of Mandos?" Indil asked curiously. She had helped to take Alassiel to her room and so was not present at the end.

Ingwë nodded, smiling faintly at the memory.

"And Lord Námo didn’t kill him on the spot?" she asked incredulously.

Ingwion laughed. "Not only that, but Lord Námo actually laughed. I think for all his protestations to the contrary, the Lord of Mandos is quite fond of our troublesome Etyangol."

"Exiled no longer," Findis said quietly.

Ingwë nodded in agreement. "His relationship with Lord Námo might prove a double-edged sword, though. At any rate, no serious harm was done. Lord Námo has assured me that Alassiel will recover and perhaps she will have learned some wisdom from the experience."

"So you’re not going to punish the ellon?" Valandur asked, speaking for the first time.

"Should I?" Ingwë asked in surprise. He always valued his niece’s husband’s opinion.

Valandur shook his head. "I think being forced to relive one’s own death...." He grimaced. "I thought Alassiel’s screams were bad enough, but he just lay there, silent and unmoving, his eyes wide open in shock. The single moan that escaped his lips towards the end was more terrifying than anything I have ever heard. I had no idea what he was experiencing except for the description he gave us of his final moments. I hope if it ever came to it I could face such terror with as much courage as he showed tonight."

"Well said, Valandur," Ingwion exclaimed, giving his cousin-by-marriage a nod of approval. "Whatever else he may be, Glorfindel is not a coward. I for one look forward to getting to know him better."

Ingwë smiled at his son. "I am glad to hear that, yonya, because as of tomorrow, he’s your responsibility. You will teach him what he needs to know and perhaps he will return the favor."

Ingwion bowed his head in acquiescence and gave his atar his own smile. "Punishment for my rudeness?"

"Among other things," Ingwë nodded. "One thing — and I speak not as your atar but as your king — Glorfindel is not to set foot on Taniquetil."

"May I ask why, my lord?" Ingwion enquired formally, hiding any surprise he might feel at the High King’s edict.

"The Valar have decreed it so and we will honor their prohibition. He is free to wander through Vanyamar or to travel to Valmar, but he is not to step upon Taniquetil."

"Does he know this, Atar?" Indil asked.

"Yes. Lord Námo informed him in my presence."

Ingwion bowed his head in acknowledgment again. "It will be as you say, my liege."

"Good." Ingwë turned to Ingoldo and Tinwetariel, both of whom were glowering. The High King’s expression was stern and his voice icy. "Glorfindel is under my protection, Ingoldo... mine and my son’s. You may not fear me, but I know you fear Ingwion." He let the implications of those words sink in. "Do nothing to make me regret allowing you and your lady to remain in my court. Not after the last time."

Ingwë had the satisfaction of seeing Ingoldo blanch and Tinwetariel gasp in dismay. He nodded once, satisfied that he had gotten his message across. "That is all. Leave me, all of you. I wish to be alone."

One by one they stood and bowed to the High King, making their way out. Ingoldo and Tinwetariel left first; Ingwion lingered for a moment after everyone else had departed.

"I do apologize for my earlier behavior, Atar," the ellon said. "If I hadn’t goaded Glorfindel, perhaps none of this would have happened."

"If you hadn’t goaded him, yonya, someone else would have. You, at least, recognized your error and have attempted to make amends. I place Glorfindel into your care, Ingwion. Treat him with all the gentleness and compassion you have shown to others and you and he will do well."

Ingwion bowed. "I will do my best, Atar."

"It is all I have ever asked from my children," Ingwë said with a warm smile, standing up to go to his son. "The amazing thing is, they always manage to surpass my expectations." He gave his firstborn a hug and a kiss. "I am very proud of you, my son," he whispered.

"Thank you, Atar," Ingwion whispered back, his eyes wet with tears at his atar’s praise.

Ingwë gave his son another kiss on the brow before sending him off to his bed, then resumed his seat behind his desk. Dawn was fast approaching before he decided he had done enough thinking about the problem that was Glorfindel and sought his own bed for a few hours of sleep.

****

Heceldi: Plural of Hecel, "One lost or forsaken by friends", a name used by the loremasters of Aman for the Eldar left behind in Beleriand.

36: A Lesson in Forgiveness

The Lord of Mandos stood unseen, watching Lirulin tuck her sleeping daughter in, then sit by the bed, holding her hand. He did not like what he saw and wondered that no one, not even Ingwë, had noticed what was obvious to him — Lirulin was fading.

He knew that she had wanted to fade and join her husband in Mandos as soon as she had learned of Intarion’s death during the War of Wrath, but had forced herself to remain for her daughter’s sake all these decades until Alassiel had reached her majority. Now, she was fading indeed, and if something wasn’t done....

He shook his head. Even if his plan worked, it might already be too late. He sighed and allowed his Presence to be felt but not seen. Lirulin gave a slight shiver and looked about in wonder and not a little fear.

*Peace, child,* he whispered to her fëa. *Do not be afraid.* He was standing directly behind her now and let his hand caress the top of her head. Lirulin visibly relaxed, closing her eyes and leaning back into the chair. In seconds she was fast asleep. Only then did Námo manifest himself completely, coming to the other side of the bed to sit on its edge. He gazed down at Alassiel, still sleeping, and stroked her cheek. The elleth sighed but did not waken. Námo nodded, satisfied.

"Time to continue the lesson, child," he said quietly.

****

Alassiel was somewhere in the mountains, though she did not recognize them and she could not remember how she had gotten there. She was on a path leading towards a pass. Others were there with her but she could not see them clearly, except for one. He was golden-haired. His expression was stern and noble as he led them towards safety and she trusted him immediately, though she could not say why, for she could not remember who he was. It was dark and there was the smoke of ruin behind them... and screams.

She stopped to stare back along their trail. Flames suddenly leaped everywhere about them and then IT was there. She started screaming and could not stop.

"Alassiel!"

She finally stopped screaming, aware that someone had been calling her for some time. She looked about and found herself staring into the dark eyes of Lord Námo and shrank away from him.

"Are you... wh-where am I? Please... don’t hurt me..."

Námo reached for her and took her into his arms though she resisted and whimpered. But when nothing happened except that the Lord of Mandos began stroking her hair and rocking her, she relaxed somewhat into his embrace.

"Hush now, child. It’s not as bad as you think."

"You... you hurt me," she whispered forlornly, sounding lost and confused. "Wh-why did you hurt me?"

"I am sorry, child," Námo said. "You gave me no choice."

"What?" She pulled herself out of his embrace, fury beginning to replace the fear she had felt earlier at seeing the Vala again.

Námo’s expression was impassive but not cold. "You were being obstinate in your disbelief and your disdain for Glorfindel. I decided this was the only way to get through to you. You are becoming more and more like your anamillë, Alassiel, in your bitterness towards the Noldor. Your atar would not approve."

"Leave my atar out of this," she practically screamed. "He’s dead! He’s dead!" She started venting her hurt and fury upon the Vala, who took her back into his embrace and allowed her to pound on him to her heart’s content. Eventually, she calmed down.

"Yes, child, your atar is dead, and for all these decades you have wondered what he felt when he died. No one has ever told you how he died, have they?"

She shook her head, content for the moment to remain in his embrace. Námo began stroking her hair again.

"Nor will I tell you, but I can help you understand."

"How?"

"By letting you experience the death of another you know."

She shivered and gasped at the memory. "It was... it was..." but she had no words to describe the horror she had felt. Then she realized something and pulled back out of Námo’s embrace just enough to be able to look up at him.

"I remember what happened, but I don’t remember the pain."

"Nor will you. Glorfindel took the pain for himself."

"Why?" she asked in surprise. Glorfindel was the last person she would have expected to do that for her.

Námo smiled gently down at her. "It is after all his pain. I imagine he wanted it back."

She shivered again. "He died so horribly and probably for nothing," she said, her tone growing bitter. "My atar... my atar died for nothing."

"No one ever dies for nothing, child," Námo reprimanded her gently. "That is your anamillë speaking, not you... and not your atar."

For a long moment Alassiel did not speak. "Did Atar... was his death as... horrible as Glorfindel’s?"

Námo held her out so she could see him. He smiled at her with compassion. "All deaths are horrible, child, to one degree or another. I promise you, though, that your atar does not regret his death, nor should you."

She thought about it for a moment but shook her head, not willing or ready to acknowledge the Vala’s words. "I’m sorry, my lord, I can’t..."

"That’s all right, Alassiel. I don’t expect you to change the way you feel immediately. I do expect you to think on what I’ve just said. Can you do that, at least?"

She nodded, then another thought came to her. "Are you in trouble...for what you did to me, I mean?"

Námo raised an eyebrow at that and then laughed. "Perhaps. I should have gotten your and Glorfindel’s permission to do what I did first and I apologize for that."

"Why didn’t you?"

"Would you have granted it?"

She shook her head and smiled ruefully, acknowledging the Vala’s words.

"Sometimes, my dear," Námo said softly, "it is easier to ask for forgiveness after the fact than it is to seek permission beforehand."

Then, to Alassiel’s amazement, Námo suddenly went to his knees. "Ávatyara nillo úcarenyan, herinya. Ámet lavë lemya nildor."

For several long seconds the elleth just stared at the Vala kneeling before her and then slowly she held out her hand and he took it, kissing it softly. "Avatyarinyel, herunya," she whispered.

Námo rose to his feet and spoke sincerely. "Thank you, my dear. Your forgiveness means much to me."

Alassiel nodded absentmindedly, her thoughts already elsewhere. "Why me?"

"I think your cousin Ingwion said it best." He gave her a sympathetic smile at her enquiring look. "Others may not have believed Glorfindel but you were the only one stupid enough to say so."

The elleth blushed. "I was rather stupid, wasn’t I?"

"But that is not the only, or even the real, reason."

"Oh?"

Námo nodded. "Glorfindel needs someone with whom he can share his memories, someone who has experienced them to some degree and will understand what he is feeling."

"And I was elected," Alassiel said ruefully.

"More like volunteered," Námo laughed and was rewarded with a small giggle from the elleth. "Turn around, Alassiel. Face the memory."

Alassiel started, suddenly aware of her surroundings again. All the time she and Námo had been speaking the attack on the survivors of Gondolin had continued around them. She realized that Glorfindel had been fighting against the valarauco for some time.

"Glorfindel, come here!" Námo commanded in a loud voice and to Alassiel’s surprise, the golden-haired warrior stopped fighting and walked up the path towards them, the valarauco apparently forgotten.

"My lord?" Glorfindel said with a salute, raising his sword before him then flipping the sword over so that its point was in the ground. He placed both hands on the hilt, his feet somewhat apart. Alassiel knew that in such a stance the warrior would be able to lift his sword in defense against any who might come against him, should the need arise.

"Alassiel has been gracious enough to forgive me for what I did to her," Námo explained. "May I have your forgiveness as well, my son?"

Glorfindel stared at the Vala for a long moment, then glanced at Alassiel. "I never meant for you to suffer on my account, Alassiel." In a single fluid movement he was kneeling before her, his hands still on the hilt of the sword. "M’avatyaruvalyë nillo yando, herinya?"

Alassiel shook her head. "There is nothing to forgive. I have no one to blame but myself. I am sorry too for my rudeness, Glorfindel. May we be friends?" She held out her hand and Glorfindel took it without hesitation and kissed it lightly before rising.

"I would like that very much, Alassiel." He was rewarded with a brilliant smile. Then he turned to the waiting Vala and took a deep breath before going to his knees once again, the hilt of his sword now pointing towards Námo.

"You do not have my forgiveness, lord, for you did nothing to me to warrant my giving it to you. My own arrogance brought me to this place. Please accept my apologies for forcing you to chastise me as you have. I should never have tempted you in that way. I fear I am a trial to you."

"No more than any other, Glorfindel," Námo said quietly. "And less than most." He paused, looking at the sword. "Is that for me, child?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, lord. I would give you my sword as surety for my parole."

"And why do I need your parole?"

Glorfindel grinned slyly. "Is that a trick question, my lord?"

Námo grinned back. "No, child. I am genuinely interested. Why do I need your parole?"

Glorfindel suddenly looked uncertain. "I-I don’t think I can be... trusted anymore...."

"Glorfindel," Námo said, taking him by the arms and raising him. "I trust you more than most. More importantly, Manwë trusts you."

"H-he does?"

Námo nodded. "However, I will take your sword, not as surety for your parole, but in trust. It will be returned to you when you are ready to accept the responsibilities a sword demands of the one who wields it." So saying he took the sword from Glorfindel’s hands and slipped it into a scabbard that suddenly appeared belted around his waist. "Now, let us quit this dreary scene."

They found themselves standing in a lush garden under bright sunlight. Alassiel and Glorfindel looked around in amazement. Námo hid a smile. He held out his hands to them both. "Let us be friends, my children."

Alassiel gave her hand to Námo, as did Glorfindel. Then shyly, Glorfindel held out his other hand to Alassiel who took it, blushing prettily. Námo nodded in approval. "Be kind to one another, my best beloved. And Alassiel," he gave the elleth a piercing look, "take better care of your amillë." He then released their hands and gathered them into his embrace, kissing them on the brow. Both elves suddenly fell asleep and then their fëar melted away from the Path of Dreams, leaving the Lord of Mandos standing in the garden alone.

****

Manwë was waiting for him in one of the smaller antechambers when he returned to Ilmarin. The Elder King’s gold-ringed blue eyes were solemn as he looked upon his younger brother in the Thought of Ilúvatar.

"So you think it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, do you?"

"Did not Aulë learn that lesson?"

Manwë raised an eyebrow. "We are not speaking of Aulë here, my son."

Námo bowed, looking contrite. "Forgive me, my lord. I meant no disrespect."

For a long moment neither spoke, then the Elder King gestured. "Come here, Námo." His tone was grave and there was an echo of Another’s Voice in his.

Námo approached, never flinching from Manwë’s gaze. Manwë took him by the shoulders. "As Alassiel has forgiven you and Glorfindel insists on taking the blame upon himself, I, too, forgive you."

*And I, best beloved,* came the thought from the Timeless Halls and Námo closed his eyes, feeling himself go weak in the knees with relief as a light wave of Love swept through him, banishing all guilt.

Manwë, however, was not through with him. He shook his brother slightly to get his attention. Námo opened his eyes.

"I forgive you," the Elder King reiterated, "but if you ever think of doing anything like that again... Melkor will have company in the Void. Do we understand each other, best beloved?"

"Yes, my liege."

"Good. Then we will speak no more of it. Nai haryuvam imbë met sérë."

Námo allowed Manwë to take him fully into his arms and they embraced, giving each other the kiss of peace. Námo would have stepped out of the embrace then but Manwë held him tightly, unwilling to let him go.

The Lord of Mandos decided he didn’t mind at all.

****

Ávatyara nillo úcarenyan, herinya. Ámet lavë lemya nildor: "Forgive me my trespass, my lady. Let us two remain friends."

Avatyarinyel, herunya: "I forgive thee, my lord."

M’avatyaruvalyë nillo yando, herinya?: "Will you forgive me as well, my lady?" The interrogative particle ma, which is used in yes/no questions, has been elided.

Ilmarin: "Mansion of the High Airs". The dwelling of Manwë and Varda on Oiolossë.

Nai haryuvam imbë met sérë: "May we have peace between us." Literally, "May it be that we will have between us (dual) peace".

37: An Ancient Lullaby

Ingwion was there to greet Glorfindel the next morning when the Noldo opened his door.

"Your Highness," Glorfindel greeted the prince with a bow, his expression somewhat wary.

Ingwion smiled. "Atar is punishing me for goading you, Laurefindil."

Glorfindel found himself smiling as well. "And how is the High King punishing you, Highness?"

"By making you my responsibility."

Now Glorfindel scowled. "Contrary to the popular opinion of everyone from Manwë on down, I do not need a minder."

Ingwion shook his head. "Atar always assigns one of the family to mentor anyone Arafinwë or Olwë send us for fostering. My sister, Indil, for instance, has charge of Ercassë and Findis will oversee Elemmírë’s education. You are stuck with me."

Glorfindel was somewhat mollified and nodded. "Sorry."

"And the first lesson is this... if you call me ‘highness’ again I will pound you so far into the ground you’ll need to reach up to lace your boots. My name is Ingwion."

Glorfindel smiled somewhat wickedly. "And if you are ever so stupid as to call me ‘Laurefindil’ again I will return the favor. My name is Glorfindel."

Ingwion laughed and clapped the Noldo on the shoulder. "I think we will get along just fine. Come. Atar always has a breakfast meeting with his family and councillors on the first day of the week and the fosterlings also attend as part of their training."

Glorfindel gave Ingwion a quizzical look. "Is that what you call us...fosterlings?"

Ingwion nodded as they headed down the hall. "The others who came with you from Tirion are within five years of their majority so legally they are underage and must needs have a guardian. As High King, Atar is automatically their guardian and the rest of the family treat them like younger siblings. Believe it or not, for most, this is the first time they’ve ever been away from their families for any length of time."

"Homesickness?" Glorfindel raised an amused eyebrow.

"Sometimes," Ingwion acknowledged. "That’s why Atar likes his children or younger members of the family to take them in hand."

"Well, I don’t think that will be a problem with me, so don’t worry."

"I won’t," Ingwion assured him with a smile.

By now they had reached the private dining hall reserved for the royal family and their closest friends. Glorfindel looked about with interest. Save for the fact that the room itself was somewhat larger than the royal dining hall in Tirion, it looked very much the same, with sideboards loaded with food. There was no ceremony here; people took as much or as little as they pleased. Servers were discrete and unobtrusive, making sure that nothing was lacking, but otherwise they left Ingwë and his family to fend for themselves.

As soon as they entered, all conversations stopped. Glorfindel ignored it, for he had eyes only for Alassiel, who was sitting at one of the lower tables with a woman who looked enough like her that Glorfindel suspected this might be the elleth’s amillë. Glorfindel frowned and shook his head in disbelief. Could no one see? Did no one care?

Alassiel looked up when she noticed the silence, as she had been intent on cajoling her amillë to eat something. She looked towards the entrance and saw Glorfindel. Without thought, she stood up and ran up to him, smiling. Glorfindel, for his part, opened his arms wide and closed them about the elleth, swinging her in his embrace.

"Good morrow, Cousin," Glorfindel said with a smile. "You are looking fair this fine day."

"As are you, Cousin," Alassiel replied, planting a decorous kiss on his cheek before standing back. "Will you join me?" There was a hint of desperation in the elleth’s eyes that did not go unnoticed by either Glorfindel or Ingwion, but only Glorfindel understood its source.

"I would be honored," Glorfindel said with a bow. He stole a glance at Ingwion and smiled slyly, bending down in a conspiratorial manner. "That is, if you don’t mind sharing me with my Keeper."

Alassiel giggled, and Ingwion rolled his eyes, giving Glorfindel a punch on the arm, though all there could see it was in jest, for the prince was smiling.

"I think I can manage that, my lords," Alassiel said with a short curtsey before returning to her seat while Ingwion and Glorfindel went to a sideboard and began piling food on their plates.

There was a rustle of voices, most of them expressing disbelief that Alassiel would even acknowledge the Noldo’s presence much less give him a kinsman’s kiss. There were looks of disgust on some faces, and dismay on others.

Ingwë, meanwhile, sat in contemplative silence, reviewing the scene in his mind, ignoring all around him. Obviously, something had happened in the night between these two children and he suspected that Lord Námo might have had something to do with it. He watched as his son and the Noldo joined Alassiel and her amillë, who sat there somewhat listlessly. He saw Alassiel introduce Glorfindel to Lirulin and there was a glow about Glorfindel that had not been there before, or perhaps he had not taken the time to notice. He also noticed something else and silently berated himself for his blindness. He stood up and walked over to the lower table. All eyes were suddenly on the High King.

Alassiel, Ingwion and Glorfindel looked up to see Ingwë approach. Not sure of the protocol, Glorfindel rose and gave the High King a bow, though no one else at the table followed him. Ingwë waved a hand in dismissal.

"We do not stand on ceremony here, child. We are all family. Surely it is thus in Arafinwë’s household?"

"Yes, lord," Glorfindel acknowledged, "but I was not sure..."

Ingwë smiled. "Your courtesy does you credit, child. I am pleased." Then he turned his attention to Lirulin and his smile fled, to be replaced by a frown of reproach. "I am not pleased, however, with the fact that none of us, myself included, has noticed the distress of one who is family." He knelt beside Lirulin. "Child, why do you fade?" he asked softly and there was a collective gasp from the onlookers.

Ingwion started and stared at his atar. "Is this true, Atar? How could I not see it?"

"Yet, you saw it, didn’t you Glorfindel?" Ingwë asked, looking at the ellon with a contemplative air. "As soon as you saw Lirulin, you knew."

"Yes, lord. The signs are easy enough to recognize. I saw it too many times in Endórë. I cannot understand why no one has noticed. She is nearly faded. I do not think any can call her back to herself. It may be too late."

Alassiel gave a sob and Ingwion put an arm around her shoulders to comfort her. Then Lirulin herself surprised everyone by looking up at Glorfindel. "Tell me of Intarion," and her voice was as a whisper of smoke on a cloudless day, insubstantial and faint. "Tell me what I may find when I go to seek him in Mandos."

"I cannot, lady," Glorfindel said with regret. "Further, I would not, for such knowledge is not for the Living."

"Yet, you have been to Mandos. You know. Why will you not speak?" Lirulin suddenly stood up, anger bringing some color to her face, making her seem more solid than she had been.

"And what would you have me say, Lirulin?" Glorfindel also stood, his eyes dark with a flame that spoke of other worlds not known to the elves of Vanyamar. "Intarion is dead. He resides in Mandos. Someday he will be Reborn. That is all you need to know. That is all any need to know."

"How dare you?" Lirulin screamed and she turned and fled, but Glorfindel’s next words stopped her.

"Lirulin! If Intarion knew what you were doing he would be most displeased."

She turned slowly, shock and despair warring in her expression. "Does he even remember me?"

Glorfindel shook his head, his eyes sad. "No, lady, the dead do not remember their former lives. It is Námo’s gift to them that they not be burdened with regrets. If you fade, if you go to Mandos, you will have no memory of Intarion or Alassiel. Even if you meet, neither of you will recognize the other until you are again Reborn."

Lirulin went white at that and started to sway. Glorfindel was the first to reach her before she collapsed to the floor, weeping. He held her, stroking her hair. "Lord Námo will be displeased as well, you know," he said in a conversational tone as Lirulin continued weeping. "Oh yes. He’s none too fond of people who give up. He much prefers people who defy him, spit in his face, and tell him where he can take himself." He smiled, as if at some particular memory, then returned his attention to the woman sobbing in his arms. "Lirulin, Intarion is happy. He knows neither pain nor sorrow. The Shadow touches him not. He plays and sings and dances in the Light and knows only Joy. Can you not hold to that and live? If not for yourself, then for your daughter? Must Alassiel be orphaned twice?"

He began rocking her and then softly began to sing an ancient lullaby, one that none there had heard before except Ingwë, who went white as Glorfindel began to sing. Lirulin’s sobbing slowed and soon she was asleep. Glorfindel continued to sing, ignoring all.

Finally, he came to the end and motioned for several elves to come and bear Lirulin to the healers. "See that she is kept warm. Let them sing every glad song and lullaby they know. It will help keep her grounded." The elves looked at the Noldo in wonder but did not question him. Soon they were bearing Lirulin away. Alassiel made to follow but Ingwë stayed her.

"Let the healers see to her first, daughter," he said to her quietly and she nodded in reluctant agreement.

Glorfindel remained seated on the floor. No one else moved, except Ingwë, who knelt before Glorfindel, his face full of wonder.

"That song...." Ingwë said in a whisper.

Glorfindel answered without looking up, his attention focused elsewhere. "It’s one of my earliest memories of Mandos, being rocked to sleep in Lord Námo’s arms as he sang that song."

"Do you know whence comes the song?"

Glorfindel looked up then and shook his head. "It-it’s just a song," he said with uncertainty as he finally noticed the shock in Ingwë’s expression.

Ingwë reached out and ran a hand through Glorfindel’s hair. "Child, that song is the first thing I heard when I woke at Cuiviénen and saw the stars for the first time." He paused, tears beginning to wash down his face. "I often wondered who was singing it, for I never saw the singer.... Now I think I know."

"And you would be wrong, child."

Ingwë gave a gasp as he swung around to find the last person he had expected to see standing there. He scrambled to his feet, Glorfindel right behind him, and bowed deeply, as did every elf in the room.

Manwë stepped forward and placed his hands on the High King’s shoulders and smiled gently at him.

"My brother is rather fond of that particular lullaby, but he was not the one who was singing it to you as you woke for the first time in Arda."

"Then who...?"

Manwë embraced Ingwë, holding him tight. "Can you not guess, child? It was your Atar singing to you. It was Ilúvatar himself, welcoming his Children into the world as any parent will."

Then Ingwë wept, but no one paid any attention, for they were all too busy weeping themselves at the revelation. Softly, Manwë began to sing the lullaby, but he was not alone. Every elf there heard the voices of all the Valar join with the Elder King in singing. Every elf there ceased to weep, falling into a deep healing sleep.

When Ingwë came to himself sometime later he found he was lying on the floor next to Glorfindel, who had yet to stir. All around, elves were fast asleep, many with smiles on their faces.

Of Manwë there was no sign.

38: Ingwë Alone

Waking to find himself lying on the floor of his own dining hall, Ingwë couldn’t decide if he should feel amused or insulted that Manwë had treated him so cavalierly, but decided that the Elder King was simply being practical in placing him on the floor. It was best not to read too much into it, he decided as he climbed to his feet, brushing his clothes down. He wasn’t sure if he should wake anyone or allow them to come to themselves on their own. In the end he left everyone where they were and began to wander through the palace.

Everywhere he went he found his people fast asleep. He made his way into the city out of curiosity and discovered that the entire city was asleep. People appeared to have simply dropped where they were, though none looked as if they had suffered any injury and he suspected that the Valar, or more likely their Maiar servants, had made sure none suffered unduly.

He did not know what he should feel. The silence was deafening. Some impulse kept him walking through the city towards the northern gate, the gate that led directly to the road leading up into the mountain and the abode of the Valar. As usual, the gate stood open. What was not usual were the fourteen Maiar standing there apparently waiting for him. Each one wore a different colored surcoat on which was embroidered a different emblem, emblems that Ingwë knew only too well.

On seeing his approach, one of the Maiar stepped forward and bowed. Ingwë saw that this one wore a sky-blue surcoat with an eagle embroidered upon it.

"Greetings, High King, I am Fionwë of the People of Manwë."

Ingwë nodded his own greeting but said nothing. Long experience with the Valar had taught him the virtue of not speaking.

Fionwë gave the High King an appraising look, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Do not fear for your people, Ingwë, they are unharmed and will waken soon."

"I have no fear, my lord," Ingwë said quietly. "I trust Lord Manwë implicitly. I will admit though that I am at a loss to understand the meaning of all this. I little appreciate waking up on the floor of my own dining room and finding that the entire city is asleep. I wonder if I were to wander through Eldamar if I would find every one of the Eldar sleeping."

Fionwë raised an eyebrow at the High King’s words. When he spoke it was in formal tones and the amusement in his eyes was gone. "The Valar summon thee, High King. We are sent to escort thee."

Ingwë stared at the Maia for some time. "And the Valar deem it necessary to send fourteen of you where one has always sufficed in the past? Have I fallen so low in their esteem that they must needs assure my presence by force of numbers?"

Fionwë shook his head. "Say rather that our Masters value you too highly to do other than honor you with their most trusted servants as your escort."

"And if I refuse the summons?" Ingwë asked quietly. "I do not wish to leave my people alone and defenseless in their slumbers. Someone needs to keep watch over them."

Now Fionwë smiled and came to Ingwë, putting his hands on the High King’s shoulders with great familiarity. "Child, do you really think your people are alone? Look now." He breathed gently upon Ingwë’s eyes then turned him around. Ingwë gasped.

Everywhere he looked Maiar stood, each beside a slumbering elf. Each one’s gaze was intent upon the sleeping form over which they stood guard, never taking their eyes off their charges. Ingwë felt faint and Fionwë had to steady him.

"Come, Ingwë," the Maia whispered. "It is best not to keep the Valar waiting."

Ingwë nodded mutely and allowed himself to be drawn away from the city. Thus he found himself walking in the midst of the Maiar, making the slow climb up the mountain. More than once one of the Maiar had to reach out and offer the High King a steadying hand, as he was so lost in his own thoughts that he paid little attention to his steps.

In time they reached the summit and the mansions of Manwë and Varda, but rather than being led to the throne room as usual, he was taken to a small antechamber and asked to wait. There was another door on the other side of the room from where he had entered which he knew led to the throne room. The chamber was furnished with comfortable chairs and low tables and tapestries graced the walls. Light came from high clerestory windows. Refreshments were offered but he politely refused them, for all that his breakfast had been summarily interrupted. Finally, he was left alone.

Time passed. He began to pace, beginning to feel annoyed. They had dragged him all the way up here against his will only to make him wait? And what of his people? Were they awake yet? Did they even know he was missing? He began to fume, feeling ignored. Finally, he uttered an oath under his breath and yanked open the door that led to the throne room only to find his way blocked by two Maiar, one of whom was Fionwë.

"Does my lord require anything?" Fionwë asked blandly.

"What ‘my lord’ requires is for you to stand aside," Ingwë said, gritting his teeth.

Fionwë shook his head. "No, Ingwë, go back inside and wait."

It was like a slap in the face. Never had he been treated with anything but respect and now he was being talked to as if he were an errant elfling. What was going on? Why were they treating him with such seeming disrespect? He felt the blood drain from his face and his breathing turned ragged. Fionwë started to take his arm but he flinched and started backing away, looking at the Maiar in dismay.

"Ingwë, wait. Come back," Fionwë said, but the High King would not listen. Instead, he turned and ran to the other door, but found it locked. He pounded on it, yanked on the doorknob, practically sobbing in fear and frustration, but the door would not open. He felt panic rising within him yet could not understand its source, only knowing that it was overwhelming him and he could not stop it. He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and with a cry turned and slithered away from the touch, ending up crouching in the corner, eyes wide as he saw Varda standing over him, a look of deep concern on her face.

"Ingwë? What is wrong?" Her melodious voice was tinged with worry as she watched the High King of All the Elves crouch before her, his eyes white with terror.

He tried to answer but something inside him snapped and he felt himself unraveling. Waves of nausea hit and he was suddenly sick, vomiting at the Valië’s feet. His misery knew no bounds then and he was barely aware of his surroundings. He felt hands lift him up and begin removing his sick-spattered clothing. Then he was being guided towards a divan where he was lowered. A cool cloth was placed on his forehead and a warm blanket was thrown over his shaking body.

"Shock, my lady," he heard Fionwë say, but the words were meaningless to him.

He seemed to float in and out of awareness then, coming back to himself at one point to find Námo sitting on the edge of the divan stroking his hair and murmuring words he did not entirely understand. Námo seemed to know that he was aware again for he stopped his ministrations.

"Stay with us, Ingwë," the Lord of Mandos commanded, but the words made little sense to the elf and it took too much effort to stay focused. He felt strangely detached from everything, including himself and could feel himself receding. He lay there waiting, not caring that he was waiting.

Námo looked up at a spot beyond Ingwë’s line of sight, speaking to someone whom Ingwë could not see, nor did he feel he had the strength necessary to move enough to do so. "I think we’re losing him again. He’s still in shock, though I don’t know why. He shouldn’t have woken as soon as he did and I fear his fëa is wandering afar."

"Can we call him back?" Ingwë knew the voice but could not place it. It was warm and gentle and held great promise of comfort. Another’s hand began stroking the top of his head and Ingwë sighed as waves of peace began to flood him. He closed his eyes in relief, barely paying attention to the words being spoken above him.

Námo looked back down at Ingwë who was now nearly asleep again. "It will be difficult. He has fled far back into Time."

"Who, then, will follow?" Nienna asked as she continued stroking Ingwë’s head.

"Only the one whom he trusts the most," Námo replied, "for only that one will succeed in bringing him back to himself."

"Very well," the Elder King said. "Let it be so."

****

He was fleeing, but from what, he did not know, only that he should not remain still for very long, otherwise he would be caught and that would be a terrible thing. Where he fled, he did not know either, but there was a destination, a direction, and he took it.

Once, whatever pursued him nearly caught him when he paused for breath and looked around. This was nowhere in Aman that he recalled, though there was a haunting familiarity to it. He was staring up at mountains, not as high as the Pelóri, but high enough, and terrible enough in their serene and implacable beauty to give one pause. He stood there mesmerized by them, awed by them.

"Ingwë," came a voice from behind him. He started and turned, feeling the blood draining from him as unreasoning fear took over. He could not see who had called but felt that the person was close by. He could not be caught, he mustn’t allow himself to be caught. It was the only thought he had in his mind. He gave a small cry and began running towards the mountains.

"Ingwë!"

He paid the voice no heed, but ran, not realizing that running through the mountains and not over them should have been impossible, yet run through them he did. He did not pause on the other side, not even for the wide river that suddenly came into view. Somehow he crossed it, but had no real memory of doing so. He was not sure in which direction he fled, but the further he went the darker it became and only the stars lit the way.

****

He stopped running when the lake came into view. By now he was breathless and spent, collapsing to the ground before the wide waters that stretched into the darkness, its other shore hidden from sight. He had arrived at the place he felt he needed to be, but he did not know where he was. He searched his memory but came up empty. So, he lay on the shore of the lake, breathing in the dark green scent of the fir trees nearby and waited.

For what, again he did not know. For whatever pursued him? That thought at least brought him to his knees in an attempt to rise and flee. He could not be caught, mustn’t be caught. If he were caught...

"Ah, here you are, child," a voice came to him from out of the darkness and he screamed, flailing about in an attempt to rise to his feet and flee once again, but this time there was no escape.

Strong arms took hold of him and held him close even as he continued screaming and flailing about. Suddenly someone began singing and the music pierced through the fog of terror that surrounded him and he collapsed into the other’s embrace, weeping, uncaring now. He’d been caught and there was no help for it. He knew something dreadful would happen to him now and all he could do was wait for it.

The song continued on for some time and there was a familiarity to it that spoke to his fëa and in spite of his terror he found himself relaxing, allowing the one in whose arms he lay to caress him and soothe him with voice and hands until he fell asleep.

****

"Feeling better?"

He came to himself and found that he was still in the other’s arms by the shore of the lake, the stars glittering coldly above them, their light reflected in the dark waters below.

"Where am I?" he whispered as he leaned against his captor, feeling oddly content in his captivity as he stared out across the lake. He did not bother looking at the one holding him.

"This is Cuiviénen, child. The place of your Awakening in Arda."

Ingwë gave a small shiver and snuggled closer into the other’s embrace. He was beginning to feel lost again. "H-how did I get here?"

"You were drawn here by need."

Ingwë thought about that for a moment but could not decide what need he had to come here so he asked a different question. "Who are you? What are you going to do to me?" His fear was beginning to rise again and he tried to squirm out of the other’s embrace but was held firmly in place.

"Look at me, Ingwë," came the soft command and Ingwë finally looked up into the face of his captor. "Do you not know me, child?"

"No, lord," he whispered, his voice thin with fear. "Please... don’t hurt me," and he began weeping, hiding his face in the other’s chest.

"Oh, child. It was never my intention to hurt you," Manwë said softly. "Hush now. No tears, my best beloved. All will be well. Sleep now, sleep."

The Elder King began singing again, the same song Ingwë had heard before, and soon he was relaxing into sleep, his weeping stilled.

****

When he woke again, there was a small fire going and he was lying next to it, a blanket over him and a pillow under his head. He felt refreshed and his mind was no longer fogged by fear and confusion. He sat up and looked around. Someone came into his line of sight and his captor, as he still thought of him, knelt beside him holding out a goblet.

"Drink this, child," Manwë said and was pleased that Ingwë took the proffered goblet with only the slightest hesitation. He was somewhat concerned by the elf’s listlessness, as if Ingwë had resigned himself to some fate and was merely waiting for its doom to fall upon him.

When Ingwë finished drinking the water he handed the goblet back to Manwë. "I’m ready now," he said emotionlessly. He had been caught and could not escape. Best to accept whatever pain was bound to follow. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if he tried not to resist.

"Ready for what?" Manwë asked, stroking the elf’s hair.

"Ready for my punishment," Ingwë replied, then he gave the Elder King a forlorn look that pierced Manwë’s heart to the core. "Please...I’m sorry... d-don’t hurt me too much."

Manwë spoke barely above a whisper. "Why do you think you deserve punishment, child?"

"Be-because I ran away from you. I know I shouldn’t have, though I don’t remember why I shouldn’t have." This last was said with a note of apology and Manwë took Ingwë into his arms and held him tightly, rocking him.

"I’m not going to punish you, Ingwë," Manwë finally said. "You have done nothing to deserve punishment. You did not run away from me, best beloved. You were running toward Another, though you were not aware of it. That is not a reason for punishment, but for rejoicing."

"Another? What other?"

"Hush. Listen. Perhaps you will hear him."

And Ingwë listened. At first all he heard was his own breathing and the gentle lapping of the water nearby and the cheerful crackle of the fire next to him. Then he heard the trees humming their slow song of life and deep earth. Finally, he heard the remote song of the stars, a song of welcome to this Firstborn. He had almost given up hearing anything else. Then he heard it, a deep voice, full of bells, faint and clear. The voice was singing the song, the lullaby, that had so soothed him earlier. He looked up at Manwë in wonder.

"I hear him," he whispered in awe. "I hear him."

Manwë smiled and kissed Ingwë on the brow. "I am so glad, best beloved. Do you recognize the voice?"

Ingwë shook his head and snuggled closer into Manwë’s embrace, feeling somewhat bereft by his lack of knowledge.

Manwë hugged him closer. "That is your Atar singing to you, telling you how much he loves you."

"M-my atar? I have an atar?" Ingwë asked in wonder and Manwë nodded. Then Ingwë asked another question. "Wh-who are you, again?"

Manwë gave a light laugh. "I am Manwë. I am your elder brother. Atar has charged me to care for you."

"My elder brother... you’re my elder brother?"

"Are you not pleased that you have someone like me in your life, child? It’s what elder brothers are for you know. I will always care for you and love you and help you remember that your Atar loves you when you begin to forget again."

"Thank you," Ingwë said with all sincerity.

"You are most welcome, child," Manwë replied. "Now, go to sleep," and Ingwë found himself falling asleep once again, snuggled contentedly against his elder brother, feeling safe for the first time in a long time.

Manwë sat there, the Elf-lord sleeping in his arms, and listened to the Song that had greeted the Firstborn in their Awakening by the shores of Cuiviénen with only half an ear, for he was busy plotting the coordinates for taking them both back home. It would not do for Ingwë to remain here in the Past any longer than necessary. There had been enough damage done to his fëa already.

He looked down at the sleeping elf and smiled. Then he bent down and gently kissed Ingwë on the head as he waited for the High King to waken once again.

****

Note: While I have used the word 'lake' here to describe Cuiviénen, that is from Ingwë's perception at this point. According to the Silmarillion, Cuiviénen was a bay in the inland Sea of Helcar far to the northeast of Middle-earth where once the Lamp Ormal stood, or so the Loremasters say.

39: Rescue Mission Into the Past

Author's Note: Warning for intensity of certain scenes.

****

When Ingwë woke again he was still in Manwë’s arms. He looked up into the Elder King’s face with some confusion.

"Lord Manwë," he said, pulling himself out of the Vala’s embrace. "What has happened?" Then he took in his surroundings and he felt his jaw drop in astonishment. "This is Cuiviénen! How did I get here?"

"That, my friend, is a very long tale best told when we return home."

"Home."

Manwë nodded. "That is, if you are ready to return."

Ingwë nodded, still feeling bemused. Manwë stood and pulled Ingwe to his feet. "It may be best if you keep your eyes closed. The journey back may prove disconcerting to you."

The Vanya complied and allowed Manwë to hold him. Then, Reality seemed to lurch... sideways. He found himself clinging to the Elder King, biting his lips to stop from screaming. In the space of three breaths, though, Reality did another twist and righted itself. Ingwë found he could breathe normally again. He sagged against Manwë, unwilling to let go.

"Open your eyes now, Ingwe," Manwë commanded and Ingwë complied.

There was a sensation of swimming upwards and then he found himself staring into the eyes of, not only Manwë, but Námo, Varda and Nienna. Fionwë was also there as were Maranwë and Olórin.

"What has happened?" Ingwë asked, struggling to sit up. Fionwë gave him a helping hand.

"What do you remember, Ingwë?" Námo asked.

Ingwë shrugged. "Little enough it seems. I woke to find all around me asleep. Then I met Fionwë and his companions who brought me here. I remember I waited for a very long time..."

"How long?" Manwë asked.

Ingwë stared at the Elder King for a moment before answering. "It must have been at least an hour, my lord. But you know this!" he ended in protest, confusion beginning to take over again.

Manwë shook his head. "Ingwë, you were left alone for less than five minutes."

Ingwë sat there stunned. "But that’s not possible, lord. I waited and waited and no one came."

Instead of answering him, Manwë turned to Námo. "Could that be where the break occurred?"

Námo nodded. "Undoubtedly. Time dilation coupled with a temporal displacement of his fëa..." The Lord of Mandos paused, looking thoughtful. Then, to Ingwë’s everlasting surprise, Námo raised his right forefinger and began to trace a figure in the air. Where the Vala’s finger moved, a green glow appeared, taking solid form. Ingwë could see what appeared to be a glowing strip of vellum suspended in the air before the Vala. The ends of the strip were joined, but one end was twisted in some fashion.

Námo was moving his finger above the glowing strip, stopping at some point. "This is where the slip occurred. Here are the coordinates."

He began tracing in the air again, but this time it was a series of numerals, only Ingwë could not interpret their meaning. The other Valar and their Maiar servants, however, nodded in obvious familiarity.

"Are you sure it’s just a temporal displacement, lord?" Maranwë asked.

"Yes," Námo answered with a nod. "The time dilation occurred here," pointing to a particular point on the floating vellum, "and Ingwë’s fëa fled back to this point along the continuum." He moved his finger to another point which suddenly flared an incandescent blue. Ingwë had to hide his eyes for a second. "His hröa, however, remained here with us."

"Then it’s possible others will do the same if frightened enough," Olórin said with a grimace.

"But probably not that many, for which we can be thankful," Varda said fervently.

Manwë nodded. "I almost caught up with Ingwë here." He pointed at still another point along the strip of glowing vellum, which also flared blue. Manwë began writing his own set of numerals in the air. "Have the Maiar keep watch along these coordinates, plus and minus point-five, just to be safe. I already have Eönwë stationed at Cuiviénen just in case any get that far. Fionwë, you will oversee the rescue mission from this end. Olórin and Maranwë will aid you."

"Call on us if you need to," Námo said. "One of us will come."

The three Maiar bowed and left. Ingwë looked at the four Valar feeling completely lost. "Forgive me, my lord," he said. "I did not mean to cause any trouble."

Manwë shook his head and placed a hand on the elf’s head in comfort. "The fault is entirely ours, Ingwë, for which we sincerely apologize."

"You woke too soon, you see, and suffered a shock," Námo said with a rueful smile.

"Was I really at Cuiviénen?"

"Yes and no," Varda said, giving the Vanya a slight shake of her head, the crown of living stars above her shining as brightly as ever. "Your fëa fled back to the place where it awakened in Arda. Somehow you managed to do something we did not think you were capable of doing. You managed to flee into the Past."

Ingwë shook his head in bemusement, not sure what the Valië meant. "I doubt if I could repeat the performance, lady. I don’t remember how I did it the first time."

"That is well, child," Námo said, sounding grave, though Ingwë detected a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I doubt if my brother will be up to running after you again. You gave him quite a merry chase you know."

Ingwë blushed as the Valar laughed. "Do not be troubled, my son," Manwë said. "I quite enjoyed the exercise."

Before Ingwë could respond, though, Fionwë appeared, looking grim. Ingwë felt his blood run cold, though he did not know the reason.

"We may have a problem, my Lord Manwë," the Maia said with a bow to the Elder King.

"What is it, Fionwë?" raising an eyebrow at the Maia’s tone.

The Maia gave a sigh. "Glorfindel’s awake...and he’s armed."

****

Glorfindel woke to find all the elves about him sleeping... and the High King missing. Warrior instincts took over almost immediately and without any conscious effort on his part. He paused long enough to check on Alassiel. Assured that she was merely sleeping, he slipped out of the dining room, stopping just long enough to take a sword from one of the guards who had been standing watch at the doors but was now as fast asleep as everyone else. As he continued walking the silent hallways of the palace his alarm grew. Where was Ingwë? What had happened to them all that they had fallen into sleep?

He made his way through the palace and then out into the city when he could find no sign of the High King within the palace. As he wandered the streets he found himself looking up, searching the skies, his apprehension growing. He wanted to call out, but reason told him it was best to remain silent. If there was an enemy lurking in the city...

Enemy. The word stopped him in his tracks. Could there be some agent of evil stalking the elves of Vanyamar? He tried to remember what had happened before he fell asleep....

"Glorfindel."

He spun around, sword at the ready position, to find himself facing several Maiar, none of whom he recognized. One of them had his hand up.

"Give me the sword, Glorfindel," the Maia said soothingly. "You don’t want to hurt anyone, do you?"

Glorfindel backed slowly away. "Who are you? Where’s Ingwë?" he demanded. "What have you done with the High King?"

"My name is Manveru of the People of Manwë. Ingwë is safe and unharmed, child," the Maia said. "Would you like to see him?" Glorfindel nodded. "Then let me have the sword," Manveru continued as he held out his hand, "and I will take you to him."

It took a moment for Glorfindel to comply and when he did every Maia there breathed a sigh of relief. It was short-lived though. The Maiar led Glorfindel through the north gate and onto the road leading up the mountain to Taniquetil. Glorfindel took one look at their route and balked, fear beginning to take over as he recalled Námo’s prohibition.

"What trick is this?" he demanded hotly, backing away from the road. "You know I’m not permitted... Lord Námo said I wasn’t..."

He was beginning to panic, and the panic became worse when he realized he didn’t know why he was panicking. He saw Manveru speaking to him but he couldn’t hear what he was saying. His only thought was he had to get away. He wasn’t supposed to be here...

Manveru had just enough time to catch the elda before Glorfindel collapsed, uttering an oath for his stupidity. He was about to call upon his lord when the fabric of Reality shifted and both Manwë and Námo were there.

"I’m sorry, my lord," Manveru said contritely. "I was unaware of your prohibition..."

"Peace, Manveru," Manwë said kindly. "You are not to blame." He looked down at the elf for a moment then turned to Námo with a smile. "It’s your turn, this time."

Námo gave his brother Vala a wry grin. "What’s the matter, did Ingwë wear you out?"

Manwë laughed. "Happy hunting, my brother, and good luck. With this one, you’ll need it."

Námo laughed as well before motioning to several of the waiting Maiar to follow him down the Ages into the Past after a fleeing golden-haired elf.

****

"He didn’t come this way, lord," Fionwë said. He and his fellow Maiar stood with Lord Námo at the foot of the Misty Mountains giving their news. The Lord of Mandos looked more amused than perturbed at their report. There had been no sign of Glorfindel, though every Maia along the presumed route back to Cuiviénen had been alerted. So far, only a few of the Eldar had fled this way and all had been safely retrieved.

"Why am I not surprised?" Námo said to no one in particular. "Our little Balrog-slayer never does the expected, does he?"

"Where could he have gone, then?" Erunáro asked. He was Manveru’s brother in the Thought of Ilúvatar and one of Manwë’s most trusted warriors. Námo was glad to have him there. "Unless..."

Námo looked at the Maia appraisingly, pleased that one of them had figured it out. "Say on, Erunáro. Tell me your thoughts."

"He’s heading for Gondolin," Erunáro proclaimed with certainty. "The question is, how far back into Gondolin’s Past will he have gone?"

"Not far," Námo said. He quickly called up the image of Arda’s continuum for all to see. "Ingwë fled to Cuiviénen but only to this point here when all of the Eldar had already left on their Great Journey, so he was never in danger of meeting himself. I think the same will be true with Glorfindel. He will go to Gondolin but it will be at a point after his own death and none are yet alive in the city. I suspect Eru has had a hand in this, for which we may all be grateful." He gazed at the image for a long moment then pointed to a particular spot. "Here, I think. We will find him here."

****

Glorfindel fled. He wasn’t sure why he was fleeing, or from what; he could not remember. He only knew he mustn’t be caught. So, he would continue fleeing. He fled through darkness and across snow-covered wastelands, heedless of the ice flows. Finally he came to land, desolate under the stars until he was approaching a ring of mountains. He paused then, to catch his breath. Somehow he needed to get through the mountains. Something told him he would be safe from whatever was pursuing him if he could get to the other side. He looked back along his route, wondering who was after him and why. He shook his head. It didn’t matter. He only knew he mustn’t be caught. With that thought in mind he began running again, unaware that he was passing through the mountains, not over them.

When he found himself in a wide valley with the ruins of a seven-tiered city before him, he stopped again. This is where he had been heading. This was his destination. He started to climb the main street of the city that wound through all seven levels. He was looking for someone, but he couldn’t remember who.

He was nearly at the fourth level when he came upon a familiar courtyard. There was a fountain in the middle of it with statues of swans. He looked around and found the gaping entrance of what had once been his home. The emblem of his House carved above the lintel was the only thing that appeared undamaged. The doors to his home hung on broken hinges. The interior was a dark gaping hole. He started towards the entrance.

"Glorfindel."

He spun around with a gasp to find himself surrounded by Maiar. One stood by the fountain, clad as a warrior. Others blocked the road to the lower levels while still others stood beside the gate leading to the next level.

The Maia by the fountain started to walk towards him slowly, holding out his hand. "Time to go home, child."

Glorfindel shook his head in dismay, backing away. "I am home," he whispered. He was silently berating himself for having allowed himself to be so surrounded and wondered if he could make it into his house before they took him. Ruined or not, he knew his home intimately, as these Maiar would not. There were places he could hide and they would never find him....

He turned to run into the house only to plow into a Maia who grabbed him. He started screaming. In the end, it took three of the Maiar to hold him down. Námo approached, shaking his head, as he knelt beside the struggling elf. "Glorfindel. Glorfindel. Whatever are we going to do with you, child?"

He reached out and placed a finger on the ellon’s head and said a single word, plunging the still screaming elf into a deep sleep.

****

When Glorfindel awoke he found himself lying in the courtyard before his ruined home staring up at a ring of Maiar, all armed with swords, all pointed at him. They obviously weren’t about to take any chances with him. Reborn or not, he was a Noldo; worse, he was a proven warrior and they respected that. When Erunáro saw that Glorfindel was awake, he stepped aside to allow his lord entrance into the ring. Námo knelt by Glorfindel’s head.

"Awake at last, my little Balrog-slayer?" the Lord of Mandos asked and brushed his hand against the ellon’s head. Glorfindel shrank from the touch, closing his eyes, mentally steeling himself for the punishment he was about to receive. He’d been caught, after all; it was only to be expected.

Námo continued caressing the elf’s head as he spoke. "Why do I need to punish you, Glorfindel?"

"Because I ran away," he said softly, keeping his eyes closed.

"And why did you run away?"

"I was on the mountain," he said after a long pause. "I’m not suppose to be on the mountain."

"But you ran away. Isn’t that a good thing?"

Glorfindel shook his head and opened his eyes. They were full of despair. "I wanted to be on the mountain. I wanted to go up the road. I knew I shouldn’t but I wanted to anyway. I’m sorry... I know I have to be punished. I...I promise not to... scream too much."

"A promise I will not hold you to, child," Námo said decisively. He suddenly took the ellon by the shoulders and hauled him to a sitting position then grabbed the back of Glorfindel’s head to hold him steady and leaned down and kissed the ellon on the forehead. Then he sat back and waited.

Glorfindel stared at the Vala with incomprehension and then his eyes widened and he clutched at Námo’s arm before he started convulsing. Námo took the ellon into his embrace to support him as Love Imperishable swept through Glorfindel’s fëa with implacable purpose. His shrieks were loud and primal and the Maiar stood watching him in silent awe.

As the last wave of ecstasy passed through him, Glorfindel whimpered. "I’m sorry... I’m sorry... I tried not to scream."

Námo kissed him on the top of his head. "But I’m glad you did, child. Go to sleep now, best beloved." Glorfindel gave another soft whimper as he snuggled closer into Námo’s embrace and fell asleep once again.

****

This time when he woke it was by a small fire. A pillow cushioned his head and a light blanket covered him. He sat up to look around. None of the Maiar were present and Námo was sitting placidly by the fountain.

"This is Gondolin," Glorfindel said with some awe.

"Yes, it is."

"Am I dreaming?"

"No, you are not." Námo stood up and walked over to the elf, extending his hand to help him rise. "Explanations later. It’s time to go home."

Glorfindel looked around once more, seeing the ruin of his home, of his city, and knew at last that this place was not for him. It was a dead city and he was no longer dead. He looked at Námo and nodded. "Home."

Námo smiled down at him. "You may wish to close your eyes. The journey can be disconcerting when you are not used to it." He gathered the elf into his arms and Glorfindel closed his eyes, nestling his head against the Vala’s chest. Without giving any warning, Námo took them home. In spite of his good intentions, Glorfindel screamed once. When they finally arrived, Námo was not at all surprised to find that the young ellon had fainted.

****

Note on Valarin science: It stands to reason that any beings responsible for ‘building’ the universe would have advanced knowledge of the sciences and mathematics involved. I have shown them using that knowledge in such a way that, hopefully, does not go against the spirit of Tolkien’s intent. Ingwë and the elves, of course, would find such knowledge incomprehensible. Tolkien himself states that, "[the Valar] could move backward or forward in thought, and return again so swiftly that to those who were in their presence they did not appear to have moved. All that was past they could fully perceive..." [Morgoth’s Ring]. Although Tolkien does not say, I assume the Maiar have the same ability.

The "glowing strip of light with one end twisted 180-degrees before joining it to the other end" is, of course, what we know as a moebius strip, which is a two-dimensional figure with a single plane, rather than two. It represents the space-time continuum of our planet. Moving along the continuum in any direction, you eventually come back to your starting point. This means that the past will eventually become the future and the future will become the past depending on where you are along the continuum.

40: Damage Assessment

Glorfindel remained unconscious for some time after Námo brought him back to Vanyamar. Ingwë had insisted that his own people care for the ellon rather than any of the Powers or the Maiar.

"I think you have all done enough damage," Ingwë said to Manwë with barely suppressed anger. What had happened to him had been frightening, but his anger was directed at the Valar for placing him in a position of helplessness, knowing he could do nothing to protect his people. Manwë had not argued the point.

Besides Glorfindel, the only other "odd" case was Lirulin. She, in fact, was not a victim of the "temporal displacement of the fëar" (Ingwë memorized that particular phrase, pondering its meaning for a long time afterwards), but rather, waking of her own accord, she slipped out of her hröa and sought out the gates of Mandos on her own. Námo actually found her huddling against the main doors and decided a little shock therapy of a different kind might be in order. What he said to her, no one ever knew. All anyone knew for sure was that Lirulin woke in her hröa three days later asking for food and demanding to see her daughter. The healers were overjoyed, though understandably bemused. Námo was disinclined to tell any of his fellow Valar what he had said to Lirulin and none of them pressed the point. They were just happy to see the poor child reach for Life again.

All the other elves of the city woke feeling refreshed and invigorated and appeared to suffer no ill effects from what had happened. Nevertheless, for the next week or so Maiar walked unclad throughout the city, keeping an eye on the elves to assure that none were suffering unduly.

"Which elves were affected?" Manwë asked Fionwë, four days later, as the Maiar were giving their assessment reports to the Valar.

"Interestingly enough," Fionwë said, "save for Glorfindel, and if we discount Lirulin as a special case, all the other elves were older. All remembered Cuiviénen and the Great Journey. None of the younger elves were affected."

"Is that significant, do you think, my beloved?" Varda asked, noting the expression on Manwë’s face.

"Perhaps," Manwë nodded. "All these elves have entered or are entering the third stage of their existence. That might be our first clue."

"They all originally came from Cuiviénen," Oromë said. "I know most of them by name, for I spent much time among them. Yet, only these few were affected. Why not all the elves who left Cuiviénen to make the Great Journey?"

Aulë spoke then. "Perhaps, as Manwë says, their age is our first clue. Ingwë is the oldest Elda in Vanyamar and he woke first. Which brings me to another question? Why was he the only one affected by the time dilation? None of the others suffered it, only the temporal displacement."

"An interesting observation, brother," Námo replied. "I think Ingwë will prove to be the key to this mystery. I am thinking that he may have been the zero-point from which everything else flowed, which is why only he experienced the time dilation."

"A ripple effect, then," Manwë said with a frown. "So it’s possible that eventually all the elves would have been affected."

"Except they all woke up at the proper time," Varda said.

Manwë sighed. "I am afraid our good intentions backfired."

"Or not," Námo countered and all the other Valar gave him enquiring looks. "I noticed that in the two cases where the elf made it to his ultimate destination, neither arrived at any spatiotemporal coordinate where they were likely to meet themselves or others who knew them. I remarked to Erunáro as we were pursuing Glorfindel that possibly Eru himself had a hand in it, steering our fleeing elves to a spatiotemporal point well after the significant historical event in question. In Ingwë’s case, that was after the elves departed on their Great Journey; for Glorfindel, it was well after all had perished or fled Gondolin, leaving only a dead ruin."

"Then you think Eru was responsible...?" Yavanna started to ask, her expression one of surprise.

Námo shook his head. "Responsible for the near disaster to Ingwë and the others? No. Capable of taking advantage of the situation when it arose, I have no doubt." This last was said with a knowing smile.

"Nor do I," Manwë said, his eyes twinkling with humor as well. "I think this is a matter that will require long thought and much discussion. In the meantime, we should keep an eye on those, like the High King, who were affected. This might have been a fluke, or it might be a harbinger of things to come. None of them should have been able to do what they did, yet the evidence is before us. Unconscious ability or not, it is a dangerous gift and we will need to monitor the situation closely."

"And that brings us to Glorfindel," Námo said with a slight smile. "Our little Balrog-slayer is just full of surprises, isn’t he?"

There were rueful chuckles all around.

"If I didn’t know better," Varda said with a straight face, "I would think Eru inflicted Glorfindel on us purely for his high entertainment value. Ilúvatar obviously had a gleam in his eye when he brought that impossible ellon’s parents together."

They all laughed at that and Manwë opined that Varda was closer to the truth than any of them imagined. A wave of laughter from beyond the Circles of Arda passed through Aman and they knew that Eru was enjoying the joke as much as they.

"So why was he affected?" Aulë asked when the laughter had died down. "He’s quite young, even taking into account the period of time he spent in Mandos."

"He’s the only Reborn living in Vanyamar," Námo replied. "His fëa now exists on a slightly different level of Reality than those of the Once-born, as he so fondly calls them. I suspect that if any of the other Reborn had been here, they too would have fled into the Past."

They all pondered that in silence for some time, but none had an explanation for why Glorfindel was able to do what Ingwë and the other elder elves had done. In the end, it was decided to keep an extra guard on the ellon and Manwë ordered Manveru and his brother Erunáro to walk unclad beside Glorfindel until further notice.

"Glorfindel is not to be left alone for any reason," Manwë ordered and the two Maiar bowed and left to take up their duty.

"And now we must deal with Ingwë’s anger," Manwë concluded on a note of sadness. "I fear we’ve lost his trust. It may be difficult to win it back."

"We will have to tread carefully for a time, my beloved," Varda said with a nod of agreement. "I do not think trust has been entirely broken. Ingwë has sat at our feet too long and loves us too much to turn from us entirely."

"Let him come to us in his own time and fashion," Nienna added. "If we try to push ourselves back into his good graces, it will only make matters worse."

Manwë agreed and the meeting ended, but not before Olórin appeared with news of his own, his expression bland.

"Glorfindel is awake... and he’s not amused."

"Why am I not surprised," Námo said with a rueful shake of his head and then started to laugh. Soon the others joined in.

****

Glorfindel, in fact, was fit to be tied, literally. He had awakened in the infirmary wing of the palace demanding to see Ingwë, Alassiel and Námo (in that order). The healers attempted to calm him, insisting that he remain in the infirmary until they knew for sure he was fine. Since none of them understood anything at all about his condition, this was a moot point. Manveru and Erunáro, standing unseen in the Balrog-slayer’s room raised identical eyebrows at the maledictions coming from Glorfindel’s mouth, most of them in Sindarin, so the healers had no idea what he was saying, but they could guess at their meaning.

In the end, it took five Vanyar to hold Glorfindel down long enough for them to place restraints on him. All the time Glorfindel continued shouting, but when the final restraint was in place he collapsed and began weeping. The healers were glad to leave him to it, many of them already sporting bruises and even a bloody nose or two.

When all had left the room, the two Maiar manifested themselves just enough to lay their hands on the weeping ellon’s head and offer him what comfort they could. Eventually, Glorfindel cried himself into a fitful sleep.

Námo arrived, took one look at the restraints on Glorfindel and uttered an oath that left the two Maiar with their mouths hanging open. He knelt down and ran a hand over the sleeping ellon’s body, ascertaining its state, then with a single thought, unbound the elf and lifted him into his arms.

"Come with me," he said to the two Maiar and they hastily complied as the Vala strode out of the room and down the corridor to where several elves were gathered. One of them looked up to see Námo and the Maiar guards approach and blanched. The others, when they noticed, fell to their knees in obeisance.

"Who ordered the restraints?" the Vala asked in a quiet tone that fooled no one.

One of the elves looked up from where she was kneeling and tentatively raised a hand. Námo stared at the elleth for several moments, his expression unreadable. The healer started trembling. Námo nodded, as if he had received the answer he was looking for. "I am taking Glorfindel to Ingwë. He is no longer your concern."

Without waiting for a response, Námo left the infirmary wing and headed for the royal apartments. He found Ingwë in his study, closeted with his advisors who were making their own assessment of what had happened. All the elves, including Ingwë, shuddered at the cold expression on the Vala’s face. The fact that he was accompanied by two warrior Maiar didn’t go unnoticed either.

"My Lord Námo," Ingwë acknowledged, his expression carefully neutral. "Did you wish something?"

Námo’s smile was not at all pleasant. "I do not like what I am seeing, Ingwë. Your Chief of Healers will be here soon to explain. In the meantime, I will tend to Glorfindel myself. Have Ingwion come to Glorfindel’s room in an hour. He can give me a hand."

Ingwë bristled at the Vala’s tone, but bowed in acquiescence. Námo nodded once then strode out of the room, finally coming to Glorfindel’s room where he laid the still sleeping ellon on the bed and made him as comfortable as possible. Námo reached out and plucked the ellon’s favorite stuffed toy from its location in Tirion and nestled it into Glorfindel’s arms, giving him a kiss on the brow before sitting in a chair deep in thought.

One hour later there was a tentative knock on the door. Námo sent a thought that opened the door of its own accord. "Come in Ingwion," he said without looking up, his gaze still on Glorfindel, who had curled into a ball around the stuffed toy. Námo had been pleased at that for it meant that the elf had finally fallen into a natural sleep.

"M-my lord sent for me?" Ingwion said uncertainly. He had not been present when Námo had interrupted his atar’s conference and had been shocked when informed of Námo’s request. He had never had any fear of the Valar, only reverential respect, even love, but the Lord of Mandos was no one you wanted to be on the bad side of.

Námo looked up at the ellon and smiled. "Yes, child, come here."

Ingwion complied readily enough, though he still looked wary. He stared down at the sleeping elf, a look of surprise followed quickly by one of dismay flashing across his face as he saw Glorfindel cuddled with the stuffed toy. He feared his estimation of the Noldo was sorely misplaced. "Is he going to be all right, lord?" he asked somewhat stiffly.

"With your help, Ingwion," Námo replied, having taken notice of the ellon’s reaction to seeing Glorfindel but declining to comment. "He suffered a terrible psychic shock and I’m afraid the healers did not take that into account when they placed him under restraints."

Ingwion sucked in a breath and felt suddenly ill. Now that he knew what to look for he could see the bruises on Glorfindel’s wrists and shuddered.

"Wh-what do you wish of me, lord?" Ingwion finally asked, feeling more sympathetic towards the sleeping ellon.

"Stay with him," came Námo’s reply. "Let him see a familiar face, the face of a friend, when he awakens. He will make demands to see me, Ingwë and even Alassiel, though not in that order." Námo gave the elf a deprecating smile and Ingwion returned the smile with an understanding grin of his own. "Inform your atar when he awakens. Leave Alassiel out of this for now. She is with Lirulin and Lirulin needs Alassiel more at the moment than Glorfindel does."

"And you... my lord?" Ingwion enquired.

"I will be here as soon as he awakens. My people will inform me."

Ingwion found himself surreptitiously looking around, wondering how many unclad Maiar haunted this room. Námo hid a smile at the ellon’s curiosity and stood up. "Here, you might as well sit down. It may be a long wait." He motioned for Ingwion to sit and the ellon reluctantly complied. Námo clapped him on the shoulder and nodded.

"What Glorfindel needs now is a sympathetic friend, Ingwion. Findaráto is not here or he would fill that role. Are you willing to take your cousin’s place, if only temporarily?"

"I hope it’s more than temporary, lord," Ingwion said with some feeling. "I like Glorfindel. More than that, I admire and respect him... or that is...."

Námo’s expression softened and his tone became more solemn. "Be gentle with him, Ingwion. In many ways he’s younger than any twelve-year-old and has far to go before he reaches full maturity. Yet, never forget that once he was a lord of Ondolindë and stood mighty in the counsels of Turucáno. Never forget that he fought against my Fallen Brother’s Maiar slaves, though it cost him his life. His courage should never be in doubt however he might weep from time to time like any elfling bereft of a favorite toy, or act in a childish manner."

Ingwion nodded, chagrined at his earlier reaction. His heart went out to the poor child. "I want us to be friends, lord. Someday, I hope to love him as my brother... that is, if he will let me."

Námo smiled warmly. "I do not see where that will be a problem, child. Glorfindel gives of himself freely and openly. Treat him the same way and I know you and he will be otornor before long."

Ingwion smiled shyly. "I would like that. He’s... he’s so fascinating. Are all Reborn so fascinating?"

The Lord of Mandos chuckled. "No less fascinating than you are, my son, or any Eruhin, though I will admit that Glorfindel is a bit more fascinating than most." With that, the Vala took his leave, though not before planting a kiss on Ingwion’s brow in blessing and doing the same with Glorfindel, whose only reaction was to snuggle even closer around his stuffed toy.

For a long while Ingwion sat there staring at the sleeping ellon, contemplating the words the Lord of Mandos had spoken. Without conscious thought he began humming the ancient lullaby he had heard the Valar sing, unaware that Manveru and Erunáro had joined in.

****

Otornor: Plural of otorno: sworn brother.

Eruhin: Child of Eru.

41: A Slow Recovery

Glorfindel was barely stirring when Námo was suddenly there. Ingwion didn’t even have time to react. The Lord of Mandos placed a hand on the prince’s shoulder.

"Have someone find your atar, Ingwion," Námo said quietly, keeping his eyes on the slowly stirring ellon, still clutching his stuffed toy. Ingwion nodded and went to the door, calling the first person he saw and giving her his instructions. Then he returned to stand beside the bed in time to see Glorfindel open his eyes, to blink blearily up at him. If he noticed Námo standing there he gave no sign.

"Ingwion," Glorfindel’s voice was weak and hoarse. The ellon tried to sit up but seemed to have some trouble in coordination. Ingwion sat on the bed next to the ellon’s head and helped Glorfindel into a sitting position, using himself as a support for Glorfindel to lean against. The Noldo sighed from the exertion and closed his eyes.

Námo handed Ingwion a goblet filled with water. Ingwion nodded his thanks then placed the goblet to Glorfindel’s lips. "Here, meldonya, drink this. It will help."

Glorfindel dutifully opened his mouth and drank without bothering to open his eyes as Ingwion held the goblet for him.

"All of it, Glorfindel," Námo said, and the ellon opened his eyes in surprise, but did as the Vala commanded. When all the water had been drunk, Námo took the goblet from Ingwion and the prince shifted his position to make it more comfortable for Glorfindel to lean against him. Glorfindel still felt weak but his mind was clearing and he began to remember. He stared up at the Vala.

"Was it a dream?"

Námo shook his head. "Nay, it was not. Neither was it reality. Somehow you and others, including Ingwë, managed to slip into the Past." The Vala held up his hand to still Glorfindel’s questions. "I cannot tell you how it happened because we do not know. You shouldn’t have been able to do what you did in the first place and the fact that you did at all is troubling to us. We are sorry for any pain it may have caused you, child. It was never our intention."

Glorfindel nodded, feeling suddenly tired and leaned further into Ingwion’s embrace. "I woke up and the High King was gone. I couldn’t find him and then..." Memory became clearer then and he saw himself meeting the Maiar and being led towards Taniquetil. He looked up at Námo with fear in his eyes and tried to squirm out of Ingwion’s embrace, but to no avail. "I didn’t know... I didn’t know... I wouldn’t have... I wanted to but I..."

Námo sat on the edge of the bed and took the now weeping ellon into his arms and held him. "I do not blame you, child. No one does. If you had gone with Manveru it would have been well, for we had summoned you. That you misunderstood is not your fault. Hush now, there’s no need for tears. You’re safe and no one’s angry at you."

Glorfindel continued weeping for another minute, struggling to get himself under control. It was then that there was a knock at the door. Námo sent a silent word of command and the door opened of its own accord, admitting Ingwë. The High King entered and took in the scene at once, seeing his son rubbing Glorfindel’s back and whispering something in the ellon’s ear, words of comfort he had no doubt. He also noticed the stuffed toy that Glorfindel clung to with one hand as he nestled in Námo’s embrace and his heart went out to the Noldo.

He closed the door and sat in the chair by the bed, leaning over to place a hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the Vala’s presence. "I understand you were looking for me, child," he said softly.

Glorfindel looked up, wiping the tears from his eyes. "M-my lord, you are safe."

Ingwë nodded. "Yes, I am safe. I hear you had a bit of an adventure."

Glorfindel nodded but did not reply. He closed his eyes again and snuggled deeper into Námo’s embrace and, giving a sigh, fell asleep once again. "I’ll take him, my lord." Námo nodded to Ingwion as he passed Glorfindel into the prince’s embrace. The prince accepted the burden and held the sleeping ellon close to him, pulling the covers over them both and making sure the stuffed toy was firmly in Glorfindel’s grasp. It was then that Ingwë noticed the yellowing bruises on Glorfindel’s wrists and scowled.

He finally looked at Námo, who had not moved except to brush his hand against Glorfindel’s head, stroking his hair. "The Chief of Healers spoke to me at length," he said softly so as not to disturb Glorfindel. "If I had known..."

Námo nodded. "I know, Ingwë. I do not blame you. I do not even blame your healers. They were not to know what had happened to Glorfindel and were unprepared for his reaction upon waking." He paused and gave the High King a sad smile. "If you had let us help..."

Ingwë scowled again but did not contradict the Vala. "Will he be all right? No one else seems to have suffered much from the ordeal. Why is he..."

"Everyone else is much, much older than he, Ingwë," Námo replied. "And being Reborn did not help. He lost much of his ability to resist certain psychic disturbances once his fëa was returned to its primal state of innocence. He’s really very much the elfling in that respect. His recovery, I fear, will be slow. Great care must be taken to assure that he feels secure and loved and held blameless for what happened to him. That’s why I asked Ingwion to be here. Glorfindel already trusts him as a friend and that trust will be needed in the days and weeks to come."

Ingwë nodded, glancing at his son, who returned his nod with one of his own. "I want to help, Atar," the prince said. "After all, you told me he was my responsibility."

Ingwë smiled. "So I did. Very well. It will be as you say, my Lord Námo." His tone was somewhat stiff as he addressed the Vala directly and Námo grieved at that, though he gave no outward sign.

"Thank you," the Vala said simply. "He’s very precious to me. To us."

Ingwë stared at the Lord of Mandos for a moment as if gauging the level of sincerity in the Vala’s words. Finally he nodded. "And to me, as well."

****

Glorfindel’s recovery was indeed slow. He spent most of the next week or so sleeping, rousing just long enough to take in sustenance and attend to personal needs. Ingwion stayed with him most of the time, or Findis, when she found out what had happened to her "nephew".

Alassiel also came by, though he did not know it, being fast asleep, and she did not stay long, for she was concerned for her amillë. When Glorfindel woke Ingwion told him of Alassiel’s visit. The ellon smiled and his eyes brightened with interest for the first time since his "adventure", as everyone was calling it, for lack of a better word.

By the end of the second week, though, Glorfindel began to recover enough to take an interest in things again, though he was still too weak to leave his bed for any length of time. Ingwë visited twice and the two spent some hours comparing notes.

When Glorfindel asked, Ingwë described Cuiviénen to him, telling him what it had felt like to awaken for the first time to see the stars above him and hear the lullaby being sung to him by Ilúvatar. Glorfindel wept at Ingwë’s words and the High King took him into his arms to comfort him. Ingwë decided to distract the ellon with a question of his own.

"What was it like... being back in Gondolin?" Ingwë asked.

For a moment, Glorfindel did not respond, then, slowly, softly, he began to speak. "It was so... so lifeless. Not even the fountains ran anymore. The air was cold and unspeakably dead, as if a pall lay over all. It was home and it wasn’t. It was a city of the dead and I was no longer dead. I-I didn’t belong there anymore. I-I don’t th-think I belong anywhere anymore." This last was said with such a sense of despair that Ingwë tightened his hold on the ellon and began rocking him.

"You belong here, child, in Aman," he said. "This is where you were born and grew up. This will always be home, even if you don’t think so. Somewhere deep inside you know this to be true."

"In Gondolin..."

"In Gondolin, what, child?"

Glorfindel looked up at the High King. "In Gondolin I felt wanted and... and needed... and my king... my king loved me..." He couldn’t go on for he began weeping again.

"You’re wanted here, Glorfindel," Ingwë replied, hoping his words would get through the sense of desolation he heard in the Noldo’s words. "And needed. Arafinwë needs you more than you can ever guess, and Findaráto. You are loved by so many people, including ... including the Valar... Lord Námo especially, I think. Can you find no comfort in that, child? Can you not see past your pain and open yourself to the love that is all around you?"

"D-do you love me?" Glorfindel asked in a small voice, unsure of the answer.

"Oh, child," Ingwë said as he started to weep himself, but laughing at the same time. "I’ve loved you from the moment you stepped forward to introduce yourself and insulted me to my face. I could not help but love you at that moment."

Glorfindel giggled in spite of himself and settled deeper into the High King’s embrace, content to remain there for a time, feeling the softness of Ingwë’s beard as he ran his fingers through it. He was fascinated by the beard, never having seen any elf with one before. Eventually he fell asleep again. Ingwë had a time disentangling the ellon’s fingers from his beard when he wanted to leave.

****

By the third week, Glorfindel was finding his bed to be a prison and demanded to get up. Ingwion helped him dress and stayed close to his side as he walked the corridor outside his room, for Glorfindel had decided he wanted to eat breakfast in the dining room that morning. The ellon was white as a sheet before he had gotten too far and Ingwion had to carry him back to his room, much to Glorfindel’s embarrassment.

"Now, don’t fret so, meldonya," Ingwion admonished the younger elf. "I think you did very well to get as far as you did."

He set the ellon in a chair next to an embrasure overlooking one of the many gardens surrounding the palace. "Why don’t you sit here for the nonce and rest. I will bring you something cool to drink and a light repast. Later, we will try again. There’s no rush, you know."

"I’ve been nothing but trouble since I got here," Glorfindel complained with a scowl. "You must hate me."

Ingwion looked at the ellon in surprise. "Hate you! Whyever would I hate you, meldonya?"

But Glorfindel would not speak and Ingwion decided to let it pass for the moment. He was troubled, for the ellon’s emotional recovery seemed slower than it should have been. None of the others who had slipped into the Past appeared to be unduly harmed by the experience and seemed fully recovered. His own atar assured him that it was so. Glorfindel, on the other hand, was querulous and short-tempered most of the time and there was no joy in his eyes anymore. This grieved the older ellon more than anything. It was what had attracted Glorfindel to him in the first place, that joyfulness that seemed to be an integral part of him. He had wondered if all Reborn had that same sense of joy about them. Fearing for his new friend, Ingwion sought out the one person he thought might help.

"You wished to see me, young Ingwion?" Námo asked.

He had agreed to meet with the prince when Olórin gave him the message. Ingwion had simply spoken into the thin air later that night when Glorfindel was sleeping and made his request, confident that someone would hear. He was only surprised that Námo’s message arrived as quickly as it did, little realizing how desperate the Valar were to make amends. Ingwë had not spoken to any of the Valar since encountering Námo in Glorfindel’s room, nor had he come to Taniquetil on Valanya, the High Day among the Eldar, as was his wont, which grieved the Valar, Manwë especially. So it was with some relief that Námo agreed to meet with the prince.

They met in a courtyard on Taniquetil. Ingwion appeared overly nervous and Námo attempted to make him feel as comfortable as possible.

"I am concerned about Glorfindel," Ingwion said without preamble, deciding not to beat around the bush. He suspected that the Vala was quite aware of Glorfindel’s mental and emotional state, but had learned early in his life that for some reason the Valar appeared to want the Eldar to tell them what the Eldar suspected the Valar already knew. He never understood it, but he accepted it as what it was.

"As am I," Námo said. He knew what Ingwion was thinking and hid a smile. It would not do to tell the young ellon that it wasn’t a question of already knowing something on the part of the Valar, but rather a delight in listening to these Children tell them of their discoveries as they explored their world. The Eldar could little appreciate how new everything was to them and how much delight the Valar and Maiar took in seeing the universe through the Eldar’s younger eyes.

"I don’t know what to do to help him," Ingwion admitted forlornly. "He has no joy in him any more and I... I fear for him."

Námo looked upon the ellon sympathetically. He, of course, had visited Glorfindel several times in the past week, though he had not allowed his Presence to be felt by any of the Eldar and was equally concerned by Glorfindel’s listlessness. Not even a visit from Alassiel, when the ellon was awake, had seemed to help, though Glorfindel was relieved to hear that Lirulin was slowly recovering from fading and appeared to be wanting to live again. That had been a worry to him and he was glad for Alassiel’s sake, but it was not enough to drag him out of his own fit of depression.

"Can you help him?" Ingwion asked doubtfully when Námo did not immediately respond.

"What would you like me to do, child? I cannot order Glorfindel to be happy again."

"I-I just thought... I mean... he seems to like you... I don’t know why... oh! that didn’t come out the way I meant... I’m sorry...."

Námo started laughing and threw an arm around the prince’s shoulders and hugged him. "I don’t know why he likes me either, child, so we’re both in the dark about that."

Ingwion relaxed somewhat, embarrassed at his gaffe but mollified by the Vala’s words. "Sorry. I only meant that the two of you seem to have a special relationship and maybe you can talk to him or... or something," he ended lamely, now feeling even more embarrassed by his temerity in seeking out the Vala for such a paltry reason.

"Your concern for Glorfindel does you credit, Ingwion," Námo said. "And I am honored that you would seek my help in this matter. Glorfindel’s health is a concern for us all." The Vala sighed and stood up, staring at nothing in particular. "Unfortunately, our hands, my hands especially, are tied. Your atar’s anger precludes us from offering our help and we cannot intervene."

"Atar may have forsaken you, but I have not," Ingwion said with some heat as he too stood to face the Vala.

"Ingwion..."

"No, my lord," the ellon protested. "Atar gave me responsibility for Glorfindel. I am not an elfling needing anyone’s permission. I do not forbid the help of any, Elda or Vala. Glorfindel is more than my friend. I will not stand by and watch him fade just because Atar is in a temper over what happened. That is between you and him."

"He is your king, Ingwion," Námo said somewhat darkly. "Would you defy your king?"

Ingwion shook his head. "But he has not spoken to me as king, only as my atar. He has not decreed that none shall call upon the Valar. Indeed, many of our people still continue to serve you here and in Valmar, do they not?" Námo nodded and Ingwion continued. "Atar is not a tyrant, my lord. He may not like that I come to you for help, but he cannot forbid it."

For a long moment the Vala looked at the ellon standing determinedly before him and finally smiled. "I am glad one of you has some sense."

"Atar is angry, my lord," Ingwion admitted ruefully. "But his anger is directed more at himself, at his sense of helplessness, than it is directed towards any of the Valar. He’ll come around soon enough. You just have to give him time."

"He will be given all the time he needs, child."

Ingwion spun around to see Manwë and Varda standing there and bowed, suddenly feeling uncertain in the presence of the Elder King and his Spouse. Manwë smiled warmly and beckoned for the ellon to approach, laying his hands on Ingwion’s shoulders when he did.

"Glorfindel is fortunate to have so staunch a champion as you, my child. Never fear. We will do all we can to help your friend. He is too important to Aman, to Arda, for us not to."

"What will you do, lord?" Ingwion asked, feeling hopeful for the first time since coming to Taniquetil.

"Why, give Glorfindel what he most desires," Manwë said with a light laugh. "Or rather, almost," the Elder King amended. Then he proceeded to tell Ingwion his plan.

When the prince returned to Vanyamar, it was with a lighter heart.

****

Ingwion waited two days before deciding Glorfindel was strong enough. Glorfindel was able to make it to the dining room the day after his aborted attempt, though it drained him completely. He barely had the strength to lift a fork and Ingwion had to help him. Alassiel was there, as were Elessairon and the other Noldor, except Vorondil. They all greeted Glorfindel warmly and Alassiel helped feed him, much to Glorfindel’s embarrassment and secret delight.

"It is good to see you finally up and around, Glorfindel," Elessairon said with a grin. "I was getting bored."

"Oh, and why is that?" Glorfindel asked with something of his old enthusiasm.

"Nothing interesting has happened lately," came the reply. Elessairon gave Glorfindel a smirk.

"Except one of the palace cats decided to have her kittens underneath the High King’s throne," Ercassë said with a giggle.

"Well, you can’t blame me for that," Glorfindel said with feigned pique.

"Unfortunately, no," Elessairon said with a straight face and a mournful sigh.

That set everyone laughing, including Glorfindel, though everyone noticed how frail he sounded and grieved at the loss of joy that had permeated the ellon’s very being. Ingwion decided to take the Noldor and Alassiel into his confidence and they all brightened at the prospect of being a part of the "recovery mission", as Lómion put it.

The next day, Glorfindel was sitting in one of the gardens after breakfast conversing quietly with Alassiel, Elessairon, Lómion and the two Noldorin ellith. Ingwion appeared with a message tube in his hand, which he handed to Glorfindel.

"This came late last night," Ingwion said to a surprised Glorfindel. "You were already asleep, so I decided it would be best to wait until now to give it to you."

Glorfindel stared at the tube in his hand for a moment before opening it and pulling out the thin sheet of vellum inside it. The missive was wrapped with a blue ribbon to which was attached a large seal showing an eagle with wings outspread. He carefully broke the seal and opened the letter. Ingwion and the others watched as Glorfindel read what was written and saw the blood drain from the ellon’s face, yet, there was a look of joy that suffused the Noldo’s entire being and his eyes glittered brightly. It was the first time in weeks that Ingwion had seen such light in the younger ellon’s eyes and was glad.

Glorfindel looked up, his eyes wet with tears. "It’s from Lord Manwë," he said, speaking barely above a whisper. "He wants to see me. H-he says I can bring a friend...friends." He stopped, feeling hesitant, his expression suddenly uncertain.

"Would you like us to come with you?" Ingwion asked gently, indicating the others, and when Glorfindel nodded shyly, he gathered the ellon in his arms and hugged him. "We would be very honored, meldonya. Thank you."

The others all echoed Ingwion’s sentiment and Glorfindel smiled at the obvious warmth and love that he felt from the ellyn and ellith sitting with him.

"When and where does Lord Manwë wish to see you, Glorfindel?" Alassiel asked.

"Tomorrow evening in Valmar," he replied, pulling himself out of Ingwion’s embrace to answer the elleth. "I am to come at the second hour past sunset. Are... are you sure you all want to come?"

"Wouldn’t miss it for anything," Elessairon said with a wicked grin. "It’s bound to be interesting, especially with you there."

Glorfindel stuck his tongue out at the ellon and everyone laughed. The Valar’s plan seemed to be working already.

42: An Appointment in Valmar

The rest of that day and all the next was something of a trial for Glorfindel, not to mention everyone else, but they took it in good humor, understanding why. Valmar was a half day’s journey away, so the small party of elves left Vanyamar shortly after breakfast. Winter was approaching and the days were growing shorter. Sunset would be early and Ingwion wanted to reach the city in time for a meal, though he suspected Glorfindel would be too wound up to eat; he had barely eaten anything since receiving the Elder King’s summons.

Glorfindel, for his part, became more and more quiet as the day progressed and the journey to Valmar commenced. The others in the party did not try to press him to join in any merriment they might be engaged in, respecting his need for quiet, but neither did they exclude him. Thus, it was a lighthearted group that wended its way across the plain separating the two cities.

When Ingwion informed Ingwë of Manwë’s plan and his role in it, Ingwë gave his son a piercing look. "Be sure to take a suitable escort for the ellith," he said, then he almost smiled, the first time since the Incident. "I will leave it to you and the other ellyn to protect the denizens of Valmar from Glorfindel."

Ingwion actually laughed and promised to do his best. Thus it was that the party was augmented by an escort of guards as well as Findis and Indil to act as chaperones.

Valmar was a completely different city than any that the Eldar had built. For one thing there were only eight buildings, mansions actually, each surrounded by gardens and a large courtyard fronting a wide avenue, called the Landamallë Valion. The avenue ran northeast to southwest, between two mansions, with three mansions on either side of the wide street. Four other roads entered the city along the cardinal points, each with its own gate at the entrance of the city. At the northeast end of the Landamallë Valion, closest to Taniquetil, stood the mansion of Manwë and Varda. It was easily the largest building there, its porticos and colonnades reaching skyward. The mansion of Námo and Vairë stood at the other end of the avenue standing closest to the Máhanaxar and the more distant Halls of Mandos.

As one faced the mansion of the Elder King, Aulë and Yavanna’s mansion stood to the left of Manwë’s mansion with the North road, the Formenya Tëa, between them. Ulmo’s mansion stood opposite, the East road, the Rómenya Tëa, between his mansion and Manwë’s. Nienna’s mansion stood to the right of her brother Námo’s mansion as one faced it, with the West road, the Númenya Tëa, between them. Opposite was the mansion of Irmo and Estë with the South road, the Hyarmenya Tëa, between that mansion and Námo’s. Tulkas and Nessa’s mansion stood between Aulë’s and Nienna’s, while Oromë and Vána’s mansion faced it on the other side of the malinorni-lined avenue.

The town of Eldamas, where lived the Eldar who served in the city, lay on the outskirts of Valmar along the Formenya Tëa. This was the road that led directly to Vanyamar and Taniquetil. Halfway along this road as it curved towards the northeast, another road joined it leading north-northwest towards Formenos. This was the Mall’ Etelerroron, in memory of Fëanáro and Finwë. The Númenya Tëa led to Lórien and beyond to the House of Nienna by the shores of the Ekkaia. Several leagues along this road, before one reached Lórien, another road veered to the southwest leading to Mandos. It was known as the Mallë Mandëo. The Rómenya Tëa led directly to Tirion. The Hyarmenya Tëa wended its way through the farming communities that lay in the Southern Fiefdoms of the Eldar where the soil was the richest and the climate the mildest. There were dwellings of the Eldar along each of the roads, inns and shops mostly, catering to any of the Eldar traveling between various places in Aman, but the main town lay along the North road.

It was to this town that Ingwion led his party, planning to stop at a favorite inn of his, the Laughing Vala. They were expected, for Ingwion had sent messages ahead. Because the meeting with Manwë was to take place in the evening it was decided that they would remain overnight. Indeed, Ingwion planned to spend several days in Valmar with Glorfindel and the others. Námo had practically made it an order and Manwë had nodded his agreement.

"It will do Glorfindel and the others good to be away from Vanyamar for awhile," the Lord of Mandos had said, and Ingwion was wise enough not to question a Vala, especially this Vala, when being given a directive.

Eldamas straggled along both sides of the North road, with side streets leading away from the main avenue. The town was quite large actually and Glorfindel was a bit lost as Ingwion led them through a winding way across courtyards and squares towards the inn. He had no memory from his previous life of ever having been here before. Soon they reached their destination, horses seen to and rooms assigned. Glorfindel found himself being given a room of his own, much to his surprise and consternation.

"You’re not the only one with a message from the Valar," Ingwion said when Glorfindel asked him about the room. "I was given my own orders concerning you."

"But why?"

Ingwion shook his head. "I do not know, meldonya. I only know what I was told: you were to be given a room for yourself, this room to be precise."

Glorfindel looked disturbed and not a little wary. "Sometimes I wish they would just leave me alone," he whispered in anguish and Ingwion’s heart went out to the young ellon and he hugged him, offering him comfort.

"But is the alternative not worse, child?" he asked. Glorfindel had no answer, though he spent some time pondering the prince’s words. Finally, he sighed and nodded his head. Ingwion released him with a smile. "Rest now. I will have Elessairon come to you and help you ready yourself for your meeting. I will also have something light brought up for you as well. It would be well if you tried to eat. It will only leave the Elder King with a bad impression if you faint on him, you know."

Glorfindel couldn’t help but chuckle at that and nodded his agreement. Rest, of course, did not come easily or swiftly but Glorfindel found himself starting awake at the sound of a soft knock on the door. He called out, struggling to rise from his bed and saw Elessairon and Lómion entering, both already dressed in formal robes. Lómion carried a covered tray from which enticing smells emanated. Both ellyn were grinning.

"I’m glad you were able to rest, Glorfindel," Elessairon said. "We’ve brought you something to eat. Ingwion says you are to eat everything on this tray even if we have to hold you down and force you to eat it."

Glorfindel merely nodded. "Thank you," he said meekly and the two ellyn exchanged looks as Glorfindel took the tray and began to sip on the light meat broth that he found under the warming cover. There was also some fresh bread and a plate of fruit and cheese. There was no wine or beer, but there was a pot of flower tea — ninquë ariendë, his favorite. It was more than he had eaten in the last two days, but he suddenly felt stronger for it.

The other ellyn remained silent while Glorfindel ate. Elessairon went through Glorfindel’s bags and pulled out the clothes Glorfindel would wear to his meeting with Manwë. Lómion, meanwhile arranged for a tub to be brought to the room and hot water for a bath prepared. Once Glorfindel finished eating he stripped and climbed into the tub while the other two ellyn sat on the bed, idly talking, though Glorfindel said little, if anything, the entire time.

Once he was dried off, the ellyn helped him to dress. There was a knee-length midnight blue velvet tunic with a high collar trimmed with silver filigree embroidery set in a serpentine pattern. Green-blue tourmaline and yellow topaz were alternately set between the loops of the embroidery. The sleeves of the tunic were slashed and tight at the wrist. The spring-green watered silk lining showing through the slashes matched the color of the silk shirt that was worn underneath. There were also leather breeches, dyed a darker green. Glorfindel’s formal robe of blue-green brocade trimmed with yellow ribbon embroidery completed the ensemble.

As Elessairon helped Glorfindel with his braids, following the ellon’s instructions carefully, a knock on the door found Ingwion standing there, also formally dressed, and carrying a small round box. He grinned as he entered and nodded approval at seeing Elessairon helping Glorfindel. "I brought something for you," he said, laying the box on a table and opening it. All three ellyn gasped in wonder when they saw what lay within. It was a chaplet of gold in the shape of malinorë leaves intertwined with representations of elanor and niphredil in white gold and mithril, respectively. It was beautifully crafted, the leaves and the flowers seemingly real for all that they were made of metal.

"Wh-what does this mean?" Glorfindel asked with some trepidation. He was sure that there was some mistake.

"It means that no member of the Noldorin royal family goes before the Elder King without being properly attired," Ingwion stated, perhaps more firmly than needed, but recognizing the signs of rebellion in Glorfindel’s eyes. His tone was meant to forestall any further protest from the younger ellon.

Glorfindel started at Ingwion’s words. "I’m not..."

"Tell that to Arafinwë and Eärwen," Ingwion smiled gently and then he found himself hugging the Noldo who was suddenly crying. "There, there," he said soothingly, patting Glorfindel on the back to comfort him. "Is that any way for a Balrog-slayer to act? Now dry those tears. It’s almost time to leave."

With that he released Glorfindel from his embrace and brought the chaplet from the box, placing it on the Noldo’s head. Glorfindel sniffled a bit, wiping the tears with a handkerchief that Lómion conveniently produced. "My ammë never lets me leave the house without one," he said wryly and everyone laughed.

Ingwion nodded in approval at Glorfindel. "A proper prince. Come, let us go." He motioned Glorfindel to lead the way and soon the ellyn were standing in the common room of the inn along with the ellith and their escort. All were in formal dress. Even the guards wore their best uniforms. The other patrons of the inn, a mix of Vanyar and Noldor, stared open-mouthed at the sight. When two Maiar suddenly appeared in their midst, everyone scrambled to their feet and bowed, as did Ingwion’s party.

"Hail, Lord Glorfindel, Balrog-slayer," one of the Maiar said. He was wearing a white robe underneath a sky-blue surcoat with an eagle embroidered upon it. "I am Fionwë of the People of Manwë. This is Maranwë of the People of Námo. We have been sent by our lords to escort you and your party."

Maranwë gave them a short bow. He was attired similarly to Fionwë, save that his surcoat was black and was embroidered with Námo’s emblem of the Sun-in-Eclipse.

"Th-thank you," Glorfindel said nervously, looking a bit pale. He had been hoping for a meeting with the Elder King for so long but now that the moment had arrived he was suddenly unsure. The two Maiar gave him sympathetic smiles and Maranwë put his hands on either side of the ellon’s face, gazing intently into Glorfindel’s eyes. Glorfindel found himself falling into the Maia’s gaze, the depth of love that he felt coming from Maranwë was incredibly intimate, almost overwhelming, yet it did not excite or trouble him. Instead he felt himself becoming calm, calmer than he had ever felt in his life... in either life.

Then Maranwë released him from his gaze and Glorfindel took a shuddering breath. "Are you ready now, child?" the Maia asked gently and Glorfindel nodded shyly. With a nod, the two Maiar went to the door of the inn followed by Glorfindel and the others.

They walked as a group, the guards on the outside, feeling somewhat superfluous with the two Maiar there, and everyone else in the center with Glorfindel and Ingwion in the lead. Fionwë led them and Maranwë followed behind everyone else. The townspeople stood in open-mouthed wonder at the sight as the party walked through the town towards the northern gate leading into the city of the Powers. In the gathering gloom of night there was little to see of the city, but every mansion was lit up and lanterns glowed from the lower branches of the malinorni lining the avenue.

Fionwë led them through the gates leading to the mansion of the Elder King and then through the main courtyard where fountains merrily sang. A wide portico with three broad steps fronted the mansion, an incredible edifice made mostly from cut crystals of different hues. Sapphires seemed to make up its foundation with towers of amethyst and colonnades of amber. Walls made of blue quartz there were and floors made from beryl and meneluissar. Even at night the crystalline structure shimmered under the stars; in the brightness of day, it would positively shine. Lights from inside the structure made it glow in a rainbow of colors, though blue seemed to dominate.

Glorfindel found himself faltering in his steps, awe and fear mingling within him. The other elves were equally impressed by what they saw. All stopped and stared up at the residence of the Elder King and his beloved Varda in wonder. Fionwë looked back from the top step of the portico and smiled at them.

"Take your time, my children," he said quietly. "Have no fear. It is merely a building after all. The one who awaits you within is the one you have always known and love."

Glorfindel, however, was beginning to have second thoughts, feeling faint and suddenly overheated in his formal robes. Ingwion, by his side, noticed his distress and took him by the shoulders and made him sit down on the lowest step.

"Head between the knees, meldonya," he said softly as he sat on Glorfindel’s left. "Try to breathe normally."

Glorfindel did as he was told and the blackness eating away at the edges of his consciousness began to recede. He felt rather than saw someone sit beside him on his right and place a cool hand on the back of his neck. Then a goblet was being pressed to his lips and he drank the water gratefully. When he recovered his equilibrium he saw that Alassiel was sitting next to him, a worried smile on her face. It was her hand on his neck. Ingwion gave him a squeeze on his arm.

Glorfindel grimaced. "Sorry. I don’t know what came over me," he said in apology.

"Well, at least you were quiet about it," Ingwion said with a snort. "The first time I was brought here I started screaming."

Glorfindel stared at the Vanyarin prince in surprise. Ingwion nodded, smiling wryly.

"How old were you?" Glorfndel asked.

"About ten I think, maybe twelve," Ingwion replied. "I was being presented to the Powers you see, as Atar’s heir. All the Valar were gathered here in this mansion to meet me."

"Why here and not on the mountain?" Glorfindel asked.

Ingwion shrugged. "I do not know. I only know that I took one look at this place and started screaming. Atar was beside himself with embarrassment and Ammë was about ready to deny she ever gave birth to me." The prince started laughing and Glorfindel smiled in spite of himself. Alassiel and the others smirked.

"So what happened?" Glorfindel asked.

"He spent the better part of his stay here sitting on my lap and playing with one of my stars."

The elves found themselves scrambling to their feet and bowing as Varda stepped down from the entrance, the wreath of living stars shining brightly above her. Her expression was one of mild amusement.

"St-star?" Glorfindel stuttered as he stole a look at Ingwion.

Ingwion gave him a weak smile and whispered. "It was a very small star."

Varda laughed at that. "Small indeed, but it was the only thing that distracted him enough to shut him up so the rest of us could have a decent conversation."

Now Ingwion started blushing as the ellyn and ellith around him sniggered.

"I don’t think your parents allowed you to return here until you were well past your majority, did they?" Varda looked at Ingwion, and the amusement in her eyes was not at all condescending.

"Something like that," Ingwion laughed ruefully.

Varda nodded then turned her attention to Glorfindel, who was still feeling shaky. She held out her hand and after a moment’s hesitation Glorfindel took it. "My beloved awaits thee, child. Wilt thou not come?"

"Wh-what of my friends?" he stammered.

She smiled warmly. "They will be here when thou art ready to leave, but it is for thee to meet with the Elder King alone."

Glorfindel blanched slightly at that. He knew that practically speaking not everyone could accompany him to his audience with Manwë but he figured that Ingwion at least would be able to. Now he wondered if he really wanted to do this after all.

As if divining his thoughts, the Valië said, "It is not for thee to decide if thou wilt or no, child. The Elder King of Arda hath summoned thee this night. Come." And with that, she led him gently up the steps and Glorfindel could not deny her. Just as he was stepping across the threshold the ellon stopped and looked back to see his friends being led away by the two Maiar attendants towards a side gate that led into a garden. As Varda gently pulled him away the mithril doors silently closed, leaving him alone with the Queen of Stars.

****

Landamallë Valion: The Avenue of the Valar. Landamallë literally means "wide street" [landa "wide" + mallë "street]. Vali is an alternative plural of Vala.

Eldamas: Elftown. This name was most likely a designation used by the Valar and Maiar to indicate that part of Valmar where the Vanyar serving the city dwelt and later adopted by the elves for themselves.

Mall’ Etelerroron: Road of the Exiled Ones; reconstructed from Sindarin edledhron > Old Sindarin etledro(ndo) [ET, LED]

Mallë Mandëo: Road of Doom.

Formenya Tëa: Northern Road.

Númenya Tëa: Western Road.

Rómenya Tëa: Eastern Road.

Hyarmenya Tëa: Southern Road.

Malinorni: Plural of malinornë: the mallorn tree.

Ekkaia: The Outer Ocean west of Valinor that circles Arda.

Ninquë Ariendë: White Daisy. For the etymology of ariendë, see the Sindarin eirien. White daisy tea is a mild tea that is yellow-green in color.

Ammë: Hypocoristic form of amillë: Mother. 

Note on geography: In reading the Silmarillion and checking various sources, I could not seem to pin down an exact geography of Valinor except vague sentences, such as "Mandos lay to the west of Valmar (Silm)". There is even some confusion as to where, in relation to Tirion, Taniquetil lies. Some maps show it to the south-southwest of Tirion, others to the north-northeast. For purposes of this story, I have placed Taniquetil north-northeast of Tirion. Tirion lies directly east of Valmar and Lórien lies directly west, with Mandos south of Lórien. All other locations are based on this orientation.

The description of Valmar is, of course, from my own imagination, coupled with whatever descriptions I could find from Tolkien. I have based its layout on the ceremonial centers of the Aztecs and Mayans, especially the ancient city of Teohituacan in Mexico.

Note on the use of gemstones: The choice of gemstones making up the structure of the mansions of the Valar is deliberate, based on the spiritual and healing properties attributed to these stones throughout history and by different cultures. I have, of course, been highly selective of the meanings and powers of each gemstone to fit the parameters of my story and they may not always agree with the perceived wisdom of those who believe in crystal powers. To make it easier for readers to remember, I will repeat the meanings of any gemstones I use in future chapters so you do not have to keep referring back to previous chapters.

Blue-Green Tourmaline: Brings a joy for life. It promotes an appreciation for the many wonders that life has to offer. It encourages patience and openness and promotes peace, balance, and emotional purification.

Yellow Topaz: Symbolic of friendship and it strengthens one's capacity to give and receive love.

Sapphire: Symbolic of wisdom and purity.

Amethyst: A purple stone symbolic of spirituality and piety.

Amber: Symbolic of courage and the presence of Eru Ilúvatar.

Blue Quartz: Symbolic of peace and tranquility.

Beryl: The proper name for the Emerald: Symbolic of love, fidelity, faith and hope.

Meneluissar: Sky-blue stone; what we would call lapis lazuli, with the same meaning [meneluin "sky-blue" + sar "stone", with assimilation]. Symbolic of truth.

43: Meeting With the Elder King

Varda led him down a wide hall floored with alternating squares of beryl and meneluissar. Evenly spaced columns of white marble stood on either side of the central nave. The walls were made from blue quartz and the ceiling was a clear crystal that allowed one to see the sky. When Glorfindel looked up the heavens were full of stars all ablaze. Starlight seemed to be the hall’s only illumination, yet it was enough to see by. At the end of the hall was a tall door with two long panels, one of burnished gold, the other of mithril. Both panels showed a tree and Glorfindel knew that these were the Two Trees of distant memory. Varda looked down at her visitor and smiled, for Glorfindel could not see how the light of the Trees still shone through his own eyes, bright and clear.

As they approached the door, it opened of its own accord, the two panels splitting to admit them. Glorfindel took a deep breath and hoped that he would not do or say anything embarrassing. He wasn’t sure what to expect and his one other encounter with Manwë was no help to him.

"He won’t bite, you know," Varda bent down slightly to whisper in the elf’s ear. "He is particularly fond of elflings... and those who are elflings at heart."

Glorfindel blushed at that, still feeling a bit lost. He could well understand why Ingwion felt the need to scream when he had first come here as a child. Varda stopped before the door and turned to Glorfindel, placing her hands on either side of his face and gazing deep into his eyes. "Take a deep breath, child, and let it out slowly...again...and once more."

Glorfindel had no choice but to comply. As he followed Varda’s instructions he began to feel steadier and his mind felt less skittish, more focused.

"That’s it, child," Varda crooned. "There’s nothing to fear. All here are your friends."

Glorfindel took one more centering breath and nodded. "Friends," he echoed and Varda smiled and took him by the hand again and led him into the audience chamber, the doors closing silently behind them.

Glorfindel looked around and found that the room was smaller than he thought it might be, perhaps no larger than the royal family’s dining hall in Tirion. There were only two thrones on a dais which took up the back third of the room. The thrones were made of clear quartz that looked like ice, and the dais was made of blue quartz. The floor of the room was tiled in pure white marble. The walls were plastered and painted with colorful scenes from Aman depicting daily life among the elves and the Powers. The ceiling was made of the same clear crystal that formed the ceiling in the entrance hall. There were tables and chairs of richly grained wood and brocaded seats scattered about the room that oddly enough did not look out of place. It was towards one set of chairs that Varda led her charge.

Glorfindel saw that, beside the Elder King, two others were there. He was unsurprised to see Lord Námo but the other...

Glorfindel stopped short, shock making it difficult to breathe and then somehow he was kneeling on the floor and memory flooded him and his own sense of shame took him. He started to weep and stammer an apology but he found himself being lifted up and staring into the concerned face of Lord Ulmo.

"What tears are these, child? Why weep you so?" Ulmo’s voice was gentle for all that it was deep with the echo of the sound of the ocean in it. He stood tall, though not overly so, his long hair and beard were the blue-green of seaweed, trailing nearly to the floor. His eyes were a deep purple. He wore a sleeveless robe that fell to mid-calf. It glittered with cold iridescence in the starlight, reminding Glorfindel of fish scales. The robe was belted with coral in shades of pale pink and deep red. On his head he wore a garland of nénur entwined with hrívezellar. The dark green of the wintergreen leaves along with the nodding white flowers and scarlet berrylike fruit of the plant were a stark contrast to the yellow water lilies. His feet were bare as were his legs. The Ulumúri, the great horns of Ulmo, large conches nearly twice the size of Glorfindel’s head, hung across his chest.

Glorfindel could only shake his head at the Vala, unable to form the words he knew must be said. Slowly he went to his knees again, his eyes locked with those of the Lord of Waters. Ulmo allowed him to kneel, knowing that this was important to Glorfindel, though it was of no import to himself. Sometimes he forgot that these Children existed exclusively in linear Time and needed to act out what had already happened in their hearts.

"I’m... I’m sorry, my lord," Glorfindel sobbed. "Turgon wouldn’t... and I didn’t know..."

"Tush, child," Ulmo said, pulling the ellon to his feet once again. "I’ve never blamed you or anyone else for Turgon’s folly. Now, dry these tears." And much to Glorfindel’s surprise, the Lord of Waters gathered the ends of his long beard and began wiping the elf’s face. "Now, there. That’s better," the Vala said, a pleased smile on his face. Without further ado, he turned and brought Glorfindel to where Manwë and Námo still stood, patiently waiting. Manwë’s expression was warm, Námo’s was inscrutable.

The Elder King, Glorfindel saw, wore an ankle-length tunic with three-quarter sleeves of soft wool dyed a deep blue, almost indigo. It was slitted on both sides to the hips, the hem, neck and sleeves trimmed with grey squirrel fur. Underneath was a white shirt of the finest linen and breeches of undyed kid leather. The sleeves of the shirt were bloused and gathered tightly at the wrists. White on white embroidery covered the cuffs. Knee-length leather boots were on his feet. His chestnut brown hair was unbraided and was wreathed with a garland of laurel and golden oak leaves. His only jewelry was a mithril chain upon which hung a large uncut sapphire held in the claws of an eagle in flight, also made of mithril.

Námo was a study in contrast to the Elder King. He was dressed in an ankle-length tunic of unrelieved black velvet trimmed at the hem and wrists with sable fur. It had a high collar heavily embroidered in silver filigree and the sleeves were tightly gathered at the wrists. The tunic was belted with silver disks alternately etched with either Isil at full or with a representation of Telperion. His long blue-black hair was elf-braided, including, Glorfindel noticed, Sindar warrior braids entwined with moonstones, black opals and sea pearls as well as mithril and onyx beads in a pattern unfamiliar to him. He wore a coronet of mithril wrought in the shape of two stylized birds facing one another with their claws outstretched, their long tails joining in the back. Between the claws lay a single large diamond, its facets shimmering blue in the soft starlight that was the room’s only illumination.

Glorfindel belatedly noticed Varda’s attire and was amazed to see that the Queen of Stars wore only a simple sleeveless overgown of white samite slit up the center to just below her breasts so that the undertunic of blue watered silk showed through. The skirt of the overgown flared at the hem. The sleeves of the undertunic were tight to the wrists. She wore no crown nor garland save for the wreath of living stars above her head and a single star sapphire hung from a silver-linked chain that nestled between her breasts.

Of the four Valar, Varda’s dress was the most understated, yet Glorfindel could see that her ethereal beauty outshone them all. Manwë smiled wryly as he watched the elf take in their sartorial splendour and winked. "We peacocks can never compete with my beloved in either beauty or grace."

"But not for lack of trying," Námo quipped, a small smile gracing his face and the other Valar laughed. Glorfindel found himself relaxing as he listened to the light banter, the sick fluttering in the pit of his stomach easing.

"Come, child," Manwë gestured, "sit and be at ease. For all that we are formally dressed, this is a very informal meeting."

Glorfindel waited until all the Valar were seated before taking his own seat. A low table near the chairs contained plates of light sweets and fruits, a carafe of fruit juice and another of wine. Glorfindel eyed the table with interest, especially the carafe of wine. Varda smiled knowingly and began pouring some fruit juice into a cut crystal glass.

"I think you should not have the wine tonight," she said as she handed Glorfindel the glass, giving him a shrewd look. "You have not eaten much these past two days and the wine might prove somewhat intoxicating in your present state of mind."

"Yes, Lady," Glorfindel said meekly and dutifully sipped his juice while the others looked on with grins.

Manwë leaned over and placed a hand on Glorfindel’s arm and the elf gave him a questioning look. "I know what you hope to learn from this meeting, my young Balrog-slayer," Manwë said, "but I will not answer any questions concerning Turgon or his family." Manwë gave Glorfindel’s arm a squeeze to still any protest and Glorfindel closed his mouth and nodded meekly, looking down at his feet with a sigh, the light of anticipation that had been in his eyes since the day before suddenly going out.

Manwë looked at his fellow Valar and raised an eyebrow. Námo stood up and went over to Glorfindel who looked up with some trepidation, clutching the glass of juice as if it were his sole defense against whatever might come. Námo placed a comforting hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder as he leaned down to speak to him.

"I think you have more recent questions for us, hinya," the Lord of Mandos said quietly. "Questions of a disturbing nature, if I’m not mistaken." His voice was warm and his expression inviting and Glorfindel relaxed somewhat under his gaze and nodded.

"Then ask your questions and we will do our best to answer them," Manwë said as Námo gave the elf a nod and returned to his chair.

Glorfindel sat for a long moment thinking. So much that was strange had happened to him and he was not sure where he should begin. He finally asked the first question that came to him. "Wh-why did they restrain me?" It was spoken barely above a whisper and there was a hint of fear in his voice as if he were afraid of the answer.

The Valar sighed and Námo looked somewhat grim, which only made it worse for Glorfindel, believing that it was somehow his own fault.

"You did nothing wrong, child," Varda said, divining his thoughts. "Put your mind at ease there. The restraints were a mistake on the part of the healers who were unaware of what had happened to you and were unsure of your mental state. They sought merely to protect you and others from your hysteria when you finally awoke."

"What happened to me?"

"Tell us what you remember, Glorfindel," Námo commanded.

Glorfindel looked towards the Lord of Mandos, not really seeing him, his eyes becoming somewhat unfocused with memory. "I woke up and the High King was missing. I went in search of him but could not find him."

"My people tell me they discovered you with a sword in your hand," Manwë said, his expression carefully neutral. "Did you not relinquish your sword to my brother?"

The elf looked down for a moment before turning to the Elder King, his expression set. "Ingwë was missing, everyone else was asleep. I did not know what had happened and thought that some enemy had entered Aman and meant us ill. Even a thrall will arm himself with what weapon is at hand to protect himself. I relinquished my sword, Lord Manwë, I did not relinquish the right to wield one at need."

Manwë raised an eyebrow at the nearly belligerent tone of the elf sitting before him and hid a smile, though he was laughing silently, his fellow Valar joining him. "What happened next?" was all he said and Glorfindel could not tell if the Elder King approved or disapproved of his reply. Not having any other choice, he continued his tale.

"The Maiar... they said they knew where the High King was. They led me..." Glorfindel began to tremble, his face white with distress at the memory and tears fell from his eyes. He fell on his knees before Manwë without conscious thought of doing so.

"I-I wanted to so much...and they wanted me to... but I knew I couldn’t and... I’m sorryimsorry...." He was sobbing by now, his eyes closed in anguish, clutching the now empty glass to his chest and rocking slightly.

Manwë reached over and took the ellon’s head between his hands.

"Glorfindel, look at me," he commanded and Glorfindel opened his eyes. The Elder King’s gaze was warm and merry and Glorfindel found himself stilling as Manwë continued staring at him, willing him to calmness. "I place no blame upon you, child. Your reaction was commendable, if misplaced. All is well. Get up now and be comforted. Give your glass to Námo and let him fill it for you. That’s it."

Glorfindel found himself getting to his feet with Manwë’s assistance and retaking his seat, handing his glass to the Lord of Mandos without actually looking at anyone, shame at his childish action foremost in his mind. Manwë gave him a light kiss on the brow. "Now, none of that, my Balrog-slayer. Self-recrimination is a useless exercise. No one here thinks the less of you for your honest reaction. The fact that you tried to honor our ban however much you wished to do otherwise is all that matters here."

Námo handed Glorfindel his glass. "Drink," he commanded softly and Glorfindel complied, nearly choking on what turned out to be wine rather than the expected juice. Námo laughed at that. "I said ‘drink’, not ‘spit’."

"Th-this is wine," Glorfindel stammered in surprise and the Valar smiled.

"And a very good vintage it is, too," was Námo’s only reply. "Drink, child, and have no fear. It will not intoxicate you, merely calm you. Here, have a sweet." Námo reached down and took a plate, handing it to Glorfindel who stared at it in bemusement before selecting a strawberry tart. For several moments Glorfindel was busy eating the tart and washing it down with the light fruity wine that left him feeling refreshed and at ease, the fluttering in his stomach finally laid to rest.

"That’s better," Manwë said in approval. "Now, why don’t you tell us what you remember next."

Glorfindel took a deep breath before complying. "I was running, but to where or from what I do not know. Then I was... I was in Gondolin but it was...it was dead." He paused and took another sip of the wine. The Valar sat immobile and patient, allowing Glorfindel to set the pace. "Then there were all these Maiar surrounding me, telling me I had to go home. But I was home... at least... I thought I was..."

His voice faded and confusion clouded his eyes as he struggled to understand what had happened and failed. Námo suddenly stood up and then to Glorfindel’s everlasting surprise knelt before him, placing a hand on his knee. "We are so very sorry you suffered that, child. It was never our intention. Somehow you and a few others, like Ingwë, managed to do what you should not have been able to do. We cannot explain it, for we do not understand it ourselves."

Glorfindel stared at the Lord of Mandos in stunned surprise. "B-but you’re... you’re Valar! You’re suppose to understand everything!"

At that all four Valar started laughing, Ulmo’s laughter especially booming through the room. Námo stood up and pulled Glorfindel into his embrace and held him. "Oh child, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in ages," he exclaimed and gave the elf a fierce hug before releasing him, gazing at him with loving humor. "Only Eru understands everything, my good elf. We Valar may have a better understanding of things than you, but even to us much is still mystery, especially where you Children, Eldar and Atani alike, are concerned."

Glorfindel glanced at Manwë for confirmation at Námo’s words and the Elder King nodded. "When the Third Theme of the Ainulindalë was propounded, none of us had anything to do with the themes that denoted your coming into Arda. For that reason we know little of you and cannot predict the outcome of your actions with any certainty. We can only guess at them based on previous experience. Your presence is a mystery to us and we continue to learn more and more about you each day."

Glorfindel sat down, pondering the Elder King’s words. He looked about and saw the grave sincerity on the Valar’s faces. He finally turned his attention to Ulmo. "Did you know Turgon would ignore your warning, my lord?"

Ulmo shook his head. "Only that there was a strong possibility that he would, but I did not know for certain."

"Would you have sent Tuor anyway if you had known?" Glorfindel asked. He had always liked the mortal who had captured the heart of Gondolin’s beloved princess and was honored that he had been trusted by Tuor to see to his family’s safety on that horrendous night.

Ulmo stared sadly at the elf sitting before him. "Yes, child. I would have sent him regardless." He gave a deep sigh like the sound of surf on the beach. "Tuor’s destiny was always to go to Gondolin, whether Turgon heeded his words or not. More was at stake than Turgon’s pride or Gondolin’s continued existence. If Turgon had listened to Tuor that would still have not been any guarantee that Gondolin would not fall, only that it would not have fallen as it did and perhaps many more could have been saved than were."

Glorfindel felt the blood drain from his face at these words. "Th-then I was always meant to die, wasn’t I, whether Turgon had listened to Tuor or no."

Námo gave the ellon a sharp look. "Meant to? No one is meant to die, Glorfindel. That was not part of Ilúvatar’s original plan. Melkor corrupted Arda and all else flows from that, but Eru is supreme over his creation and will not allow that corruption to rule all. You were not meant to die, but you did. What you do with that experience is for you to decide. Even Eru will not interfere with your will in this. Learn from what has happened... or not."

"But everyone hates me because I died," Glorfindel protested and the Valar smiled at the ellon’s hyperbole.

"Not everyone," Manwë said gently, "but if you mean, there are some among the Eldar of Aman who are less than accepting of the Reborn, then you are correct. It is one reason we summoned you here, Glorfindel, to discuss this very matter."

Glorfindel stared at the Elder King in surprise. "It is?" His voice squeaked, and he reddened in embarrassment but no one laughed. If anything, they all had grave looks on their faces.

Manwë nodded. "Yes, and we will speak of it in due course during your stay here, but let us return to what happened to you recently."

Varda put a hand on Glorfindel’s arm and the ellon gave her his attention. "You are an enigma, my dear. All the other elves affected by what happened were elves who awoke at Cuiviénen. You are the only one from after that time who was affected. We think it’s because you are Reborn, but we do not know for sure."

"During your stay here in Valmar," Manwë said, "we would like to explore the ramifications of what happened further. In short," and here he gave Glorfindel a wry smile, "we would like your permission to... examine you."

"Ex-examine me... how?"

Manwë raised his right hand. "Do not fear. We will do nothing to you physically nor will you suffer any harm. In fact, you will probably not even notice anything, but we are curious and would like to relieve ourselves of that curiosity if you will allow us."

Glorfindel stared at his feet for several minutes weighing the Elder King’s words in his mind. The Valar remained still, waiting. Finally, he looked up. "Wh-what is it you want me to do?"

There was a sigh in the air that came from no one in particular, yet there was an obvious lightening of tension all around. Námo smiled. "Come to us in the morning. Bring Ingwion with you. We will explain all then."

"Meantime," Manwë said with a smile, "your friends are waiting for you outside. Go to them, child. They are feeling somewhat anxious on your behalf."

Glorfindel stood and bowed to Manwë and then to each of the other Valar in turn, ending with Námo. "In the morning?" he asked the Lord of Mandos.

"The third hour," Námo replied with a nod. "One of my people will come to escort you."

Glorfindel bowed again and then made his way to the door which opened silently for him. When the door closed again, leaving the Valar alone, Varda spoke.

"Do you think he suspects the real reason we summoned him?"

Manwë shook his head. "No, he does not, nor will he."

"All the pieces are in place," Námo said. "Findaráto and Sador are where they need to be, Glorfindel is here. Now we wait. It’s just a matter of time before they strike."

"We play a dangerous game, brothers," Ulmo said musingly. "We cannot predict the outcome of what might happen."

Manwë sat for a moment in complete stillness then nodded. "Fionwë," he said quietly and the Maia was standing before him, bowing.

"My lord sent for me?" the Maia asked deferentially.

Manwë nodded. "Double the guard on Glorfindel. Have Manveru and Erunáro remain in constant attendance. They are not to interfere with what will happen but if they think that our favorite Balrog-slayer is in danger of losing his life again they may interfere on his behalf but not before."

"Let’s hope that never happens," Námo said with a frown. "It would not do to tip our hand too soon. The Eldar need to believe that they are in control."

"Until they learn otherwise," Ulmo said with a dangerous smile on his lips and the others nodded in agreement, their own smiles equally dangerous.

Manwë glanced at the Maia. "Go. See that Glorfindel is left in peace for the next two nights. After that we will see."

Fionwë bowed and was gone. For several minutes no one spoke, then Manwë sighed and gave his fellow Valar a deprecating smile. "I’m really getting too old for this you know."

The laughter that followed was long and merry, setting the bells of Valmar ringing.

****

Beryl: Used to ward off demons and evil spirits. It is said to protect travelers from danger. The proper name for the Emerald: brings wisdom, growth, and patience and is considered symbolic of love, fidelity, faith and hope.

Meneluissar: Sky-blue stone or lapis lazuli; symbolic of truth.

Blue quartz: Symbolic of peace and tranquility.

Nénur: Plural of nénu: yellow water lily.

Hrívezellar: Plural of hrívezella "wintergreen", an evergreen shrub (Gaultheria procumbens) often found near water. It has nodding white flowers and scarlet berrylike fruit. [hrívë "winter" + ezella "green" (in Vanyarin Quenya only and adopted from Valarin)].

44: The Spiral Maze

Glorfindel was surprised to learn that the meeting with the Valar had only taken an hour. None of his companions questioned him about it but Ingwion gave him a strange look when Glorfindel told him about the meeting set for the next morning.

"And Lord Námo specifically stated that I was to accompany you?" Ingwion asked and Glorfindel nodded.

The Vanya looked troubled but when Glorfindel inquired, Ingwion merely shook his head and claimed it was nothing. Glorfindel could tell Ingwion was not willing to say more so he let it go. Instead, he took the time as they returned to the inn to study his surroundings, for in his anxiety earlier he had not noticed anything about Eldamas or Valmar. Now, however, he was relaxed enough to look about and take an interest in what he saw.

This time, there was no Maia escort, so Ingwion’s guards felt less superfluous than they had earlier. Even so, Ingwion planned to have them sent back to Vanyamar in the morning until he and his companions were ready to return to the High King’s court.

By the time they reached the inn, Glorfindel could feel himself flagging and within a few minutes of returning he was fast asleep, unaware that surrounding his bed were three warrior Maiar, while a fourth stood watch by the door.

Next morning found him and Ingwion standing in the inn courtyard surrounded by fourteen Maiar, all of them dressed in different colored surcoats with the insignia of the Valar embroidered upon them. Glorfindel looked suddenly ill and Ingwion was not amused. He glowered at Maranwë whom they recognized from the previous evening.

"Are the Valar so afraid of us that they need to send fourteen of you to fetch us hence?" the prince demanded angrily. He had always had the deepest respect for the Valar but recent events had begun to seriously erode that respect and he no longer cared how his words sounded or who they offended.

"I-I think they’re meant for me, Ingwion," Glorfindel said softly. "They want to make sure I don’t run away again." He looked at Ingwion wryly. "I recognize some of them. The last time we met... it was in the ruins of Gondolin and I... I’m afraid I wasn’t on my best behavior."

"Actually," Maranwë said blandly, "you were downright rude, but we forgive you." The other Maiar laughed lightly when Glorfindel ducked his head in embarrassment. Then Maranwë turned his gaze upon Ingwion, his mien suddenly grave. "You are mistaken, Prince Ingwion. Our Masters sent us as an honor guard out of respect for you and Lord Glorfindel. Come, the third hour approaches and they are waiting."

Ingwion glanced at Glorfindel who shrugged. "I did agree to this."

The prince sighed and nodded. "Lead us then."

All fourteen Maiar bowed respectfully to the two Eldar and soon Glorfindel and Ingwion found themselves in their midst as they walked down the street towards the Landamallë Valion, the people of Eldamas staring at them in open-mouthed wonder.

When they reached the Landamallë Valion, Glorfindel was surprised to see the Maiar turning right rather than left, so that they were all walking down the avenue. The Landamallë, Glorfindel could see was perhaps thirty feet wide and made of flagstones of various colors, mostly emerald green and garnet red with here and there a pleasing citrine yellow or a sapphire blue as well as pearl white, in a pattern that was too intricate to discern from the ground. The distance between one end of the avenue and the other was easily a quarter of a mile.

"Are we not going to Lord Manwë’s mansion?" Glorfindel asked the Maia walking next to him, a female with flowing silver hair who wore a deep purple surcoat with the harp of Estë embroidered upon it.

"Nay, child," the Maia said with a gentle smile, "we go to the mansion of my Lord Námo." Her voice was as musical as the nightingale and Glorfindel thrilled at the sound of it.

Surprisingly, it was Ingwion who suddenly stopped, looking, not fearful, but certainly uneasy. The Maiar stopped as well and Maranwë, who was at the head of the escort frowned and started back towards where Glorfindel and Ingwion stood. Glorfindel held up his hand and Maranwë stopped, an inscrutable look on his face. Glorfindel, however, ceased to pay any attention to the Maiar surrounding them, his eyes on Ingwion only, a look of concern and understanding on his face. He put a hand out and rubbed the prince’s arm.

"It’s all right, Ingwion. There’s nothing to fear. Lord Námo’s bark is worse than his bite, as the saying goes."

*I heard that!* came the surprising words that echoed through their minds. Ingwion gave a start, but Glorfindel just looked in the general direction of Námo’s mansion and stuck out his tongue, making a rude noise. The Maiar all rolled their eyes and everyone heard Námo’s laughter.

Glorfindel turned back to Ingwion with a wicked grin. "You see? Nothing to worry about. Come on. We don’t want to keep Them waiting. That would be rude," he remarked, evincing a virtuous air.

That set the Maiar laughing and even Ingwion gave Glorfindel a weak grin and allowed the ellon to take his hand and lead him. As they continued down the avenue Glorfindel looked about with interest. The Maia of Estë who said her name was Morilindë pointed out the various mansions, naming the Valar to whom they belonged and describing the gardens and other features that could be seen between the stand of malinorni that lined the street.

Half way down the avenue where stood the mansions of Tulkas and Nessa on their right and Oromë and Vána on their left was a fountain. It took up nearly a third of the space. In the center of the fountain rose a tower of deep green anarnasar, perhaps forty feet high. At the top of the tower were a number of bells of different sizes and they rang with just the slightest of breezes. This was the Mindon Nyellion, the Tower of Bells, that had once gone silent at the Mingling of the Lights during the Age of the Trees. Water rose up the central core of the tower and spilled out of spouts situated just below the belfry, cascading down into the fountain. The toll of the bells and the music of the fountain mingled together into a pleasing symphony that left the hearers with a lighter heart. Ingwion even laughed, though he knew not the reason for his sudden joy.

Soon they were walking through the carnelian gates leading to the mansion belonging to Námo and Vairë. Glorfindel saw an edifice whose walls were made mostly of rainbow obsidian, its black surface glinting with green and purple fire as sunlight reflected off it. Towers of amber rose above the main walls and the roof had the sheen of moonstones about it. For all its ominous look there was a sense of peace and serenity to the place that seemed to embrace all who entered it.

There was no sense of threat here. Námo might be the Doomsman of Arda, the Guardian of the Dead, and the Ordainer of Fates, yet he was also a Healer of Fëar and Comforter to those who mourned, whether they mourned the death of a loved one or the death of a relationship or even the ending of one phase of a life before the beginning of another. Most of the Eldar called him Mandos, the Dread Imprisoner, while some called him Námo, the Judge. Few, if any, called him Tiutalero, the Comforter, yet it was this role that Námo loved best of all those that were his to play.

The fourteen Maiar stopped at the bottom of the steps leading to the front portico. Maranwë turned and gazed at the two elves. "Here we leave you. Our Masters await you within. Eru’s grace go with you." He bowed, as did the other Maiar. Glorfindel gave Ingwion a quick smile and led them up the steps. As they approached the mithril doors, they opened silently to admit them.

Inside they found themselves in a softly lit chamber lined with tapestries of brilliant hues depicting scenes out of Arda’s history, many of them from before the time the Eldar awoke at Cuiviénen. The ellyn gazed around in wonder, for Ingwion admitted to Glorfindel that he had never been inside Námo’s mansion before. The hall was not large, perhaps twenty feet square. In the center of the floor was a spiral maze made of a mosaic of purple amethyst, pink tourmaline, marilla and meneluissar in a pleasing pattern that was soothing to both eye and spirit. The spiral began just where one entered the hall from the outside. There were no other doors.

The mithril doors closed silently behind the ellyn. Glorfindel looked at Ingwion with a frown. "I thought we were expected."

*You are, child,* came Námo’s words in their minds. *Walk the spiral and meet us in the center.*

Glorfindel stared at the mosaic lying before him, feeling bemused, then glanced at Ingwion whose expression was equally pensive. "So who goes first?"

Ingwion snorted at that and said, "I’m not the one they’re interested in. You may have that honor."

"But you’re older and haryon to the High Kingship, so you should go first."

"Ah, and as your prince, I hereby order you to go first." Ingwion was practically smirking.

Before Glorfindel could give a suitable retort, Námo intervened, his thought sounding more amused than angry. *All right you two. Don’t make me come over there.*

They both went white and started mumbling apologies like errant elflings. *That’s better. Glorfindel will walk the spiral first, then Ingwion may begin after Glorfindel has passed the first curve. Take your time, there’s no rush.*

Glorfindel swallowed nervously and stepped upon the spiral. At once a sense of calm permeated him. He could almost feel the flow of energy coming from the spiral as he stepped along it and hope was renewed within him. He found that he did not want to walk quickly, but set a deliberate pace that allowed his mind to go quiet. As he came to the first curve he could see Ingwion stepping onto the spiral, but then all else faded from his vision and he found himself alone.

"Ingwion!" he screamed and would have left the spiral altogether had not Námo’s voice sounded loud within him.

*Á PUSTA!*

Fear took him as he stopped cold, then Námo’s thoughts echoed in his mind again but now they were calm and soothing. *Fear not, my Balrog-slayer. Stay on the path. All who walk the spiral walk it alone though a hundred people be there beside you. Continue as you have. You and Ingwion will meet in the center. I give you my word.*

With that Glorfindel had to be content. As he continued to walk the spiral the sense of calm and serenity he had felt earlier returned and his heartbeat and breathing slowed, his mind quieted until he was nearly sleepwalking. How long he walked the spiral he never really knew, but at last he reached the center and as he did he found himself standing in another room, almost identical to the one he had just left save that when he looked down there was no spiral on the floor.

"Welcome, my best beloved."

Glorfindel turned around to find himself staring into the amused faces of Námo and Manwë. It had been Námo who had spoken.

"Welcome to my home."

Glorfindel started to bow but never completed it, for the room decided at the moment to start spinning and now he traveled a different spiral, one that led down to darkness.

He never felt Námo catching him before he crashed to the floor.

****

Anarnasar: Most Royal Stone; what we would call jade. While jade comes in a variety of colors, from white to violet, the deep green variety, which is the most prized, is known as Imperial jade, hence the name I have given it here. [an- "intensive adjectival affix" + arna "royal" + sar "stone"].

Carnelian: an orange-red gemstone. Symbolic of the power to ease the fears about rebirth (for the Eldar) and death (for the Atani).

Obsidian: Associated in our world with the Greek god of the Underworld, so an appropriate stone for the Lord of Mandos. A symbol of transmutation of negative energy to positive energy and transition from one state of being to another.

Amber: Symbolic of courage, protection on a journey (physical or spiritual) and the presence of Eru Ilúvatar.

Tiutalero: Comforter; from tiutalë "comfort" + -ro (agental suffix), literally, "the one who comforts".

Amethyst: A purple gemstone. A symbol of protection and the power to overcome difficulty.

Pink Tourmaline: A symbol of hope.

Marilla: Pearl. A symbol of purity and innocence.

Meneluissar: Sky-blue stone; what we would call lapis lazuli, with the same meaning [meneluin "sky-blue" + sar "stone", with assimilation]. A symbol of truth.

Haryon: Prince and heir to a throne.

Á pusta!: Stop, cease! (intransitive verb).

Note: The colors and insignia of the Valar, which are worn on the surcoats of their Maiar servants, are as follows. The colors and insignia, of course, come from my own imagination.

Manwë — sky blue: eagle

Varda — indigo: eight-rayed star

Aulë — golden-yellow: anvil and hammer

Yavanna — spring green: cornucopia

Ulmo — sea-green: trident

Nienna — dark grey: fountain (of Pity)

Námo — black: sun-in-eclipse (This insignia existed as Námo’s emblem long before the destruction of the Two Trees and the creation of Isil and Anar, though none recognized its significance until then. It is an example of Námo’s prescience.)

Vairë — silver-grey: loom

Irmo — white: rainbow

Estë — purple: harp

Oromë — forest green: oak tree

Vána Everyoung — blue-green: elanor and niphredil entwined

Tulkas Astaldo — blood-red: sword

Nessa — yellow: deer

45: Slipping the Leash

Glorfindel woke to see Ingwion staring down at him, the worried look on his face turning to one of relief.

"He’s awake, my lords," the prince said without taking his eyes off Glorfindel, and two people came into Glorfindel’s view. Ingwion stood up so Lord Námo could sit beside Glorfindel then moved to stand on the other side of the couch. Lord Manwë stood behind his brother Vala. Both had expressions that were unreadable to the elf and he wondered if he was in serious trouble.

"Well, my best beloved, how are you feeling?" Námo asked, placing a hand on the elf’s forehead. "You had us worried there for a bit."

"I’m sorry, my lord," Glorfindel said faintly. "I don’t mean to be such a nuisance."

Námo smiled. "You’re not a nuisance, child. Annoying sometimes, but definitely not a nuisance." Glorfindel couldn’t help but grin at that and Námo nodded. "Rest for a while. There’s no hurry."

"What happened?"

"You fainted," Manwë said, and smiled when Glorfindel grimaced. "Don’t worry. It’s the most common reaction amongst the Eldar who walk my brother’s spiral maze, so you’re in good company."

Glorfindel looked at Ingwion. "Did you faint, too?"

Ingwion blushed and shook his head. "I threw up."

Námo chuckled at Glorfindel’s expression. "The second most common reaction to walking the spiral."

"So, why do you have it?" Glorfindel asked, feeling somewhat confused.

Námo’s expression became unreadable again but there was a glint of humor in his eyes. "It cuts down on repeat visitors."

Glorfindel gave the Vala a jaundiced look. "You must be a lot of fun at parties."

Both Valar laughed at that. "You have no idea," Manwë said with a wink at Námo who laughed even harder. "Now, if you’re feeling better, perhaps we can get on with the reason for your visit," Manwë continued and Glorfindel nodded.

Ingwion gave him a helping hand up and Glorfindel took a quick look around. The room was similar in size to the Spiral room, but that is where all similarities ended. For one thing there was no spiral maze on the floor. For another, in each wall was a door, presumably leading to other parts of the mansion. The only furniture was the low couch Glorfindel had been lying on. Crystal globes suspended from the ceiling provided illumination. Námo led them to one of the doors and soon they were traversing a short corridor, entering another room at the end of it.

Inside they found several people waiting. Varda was there, as were Ulmo and a third Vala whom Ingwion identified as Aulë. Half a dozen Maiar were also there, all wearing the emblem of the Lord of Mandos on their black surcoats. All of them stared at the ellyn as they entered and Glorfindel felt himself go weak again, suddenly having second thoughts.

*Too late for that, I’m afraid, dear,* Varda’s thoughts sounded sympathetic in his mind.

Námo gestured to one of his servants, who approached. "This is Tindomerel," the Vala said to the two elves. "She will see to your needs while you are with us. Go with her and we will join you presently."

Tindomerel gestured and the two elves followed her to the other side of the room towards a sideboard where food and drink could be found. "You might find this to your liking," she said as she poured some fruit juice for them. It smelled and tasted of strawberries, much to Glorfindel’s delight and he eagerly drank it, remembering a day which he and Ecthelion had spent getting drunk on strawberry wine. Ingwion was slower to accept the drink but after a cautious sip he too drank with relish. Neither elf felt the need for food at that moment and so declined Tindomerel’s offer to fill some plates for them. Instead, Glorfindel took the time to look around.

This room was larger than the other room, perhaps forty paces across. There was only the one door through which they had come. High clerestory windows provided them with illumination. The walls were plastered and painted with geometric shapes in soothing shades of mauve and grey. The floor was tiled with rainbow obsidian flagstones. A large star pattern in the center of the floor was made from isilsardi, shimmering blue-white in the light of day.

Námo and the other Valar were standing on the opposite side of the room from Glorfindel and they appeared to be communing silently, for he could see no movement of mouths or even of bodies. It was as if they were statues. He took another swallow of the juice, the last of it, in fact, and suddenly felt somewhat disjointed. He was having trouble focusing and nearly dropped his glass, save that Tindomerel rescued it from his hand at the last minute. He began to feel panicky and suddenly he was running towards the door. He nearly reached it when someone grabbed him from behind and he began shrieking. Manveru, who had remained unclad all this time at Manwë’s orders, manifested himself and lifted the elf into his arms and brought him back to the center of the room where he laid him on a raised bed. Other Maiar stood around the bed holding the ellon down. Glorfindel never stopped shrieking.

Then Námo was there, and Varda.

"Glorfindel! Look at me," Varda commanded and though he stopped yelling and stared up at the Valië, he never stopped struggling. Varda placed a cool hand on his brow, never taking her eyes off him. He found himself falling into her gaze and he started whimpering, though he was unaware that he was doing so.

Varda reached up and plucked one of the living stars from her wreath and held it above her, then let go so that it was suspended in the air. "Look at the star, Glorfindel," she bid him and he had no choice but to obey. It was a beautiful star Glorfindel realized, pulsating gently and its rhythm soothed him so he began to calm down and soon he was lying still, his gaze never leaving the star.

"That’s right," Varda said softly. "Keep your eye on the star. Do you remember me telling you I gave Ingwion a star to hold when he was very young? This is the same star."

Glorfindel nodded but otherwise he did not acknowledge the Valië’s words, so engrossed by the pulsing rhythm of the star sending calming waves through him.

Varda looked up at Námo. "He’s ready. We should do this quickly."

Námo nodded, silently ordering the Maiar to release Glorfindel, then turned to where Ingwion was standing white-faced and terrified in Tindomerel’s arms.

"Come here, Ingwion," Námo said and Tindomerel released the ellon who stumbled towards the Vala with a sob. Námo took him into his embrace and began rubbing Ingwion’s back to soothe him.

"I know you’re afraid, child," Námo said gently, "but you have no reason to be. Glorfindel is unharmed, as are you."

"Wh-what did you do to him?"

Námo sighed. "Nothing."

The elf pulled himself out of Námo’s embrace, a look of disbelief on his face. "Nothing? NOTHING? Then why was he shrieking as if all the valaraucar of Melkor were after him? He was fine until... until..."

Námo nodded. "Until he drank the juice."

"Wh-what was in the juice and why wasn’t I..." Ingwion gave him a look of horror and he tried to back out of the Vala’s arms but Námo was implacable and suddenly Ulmo was standing behind him as well, blocking all escape.

"Wh-what... what..." but he couldn’t get the words out and he was beginning to panic but then Námo was holding his head between his hands and gazing into his eyes and Ingwion fell into them, lost in the depths of love that seemed to surround him and he became quiescent.

"That’s it, Ingwion," he heard Námo say. "Take a deep breath and let it out slowly... again." Ingwion found himself following the Vala’s instructions and soon he was coming back to himself, finding that Ulmo had taken him into his embrace, his long beard and hair tickling the back of Ingwion’s neck.

Námo was speaking again. "There was nothing in the juice, Ingwion, I promise you. Glorfindel is experiencing a psychic break. His fëa is trying to leave his hröa and we don’t know why. It manifests itself physically with his becoming panicky and attempting to run away. I need you to help me keep him grounded. That is why you are here."

Ingwion looked at the Vala in confusion. "How?" he asked but Námo only shook his head.

"There’s no time to explain properly. Will you trust me? I promise, nothing will happen to you or Glorfindel. We seek to save him, but we need your help to do it."

For a moment, Ingwion just stared at Námo and then he gave just the briefest of nods and suddenly he found himself lying on a hard surface looking up. He moved his head and saw that he was lying on a raised bed next to Glorfindel. Varda was leaning over him with a smile as she reached up to pluck another star from her wreath.

"Look at the star, Ingwion and breathe normally. No, do not fear. This will just help you to remain calm and focused but you will be completely aware of everything that happens. That’s better. Now reach out with your right hand."

Ingwion complied and then felt someone place Glorfindel’s hand in his. He automatically grasped it and the physical contact seemed to sharpened his focus so that he was now aware of movement around him, though he never took his eyes off the star. In fact, he found that he had no desire to.

Then Námo was standing next to him, rubbing his forehead. The Vala’s touch was soothing and Ingwion leaned into it gratefully. "Your task is very simple, my young prince, yet vitally important. Reach out with your fëa and see if you can feel Glorfindel’s fëa. That’s it. Do you sense the bond between you?" Ingwion nodded, his eyes wide with wonder. He knew of the marriage bond, such as his parents enjoyed, but he had never experienced anything like it before. Námo smiled encouragingly.

"That is the bond of friendship and brotherhood that you both feel for one another," the Vala explained. "You must keep hold of that bond. If you feel Glorfindel slipping away from you, you must use that bond to pull him back. Do you understand?"

Ingwion nodded. "That’s good. If at any time you think you cannot hold the bond you are to let us know," Námo said, and Ingwion nodded again as Námo squeezed his arm in encouragement.

Námo straightened and stepped back, then he began addressing the Maiar, though Ingwion had no idea what the Lord of Mandos was talking about and several words did not make sense. Listening to the Valar and Maiar speaking to one another he realized they must be speaking in a mixture of Quenya and Valarin, more for his benefit than for theirs, and suspected that those words he did not understand came from the language of the Valar themselves, a language in which he knew only a few basic words.

"Let’s do this people," Námo said, reminding Ingwion of his atar when Ingwë spoke as High King. "Tindomerel, keep an eye on them. Let Varda know if either becomes agitated. Maranwë, I want a complete mapping of their genomes. We need to know if this is a genetic aberration or not. Manveru, you and your fellow guards keep watch. Glorfindel is likely to try to slip his leash again."

Then, to Ingwion’s surprise, Námo gestured and it seemed as if a globe of golden light enveloped him and Glorfindel while the Valar and Maiar stood outside. Two ladder-like structures appeared floating in the air. One was over Glorfindel while the other was suspended above him. The structures twisted along a central core like a spiral staircase and the ‘rungs’ were half one color and half another in no particular pattern that Ingwion could understand — blue and green, yellow and red. Its purpose was incomprehensible to him and anyway, the gently pulsating star was more interesting to look at.

Of course, the blue-green strip of light that was floating in front of Námo was equally interesting, and equally incomprehensible to the elf so he ignored that too, though he noticed that it was twisted at one end before being joined to the other end and wondered at its significance.

While he continued staring at the pulsating star he half listened to what the Valar were saying to one another as they gathered around Námo and the glowing strip of light.

"The initial break occurred at these coordinates," Námo was saying, writing numbers with his finger in midair and Ingwion found himself feeling not at all surprised by that. "Then he fled along this temporal corridor."

"Nearly at right angles to the corridor down which Ingwë and the others fled," Aulë said, looking thoughtful.

"Significant, do you think?"Manwë asked.

"Perhaps, or it may mean nothing at all," Aulë replied.

Ulmo spoke up next. "The timing is interesting, don’t you think?"

"How do you mean, brother?" Námo asked respectfully. Ingwion, of course, could not know that, among the Valar, Ulmo was considered one of their chief engineers and a scientist of great depth of knowledge and wisdom.

"Just this," and Ulmo reached out and wrote his own set of numbers. Whatever their significance, they were lost on Ingwion, but every Vala there, and not a few of the Maiar, gasped.

"Why didn’t I see that?" Námo asked, sounding perplexed and for some reason Ingwion felt a frisson of fear or shock at the Vala’s tone that must have registered somehow because Tindomerel spoke up, her voice calm and remote.

"Ingwion’s heart rate just went up, my lady," she said, addressing Varda.

Námo and Varda were suddenly beside him, passing through the golden light as if it weren’t there. Varda placed a hand on his forehead and he began to feel calm again.

"That’s it, child," she said. "Breathe normally and relax. You’re doing fine."

Námo smiled down at him and squeezed his arm. "You’re doing well, Ingwion. You have shown much courage in this and your atar would be very proud of you."

The words gave Ingwion much pleasure to hear, though in truth, he felt more confused than brave. He nodded, nonetheless, for some reason disinclined to speak. Varda continued stroking his forehead but Námo turned back to Ulmo.

"Glorfindel’s been re-embodied for three years now. That particular date has come and gone twice since then. Why now?"

Ulmo shrugged. "I do not know, but it is interesting nonetheless, don’t you think?"

At that moment Glorfindel gave a moan and started to convulse. Námo shouted. "Hold him down! Ingwion, whatever you do, don’t let go of Glorfindel’s hand."

"He’s slipping his leash, my lord," Maranwë called out.

"Ingwion, call him back!" Námo ordered and Ingwion did what he had been instructed to do, though he wasn’t sure he was doing it correctly. Aulë spoke up then.

"No! Let him go. We need to see where he is headed. We can retrieve him later."

"Too dangerous," Námo protested, "and his fëa may suffer from the shock."

"He needn’t go far," Manwë intervened, sounding as calm as a summer’s day.

Námo hesitated for a moment and then nodded, turning to Ingwion. "Let him go, child, but don’t sever the bond just yet." Ingwion reluctantly complied, breathing deeply as he loosened his tie with Glorfindel. He felt the ellon slipping away and bit back a sob, fearing the worst. Varda was there, soothing him, encouraging him to keep his eyes on the star above him and soon he was feeling more relaxed. Indeed, he was nearly asleep.

"I wonder where he is trying to get to," Manwë mused as he stared at the glowing blue-green strip. Ingwion noticed vaguely that a golden dot seemed to be moving along it.

"Not Gondolin," Ulmo said, pointing at the glowing strip. "Look, the spatial coordinates are all wrong."

"And the temporal coordinates as well," Manwë said. "He doesn’t seem to be leaving Aman at all and the timeframe is not even the recent past. It’s within point-oh-six of the present moment."

"So where is he trying to get to?" Varda asked. "Last time he said he was trying to get home, but even he has admitted that Gondolin is no longer home for him. So what does ‘home’ mean to him now?"

"Tirion?" Manveru asked.

Something sparked Ingwion’s memory and he struggled to speak. He couldn’t understand why it was proving to be so difficult. Námo was there, kneeling beside him.

"You don’t need to speak, Ingwion. We will hear your thoughts."

Ingwion nodded and tried to make his thoughts clear. *Not Tirion.*

"Where then?" Manwë asked. "Certainly not Vanyamar."

Ingwion shook his head, frustrated, and he felt Námo place a soothing hand on his arm. "Stay calm, Ingwion. Your inability to speak is merely temporary, a consequence of your expending energy to maintain your bond with Glorfindel. Just relax and formulate your thoughts slowly. We will understand."

Ingwion took a deep breath and tried again. *Not a place... Findaráto... and... and....*

"And Sador," Námo finished for him and the elf nodded, grateful that someone understood. Námo stood and looked down at the elf and smiled in approval. "Well done, best beloved. I do believe you are correct."

"Yes," Manwë added. "Good work, yonya." He smiled warmly at the ellon and Ingwion felt indescribably pleased at the Elder King’s praise.

"In that case, we had best retrieve him immediately," Ulmo said, looking grave. "This close to the present..."

At that precise moment everyone, even Ingwion, heard a mental shout from Irmo. *NÁMO! Will you kindly come pick up your fugitive elf. Findaráto is having a fit."

Ingwion couldn’t tell if the Lord of Lórien was angry or amused, though none of the Valar in the room seemed particularly upset. Námo merely rolled his eyes.

*Coming, hánonya.* He gave Manwë a wry grin.

The Elder King returned his smile. "Go. I will see to things at this end."

Námo gave Manwë a brief bow, then gestured to half the Maiar and they were gone. Manwë turned to Ingwion and smiled. "You’ve done very well, child, but I can see that you are exhausted. You can let go of Glorfindel’s hand now."

Ingwion, however, shook his head. "Glorfindel...." he spoke barely above a whisper and was appalled at how weak he sounded.

Varda plucked the two stars out of the air and replaced them in her wreath. "Glorfindel is safe, Ingwion. You’ve done your part. Now it’s time to rest." She smiled down at him as she gently disengaged his hand from Glorfindel’s. "Go to sleep, my dear. You’ve earned your rest."

With that, Ingwion felt a great weariness steal over his limbs and his eyelids grew heavy. In a matter of minutes he was fast asleep. He never felt Manwë gently cover him with a blanket or give him a kiss on the forehead.

****

Isilsardi: Plural of isilsar: Moonstone. A symbol of truth in self-reflection and showing what ‘is’ [isil ‘moon’ + sar ‘stone’].

Hánonya: My brother.

46: A Belated Begetting Day

When Námo and his ‘rescue squad’, as Irmo later called them, arrived in Lórien it was to find the Lord of Lórien holding Glorfindel at arm’s length by the neck as the ellon was struggling to escape. They were in one of the pavilions used by the elves as lodgings. Finrod, on the other hand, was crouched behind a cot screaming "He’s deadhesdeadhesdead...." while Estë attempted to calm him.

Estë looked a bit put out. Irmo looked faintly amused. He gave Glorfindel a gentle shake when the elf began swearing in Sindarin. "Stop that, you naughty elfling," he said then turned to his older brother in the Thought of Ilúvatar. "You need to keep better track of your pets, Brother. I don’t like them upsetting my guests."

"I’ll try better next time," Námo laughed, then gestured for Manveru and the other Maiar to take Glorfindel in hand while he knelt in front of the still screaming Finrod.

"Findaráto! Na quildë!" Námo’s voice was deep and commanding and Finrod obeyed almost immediately, giving a slight hiccup as he nestled further into Estë’s arms looking lost and forlorn. "That’s better, hinya. Glorfindel is not dead."

"But..."

Námo put a finger to Finrod’s lips. "He is not dead. I give you my word. He suffered a psychic shock recently and he seems to be slipping out of his hröa and running off at the slightest provocation. We don’t know why but we’re trying to help him."

Finrod looked over the Vala’s shoulder to where he could see Glorfindel’s fëa between two Maiar. "N-not dead?"

Námo shook his head. Finrod, though, did not seem to find comfort in that and began weeping quietly. Estë gathered him closer into her embrace and began crooning a lullaby to help calm him. Námo stood up and faced his brother.

"I’m sorry about this, hánonya," he said. "Glorfindel gave us no warning and we wasted time thinking he was returning to Gondolin."

"Well, as long as it doesn’t happen again..." Irmo gave Námo a wry look and Námo snorted good-naturedly. Irmo then sighed, looking at the still weeping Finrod, shaking his head in disgust. "All my good work wasted."

"Can you not ease his memory, my lord?" Manveru asked as he and his brother, Erunáro, gripped the still struggling Glorfindel a little harder.

Irmo shook his head. "It’s not something we do lightly and not without Eru’s permission."

*Which you have,* came Manwë’s reply. *For both of them.*

Both Fëanturi sighed with relief. Irmo gave Námo an ironic look. "Well, I’ll take care of Findaráto while you see to your pet Balrog-slayer."

"Since when has he become my pet Balrog-slayer?" Námo asked with an amused smile and a quirk of an eyebrow.

"Since just now. Off with you, hanno. You’re beginning to give this place a bad reputation."

Námo laughed and embraced his brother, then turned to the Maiar. "I’ll take him."

At that Manveru and Erunáro gave the Vala relieved looks and gratefully handed Glorfindel over to him. Námo held the ellon tightly. Whether he recognized the Vala and knew that he was safe or he had simply exhausted himself, Glorfindel became quiescent almost as soon as Námo embraced him.

"Time to go, best beloved," Námo whispered in the elf’s ear and then they were gone.

****

Glorfindel opened his eyes and saw Námo looking down at him. He had no idea what had happened or how much time had passed. His last conscious thought was wondering if he could have some more of that delicious strawberry juice....

"What was in the juice?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Námo gave him a small smile. "Nothing. How do you feel?"

Glorfindel shook his head, not interested in answering Námo’s question. "Why?"

It was probably not the most cogent question he had ever asked, but Námo did not seem to have any trouble figuring out what he was trying to say.

"We don’t know. We think a memory triggered something and you panicked. Next thing we knew you were trying to run away."

"I seem to be doing that a lot lately," Glorfindel said somewhat acerbically. "And I seem to do it whenever I’m around one of you." He closed his eyes with a sigh, wishing he were back in Lórien with Sador... and Finrod. Life was getting too complicated for him and he longed for the simplicity of living that he remembered as he wandered through Irmo’s gardens.

Námo’s expression turned grave. "Look at me, Glorfindel," he said quietly and Glorfindel reluctantly opened his eyes, unable to ignore the command he heard in the Vala’s voice. Námo knelt by the bed and began stroking the ellon’s head. Glorfindel sighed and leaned into the Vala’s hand. "You have a right to feel resentful, Glorfindel," the Lord of Mandos said quietly, "even angry, but you need to direct that anger in the proper direction. Neither I nor anyone else is responsible for what has been happening to you. One of the reasons we asked you to come to Valmar was that we’d hoped to find an answer." His smile was ironic. "You gave us quite a merry chase, you know, and gave my brother Irmo a scare."

"Huh?" Glorfindel asked in disbelief.

"He claimed you were upsetting his guests, appearing like that from nowhere."

"Finrod!" Glorfindel cried as he attempted to sit up, but Námo held him down.

"Finrod does not know you were there, child. Now, lie still so I can examine you."

"Ex-examine me?" Glorfindel clutched the blanket covering him with some trepidation.

Námo merely nodded and stood up. He held his hands approximately six inches above Glorfindel’s body and moved them slowly up and down. When nothing untoward seemed to be happening, Glorfindel began to relax. In fact, he relaxed so much, he fell asleep.

****

The next time he awoke, Námo was gone, but Ingwion was there.

"You know, you are one crazy Noldo," the Vanyarin prince said with a grin.

"I’m glad you approve," Glorfindel retorted somewhat sourly.

Ingwion laughed loudly at that and pulled Glorfindel into his arms and gave him a fierce hug that nearly squeezed the breath out of him. "Indeed, I do, hanno. You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened in my life in a long time and I will be forever grateful to the Valar for introducing you to me."

"You’re welcome."

Ingwion released Glorfindel from his embrace with a start and the two ellyn were stumbling to their feet with Glorfindel nearly falling on his face as his legs got tangled in the blanket. It took a minute for him and Ingwion to straighten themselves out and attempt some kind of bow as the Elder King looked on with amusement, shaking his head ruefully.

Manwë gestured and both elves went to him. He laid a hand on each of their shoulders, looking into their eyes. Somehow he managed to capture both their gazes at the same time. Glorfindel found himself falling into azure blue ringed with gold, the blue calming him and the gold warming him. He felt a wave of something near to ecstacy that did not physically excite him but left his fëa feeling replete, all desires satisfied in a way he could never fully comprehend. He gave a deep sigh of contentment as he came back to himself. Manwë nodded in satisfaction.

"That’s better. Now, you both have had a busy day. I suggest you take advantage of Lord Námo’s hospitality and avail yourself of a nice soaking bath and a light meal afterwards. We have a surprise for you, my young Balrog-slayer." Manwë gave Glorfindel a gentle smile and Glorfindel gulped, looking suddenly nervous.

"I-I don’t like surprises," he said faintly.

"Ah, but you’ll like this one," Manwë assured him. "Now, the bathing chamber is through that door." He pointed to one of the doors in the room. "You’ll find all that you need there including fresh clothing. Take your time. When you’re ready leave by the door you will find opposite this one."

"H-how long have we been here, my lord?" Glorfindel asked.

"It’s now the fourth hour after sunset," came the surprising answer, surprising at least to Glorfindel. Then the Elder King was gone, leaving the ellyn quite alone.

The bathing chamber proved to be everything the Elder King promised and soon the ellyn were sighing in contentment as they slipped into the steaming hot water. Ingwion stayed only a little while but Glorfindel was reluctant to leave the bathing pool at all. Eventually Ingwion convinced the Noldo to come out by pouring a pitcher of cold water over his head. The shock caused Glorfindel to shriek in pretended rage as he leapt out of the pool to chase the Vanyarin prince around the room, threatening dire punishment. Glorfindel was laughing so hard, though, that when he finally caught up with Ingwion, his threats didn’t sound very convincing and both elves fell to the floor in mirth.

"Well, as long as you’re out," Ingwion said with a smirk once he got himself under control, "you might as well get dressed. I don’t know about you but I could eat something right about now. We’ve missed two meals today already."

Glorfindel agreed and soon they were both dried off and dressing. Glorfindel pulled on a cream-colored shirt of fine linen and fawn breeches made of light wool. The cuffs and neck of the shirt were embroidered in blue and green thread in an intricate geometric pattern. Over this was a tunic that came to just below the knees. It was a deep azure blue lined in light blue satin and embellished with silver thread embroidery and sea pearls. The sleeves came to just below his elbows. The neck was round and there was a front placket for ease of donning. A silver brooch set with an emerald cabochon closed the slit. The tunic was cinched at the waist by a leather belt, intricately tooled, the clasp of which was silver and in the form of two intertwined birds. Fawn leather ankle boots completed the ensemble.

Ingwion was similarly dressed except his tunic was a deep forest green lined with yellow-green satin. It was embellished with gold thread embroidery and yellow topaz. A brooch made of gold set with a star ruby graced his throat. The clasp of his leather belt was in the shape of gold leaves linked together.

Ingwion helped Glorfindel braid his hair, the gemstones and beads carefully placed. Ingwion gave a sigh of envy as he finished the last braid. Glorfindel gave him a sad smile and shook his head.

"These braids come at too high a cost, hanno," the Noldo said. "Do not envy me or them. Neither is worth it."

Ingwion gave Glorfindel a pensive look. "Would you have done things differently?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Do you mean, would I have turned back and followed Arafinwë? I don’t know. I don’t think anyone can know. I only know that I didn’t, for whatever reason or for no reason. I didn’t turn back. All else flows from that." He paused as he stood in front of an ornate mirror and gazed into his reflection. He took one of his braids in his hand. "Every time I braid my hair I am reminded of what I had to do to earn them and sometimes the very memory sickens me." Then he turned back to Ingwion, letting go of the braid. "But I have accepted those memories and these braids remind me of who I am, truly am."

"Who are you, then?" Ingwion asked, barely speaking above a whisper.

Glorfindel smiled ruefully. "Someone who has died... and lived to tell about it."

Ingwion snorted at that and soon the dark mood that had descended on them lifted and the ellyn left the bathing chamber. While they had been bathing and dressing, Ingwion had told Glorfindel as much as he knew of what had happened, which was little enough.

"I’m afraid I didn’t understand most of what was being said or done," Ingwion admitted as they traversed a long hall, "but I do know everyone was very calm about it, almost as if they have fëar running away from them every day of the week."

Glorfindel snorted at that but otherwise did not comment. They came to a door and stopped. Ingwion gestured to Glorfindel. "Go ahead and open it. The surprise is for you."

"I hate surprises."

"You’ll love this one. Go on."

Glorfindel sighed but complied, steeling himself mentally for some kind of shock, but when the door opened and he stepped into the room, all was in darkness. He gave Ingwion a glance and shrugged. Ingwion followed him in and gently closed the door. There was nothing but silence, then, softly, slowly, a single white candle flickered into being. Then another appeared and another and soon the entire room was awash in candlelight as a hundred candles were lit. The ellyn gasped in wonder. Every candle was held by a Maia, except for the fourteen held by the Valar themselves and the seven held by the elves who had accompanied Ingwion and Glorfindel to Valmar.

As the candles flamed into existence a song was heard, soft at first, but as the number of lit candles increased, it swelled to a crescendo of sound that caused Glorfindel’s fëa to soar. As the last candle was lit the song came to an end on a high note of solemn joy. There were no words to the music and Glorfindel could not ascertain its source. It was as if the very room were rejoicing in his presence.

Glorfindel stood there in awe, and tears fell heedless from his eyes. Manwë stepped forward and beckoned for the two ellyn to approach. He smiled as he placed a hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder. "Happy Begetting Day, my Balrog-slayer."

Glorfindel’s eyes widened. "Be-begetting day?"

"Oh, we’re a little late in celebrating it," Námo said as he joined the Elder King, "but we didn’t think you would mind."

Glorfindel looked around the room at all the people grinning at him. "This... this is for me?"

Manwë nodded. "Does it please you?"

Glorfindel could only nod, overcome with emotion. He wiped the tears from his face. "Thank you," he whispered.

"You’re most welcome, child," Manwë replied in a gentle tone, giving the ellon an encouraging smile. "Now, do you want to see your gifts first or eat first?"

"G-gifts? I have gifts?" he asked in wonder. He had quite forgotten about Begetting Day celebrations and was having difficulty trying to remember the rituals that went with them.

For some reason everyone found that funny and light laughter rang through the chamber. Ingwion clapped Glorfindel on the back. "It isn’t a proper Begetting Day without them, you know."

"And here’s your first gift, from us," Námo said, gesturing to include the other Valar and Maiar, as he handed Glorfindel a small box. The elf opened it to find a ring. It was gold and the central gem was a teardrop-shaped peridot, its green light glowing gently against the gold in which it was set. Surrounding it were several small citrines. Glorfindel gasped at the gift and looked up at Námo, who merely smiled.

"Try it on."

Glorfindel took the ring from the box and placed it tentatively upon his left ring finger. It fit perfectly. As soon as Glorfindel slipped the ring on he felt strengthened in spirit and hope was renewed within him. He gazed at the Lord of Mandos and smiled. "Thank you, my lord."

That seemed to break the ice and the other elves gathered around Glorfindel to offer him their gifts. Elessairon and Lómion gave him a joint gift of a new knife with a mithril hilt and a tooled red leather sheath to go with it. Findis gave him a small book of poetry, beautifully illuminated, while Alassiel shyly gave him a sword pendant made of gold with little flakes of emeralds and rubies on the pommel.

"Until you are given your own sword back," she whispered. Glorfindel smiled hugely and gave the elleth a light kiss on the cheek before undoing the clasp and putting it around his neck. The sword hung just under his throat for all to see.

Ercassë and Elemmirë gave him different colored ribbons, mostly greens and golds with some shades of blue and red. "In case you want to do any more ribbon embroidery," Ercassë said with a sly grin. Everyone laughed because all knew that she was considered an expert in the art. She and Glorfindel had often amused themselves by seeing who could make the most realistic looking flowers.

Ingwion and Indil gifted Glorfindel with the chaplet of gold in the shape of malinornë leaves that he had worn to his meeting with the Elder King the evening before.

"Atar gave it to me so you might wear something appropriate for your meeting with my Lord Manwë," Ingwion explained, "but I do not think he will mind that Indil and I have gifted it to you. It actually was a bride-gift to our Aunt Indis when she married Finwë. I’m not even sure how it ended up in Vanyamar. Anyway, as you are a member of the Noldorin royal family, it rightly belongs with you."

"Should it not go to Findaráto, instead?" Glorfindel asked, not sure if he could accept such a princely gift.

Indil shook her head, her grey eyes merry. "Findaráto has his own set of coronets and crowns. I don’t think he needs another. I think it looks very nice on you." With that, she took it from the box where it had lain and put it on Glorfindel’s head. Everyone clapped and Glorfindel turned an interesting shade of red, much to their amusement.

But the best gift of all was from Olórin, who suddenly appeared, wearing a wide smile. Glorfindel went to him and gladly hugged the Maia in greeting.

"So, I see Valmar is still standing in spite of your presence," Olórin said with a wink and Glorfindel laughed, his eyes bright and merry. Everyone there secretly rejoiced, for it was the ellon’s old laugh, full of joy, and they were pleased to see the light of the Trees shining once again in his eyes.

Olórin handed the ellon a small green velvet bag with long drawstring ties that would allow one to wear the bag around one’s neck. "Happy Begetting Day, child," he said and kissed Glorfindel on the brow.

Glorfindel stared at the bag for a moment, suddenly looking pensive.

"Glorfindel, what’s wrong, hinya?" Námo asked quietly, silently alerting the Maiar. The ring he had given the ellon had been especially designed by Aulë to give Glorfindel strength to resist the psychic breaks from which he had been suffering and to promote a sense of hope, joy and optimism in his life. It was hoped that the ring would offer the elf some small protection and prevent any further slippage of the fëa. Glorfindel would not know how closely he was being watched at that particular moment in case he ‘slipped his leash’ again.

Glorfindel looked up at the Vala with a frown. "Which Begetting Day?"

Everyone breathed a mental sigh of relief, though Námo sent a silent warning to the Maiar not to relax their vigilance too much. Outwardly, Námo smiled. "Does it really matter, Glorfindel? A Begetting Day is just a way to celebrate one’s coming into Arda. It does not matter when you celebrate it, only that you do in acknowledgment of the gift of Life that Ilúvatar has granted you out of love for you."

Glorfindel pondered the Vala’s words for a moment then nodded, giving Námo a shy smile. "Now, why don’t you open Olórin’s gift," the Lord of Mandos said with a grin, "before your companions all die of curiosity and I have to open another Hall in Mandos just for them."

Glorfindel laughed at that, as did everyone else, and he opened the bag to reveal a square of blue silk in which lay a single large tumbled beryl. Glorfindel gasped. "Olórin! This is beautiful. Wherever did you find such a perfect stone?"

"Oh, you know, here or there," Olórin said with a laugh and Glorfindel gave him a glad hug. He showed the stone eagerly to his friends before putting it back in the bag and slipping it over his head, pushing the bag under his shirt next to his skin.

Manwë suggested that perhaps they might like to have some refreshments and soon they were all eating and drinking, Glorfindel sticking to water, though it was the sweetest water he had ever tasted and left him feeling refreshed and invigorated as he had never felt before. It was a joyful celebration that went on for some time.

Eventually, though, Glorfindel began to feel his energy flag and it was decided that he should remain in Námo’s mansion for the night along with Ingwion as a precaution. The other elves bade the two ellyn good night and left with Olórin as escort. Soon only the two ellyn, Námo, Ulmo, Manwë and Varda were left, Vairë having given them her farewells earlier. If there were any Maiar about, they remained unseen by the two elves.

Manwë smiled at Glorfindel and Ingwion. "A very busy day for you both. Go and rest. Tomorrow you should spend the day wandering the city and relaxing. I believe Lord Ulmo would like you to visit him as well."

Glorfindel and Ingwion looked to the Lord of Waters, who nodded. "Come at the second hour past the nooning and we will talk."

Then only Námo was there and the Vala showed them to a small bedroom with two beds. "Sleep well, children. Do not fear, for no evil may enter here and my people will guard you." With that the Lord of Mandos bowed, leaving the two elves alone. For a few minutes they talked softly as they prepared for bed but soon the only sound was their light breathing as they both slipped onto the Path of Dreams.

Neither was aware of the fourteen warrior Maiar who filled the room with their invisible presence, half of them warding Glorfindel, the other half Ingwion. Námo, it seemed, was not taking any chances.

****

Na quildë!: Be silent!

Peridot: A green gemstone considered protective against evil and when set in gold, especially helpful against night terrors. It signifies strength, both individual and within a relationship, as well as the promise of new growth in years ahead.

Citrine: A bright yellow gemstone symbolic of hope and strength. It dissipates negative energy and promotes warmth, joy, and optimism in one’s life. Ideal for helping anyone to get through the tough times in life, and Glorfindel certainly can use all the help he can get right now!

Ruby:considered to be the most powerful gem in the universe. It is the symbol of royalty. It gives the wearer the ability to see things in a true and correct manner.

Beryl: The proper name for the Emerald: used to ward off demons and evil spirits. It is said to protect travelers from danger, brings wisdom, growth, and patience and is considered symbolic of love and fidelity, as well as faith and hope. Aragorn refers to it as an ‘elf-stone’ [FOTR, I, 12 "Flight to the Ford"] when he finds the beryl left at the Bridge of Mitheithel by Glorfindel. It is possible that this is the same beryl with which Olórin gifted the Balrog-slayer.

47: The Will of the Valar

Glorfindel and Ingwion woke the next morning, both feeling refreshed. Námo was not there to greet them but one of the Maiar serving him offered to show them the way out once they had dressed and broken their fast. Glorfindel’s fear that they would have to walk another spiral to leave proved groundless when the Maia showed them to a plain wooden door that led down a set of stairs on the west side of the mansion. Glorfindel stopped at the top of the stairs and stared over the high walls surrounding Námo’s residence to where the Ezellohar and the Máhanaxar stood beyond the western gate of Valmar.

"Many visitors to Valmar take the opportunity to visit the Trees and the Ring of Doom," the Maia said, pretending not to notice how white Glorfindel suddenly looked.

Ingwion, however, took Glorfindel by the shoulders and turned him away from the sight, his expression one of gentle concern. "I know the others will want to go there, but you do not have to, otornya. We will go and visit Lord Ulmo as he requested instead."

Glorfindel glanced at the Maia, a questioning look on his face. The Maia, in turn, merely nodded. "No one will force you to go there, child. Indeed, I think I can safely say that Lord Námo would strongly counsel against it in your present state." The Maia suddenly smiled and a small chuckle escaped his lips.

"What?" Glorfindel asked, struggling not to smile in turn, for the sound of the Maia’s laughter was infectious.

"Only that when my Lord Námo said as much to me earlier he sighed and opined that you would consider such advice as an open invitation to do just the opposite."

Now Ingwion sniggered and Glorfindel laughed outright. "And my Lord Námo would be correct, but not, I think, today. Today, I just want to enjoy myself."

"Then that is what you should do," the Maia said approvingly. "Come, your companions are waiting for you."

With that they went down the stairs and found themselves in a small rose garden. The Maia led them along a series of paths that took them to the front of the mansion and out the main gate to where Alassiel, Elessairon and Lómion were waiting.

"The others have decided to remain in Eldamas this morning, so it’s just us," Alassiel explained.

Glorfindel and Ingwion gave the Maia a respectful farewell, then the five of them wandered up the avenue towards the Mindon Nyellion where they sat on the edge of the fountain and watched the play of water and listened to the gentle tolling of the bells.

"What do you want to do?" Lómion finally asked. "We spent yesterday wandering the city and seeing what there is to see, but neither of you had that opportunity. We do not mind joining you if you want to explore Valmar or Eldamas."

Ingwion shrugged. "I have been here many times, but I know Glorfindel has not, so it is for him to say."

"Thanks," Glorfindel said with a quirk of an eyebrow, then he shook his head. "I have no specific plans. I would just like to wander and visit the gardens and such."

"We didn’t go out to the Ezellohar, yet," Alassiel said.

Ingwion scowled slightly at the elleth’s words and everyone saw Glorfindel pale. Alassiel looked at them in confusion.

"But everyone wants to see the Trees," she said plaintively.

"I do not need to see the Trees, child," Glorfindel said quietly, feeling suddenly old. "I remember the mingling of their Lights." He sighed and the younger Noldor gave him looks that bordered on awe.

For all that he seemed younger than they in many respects, they were suddenly reminded that this was an elf who had witnessed the Darkening of Valinor and had joined in the Rebellion against the Valar. Elessairon found himself staring at the gems glittering in Glorfindel’s braids and began to realize just what the ellon had meant about their cost. He shivered slightly at the thought and noticed that Ingwion seemed unaffected by Glorfindel’s words. Belatedly he realized that the prince was even older than Glorfindel.

"Then we need not go there," Elessairon said decisively. "There will be other opportunities. For now, let us just wander and enjoy ourselves."

So that is what they did. Ingwion told them that he and Glorfindel were expected at Ulmo’s mansion in the afternoon and Lómion suggested that they have lunch at the inn so Ingwion and Glorfindel could freshen up for their meeting with the Lord of Waters. In the meantime, the five friends wandered up and down the avenue admiring the various mansions and gardens. All the gates were open and they were encouraged by the few Maiar they saw to visit any and all of them to their hearts’ content.

Each of the mansions was different in architecture and design, reflecting the personality of their owners. Tulkas’ mansion was many-storied and a great courtyard in front was used for physical contests. Oromë’s was low and surrounded by great trees that supported the roof of the building. Ingwion informed them that beyond Aulë’s mansion, bordering the plain, was a great court which held some of each of the trees of Arda.

Eventually, they made their way back to the North Road and wended their way through the narrow side streets to the inn where they met the others and enjoyed a quiet meal before Glorfindel and Ingwion excused themselves to get ready for their meeting with Lord Ulmo.

Glorfindel fished out his second best tunic from the wardrobe, a blue-green brocade with wide sleeves and trimmed with red fox fur under which he wore a shirt of heavy muslin dyed a royal blue. His breeches were made of fine wool also dyed a royal blue. The only jewelry he wore was the sword pendant and the peridot ring. He tucked the beryl in its bag under his clothes. His new knife he left behind, knowing that to go so armed before one of the Powers was not considered polite. He decided not to wear anything on his head, but stopped before the mirror to check that his hair was still properly braided before joining Ingwion in the common room.

This time, there was no escort for them and they simply made their own way to Ulmo’s residence. The front gate was a single carved marilla and when they entered the courtyard they saw that the mansion, smaller than many of the others, sat in the middle of a lake. Its foundation was made of nenairë and was submerged in the crystal blue water. They could not see any way to cross over to the mansion until they came closer and discovered that a causeway of half-submerged stepping stones led to the front portico.

With a shrug Glorfindel stepped lightly upon what appeared to be the cast-off shells of giant sea turtles. It was necessary to cross carefully, but Glorfindel had no fear of slipping and soon he and Ingwion were walking up the pearlescent steps to the front entrance carved from living sea rock. A Maia stood in the entrance, obviously expecting them. He bowed.

"Greetings, Prince Ingwion, Lord Glorfindel. I am Salmar of the People of Ulmo and bid you welcome to my Master’s abode. He is expecting you. Please, come this way."

The Maia turned and the two elves followed him through a number of small courtyards each with its own fountain, no two the same in shape or size. Salmar eventually brought them to one such courtyard where a fountain in the shape of dolphins graced the center of the court. Ulmo was waiting for them there, looking much the same as he had appeared the previous day. He smiled as Salmar ushered them into his presence.

"Thank you Salmar," Ulmo said to the Maia. "See that none disturb us." Salmar bowed and left. Ulmo gestured to the elves and they joined him by the fountain where they saw some chairs were set around a table laden with fruit and drinks. "Come, sit and we will talk."

They sat and Ulmo took a moment to pour them some drinks which turned out to be a mild fruit beverage reminiscent of pears. It went down smoothly and quenched their thirst. As they sipped their drink, Ulmo spoke.

"My brother Valar have other concerns that require their attention, so I agreed to speak to you about your thoughts concerning how we may help ease the tension between the Reborn and the... Once-born."

The Vala gave Glorfindel an amused look and the ellon blushed. Ingwion looked at him in surprise. "Is that what you call us?"

Ulmo, however, answered. "An apt enough description, young prince. It is not meant as an insult... well, at least, not all of the time." Ulmo gave a short laugh and Glorfindel blushed even further, though he did not contradict the Vala.

Ingwion gave Glorfindel an appraising look and nodded, turning to Ulmo. "You were saying, my lord?"

"We are aware of the resentment many of the Amaneldi have towards those whom they see as having rebelled against us and are therefore not deserving of our forgiveness." Ulmo’s expression was grave and there was no levity in his eyes. "We Valar will not, indeed cannot, interfere with what happens between the various factions of elves. That is something you will have to work out for yourselves. We will, however, lend whatever aid and advice you may seek from us, save for direct intervention."

"Why?" Glorfindel suddenly asked.

"A fair enough question," Ulmo said. He looked at the two ellyn sitting before him and his face became graver. "To be blunt, Aman and her people were raped."

The two elves sucked in their breaths at that but did not interrupt.

Ulmo nodded at their reaction. "Yes, raped. A nasty word, but appropriate. Melkor raped us and then Fëanáro...." He shook his head, as if to clear it of such dark thoughts. "At any rate, the healing has been slow and painful. We Valar have done what we could to heal the wounds but much work needs to be done among the Eldar. They must want healing for healing to occur."

"And some there are who prefer to suffer an open sore spilling out the pus of their anger upon their fellow elves than to seek healing," Glorfindel remarked without emotion, as if speaking of the weather.

"Yes," was Ulmo’s only comment.

For a time none moved or spoke. Ingwion pondered the Vala’s words. His initial reaction to Glorfindel had been less than sterling and he regretted it, for he found much to admire in the Reborn Noldo and welcomed him as a friend. He understood better than most of the Amaneldi what the rebellion had cost them all and agreed with Ulmo about the need for healing. He was at a loss, though, to know what any of them could do about it.

"Why have none of the Vanyar been released from Mandos?" Glorfindel asked, breaking the silence that had come between them.

"For that, child," Ulmo said, his sea-green eyes becoming a darker shade of purple-green, reminding the elves of a storm gathering upon the ocean, "you will have to ask my brother Vala. Lord Námo has the care of the Dead and only he can answer your question. I will say this, though: nothing is as it seems and all is done in accordance with the Indómë Eruva."

"Valar valuvar," Glorfindel muttered.

Ulmo smiled thinly. "Only in so far as our rule conforms to the Will of Eru, Glorfindel. As are you, we Valar are free to make our own decisions, but always we strive to make them in light of Eru’s Will for Arda. We do not always succeed, but we never stop trying."

"I think the greatest resentment lies among the Vanyar," Ingwion commented. Ulmo nodded in encouragement.

"They do not understand why Rebel Noldor are being released before their own people who remained loyal to the Valar," Ingwion continued.

"Many of the Noldor who remained behind wonder as well," Glorfindel added. "Only the Teleri do not seem overly upset by any of it."

"Most of their people have already been released, though admittedly not all," Ingwion opined.

"Is there a pattern?" Glorfindel asked the Vanya, almost forgetting Ulmo’s presence, much to the Vala’s amusement.

Ingwion shrugged. "If there is, I don’t see it."

Glorfindel shook his head and sighed, closing his eyes. His tone, when he spoke, was bitter. "I do not see what we can do to alter people’s opinions. I cannot speak for others, but personally, I’m tired of apologizing for my life, for either life. I did what I did, no less than they, and suffered the consequences, no less than they. If they have a complaint, they are looking at the wrong person. They should be importuning Lord Námo, not me. I didn’t decide that I would die as I did and I didn’t decide that I would be Reborn when I was, either."

Ulmo put a hand on Glorfindel’s arm. "Sérë, hinya. Á lery’ ahatya. Á nuhta sárë sanwer herien óretya."

Glorfindel opened his eyes and saw the love and concern in the Vala’s eyes and taking a deep breath, let the bitterness go, knowing that it would be of no real use to him. "Ávartyara nillo, herunya. Sometimes the grief overwhelms me."

"Grief, child?" the Vala enquired gently.

Glorfindel nodded. "Grief. Grief that all that we built was ultimately destroyed. Grief that all that we loved was ultimately lost. Grief that I and others like me will seemingly spend the rest of the Ages of Arda apologizing for our lives and our deaths and..."

Ulmo stood up then and gathered the ellon in his arms and held him as he started weeping, silently alerting Manwë and Námo in case the emotions the elf was experiencing proved too much for him. Unknown to Glorfindel or Ingwion or any of the Eldar strolling along the Landamallë Valion, two hundred warrior Maiar descended upon Ulmo’s mansion, ringing it with ethereal swords of light, ready to stop one golden-haired Noldo’s fëa from running away. Their presence proved unnecessary, but none of them minded. They were there for their lords’ bidding and performed whatever task given them with joy and gratitude for the opportunity to serve.

Glorfindel eventually calmed and apologized again for his breakdown, but both Ulmo and Ingwion assured the ellon that apologies were unnecessary.

"You have a right to feel distraught, Glorfindel," Ingwion said, giving the Noldo a pat on the shoulder. "I regret that I ever did or said anything to make things worse for you."

"At least you were willing to be corrected in your misconceptions, young prince," Ulmo said. "That speaks well of your character. Others are not so willing to learn the error of their ways."

"I can be naught but who I am," Glorfindel said as he resumed his seat, staring at his feet. "I can do naught than what I have done already. If the Amaneldi do not want to understand, I cannot force them to do otherwise. Maybe it would be best if all the Reborn settled elsewhere away from the Amaneldi. No doubt the elves of Tol Eressëa will welcome us."

"Is that what you truly want, Glorfindel?" Ulmo asked.

Glorfindel looked up at the Vala, his expression grim. "What I want, my lord, is to return to Endórë. What I want is to serve my king again. What I want is my life back!"

He stood up suddenly and moved away from the other two, stopping only when he found himself inexplicably blocked, not realizing that at that moment twenty of the two hundred Maiar surrounding the mansion now ringed Glorfindel, preventing him from leaving the courtyard. Ulmo stood up and followed the ellon, pulling him backward into his embrace. Glorfindel did not resist. For a moment they stood there, neither looking at anything in particular.

"What you want, you cannot have," Ulmo finally said in a whisper. Glorfindel sobbed, nodding. "What you have, you do not want, though it is what you need."

"What do I have?" Glorfindel asked, unconvinced.

"What you have is the friendship and respect of some of the most powerful elves of Aman. What you have are two brothers who love you."

"Three brothers," Ingwion said, coming to stand beside the Vala, giving Glorfindel a brief kiss on the forehead. "Three brothers who love you."

Glorfindel started sobbing harder as Ulmo nodded, smiling warmly at the Vanyarin prince.

"What you have," Ulmo continued, turning his attention back to Glorfindel, "is the love and forgiveness of the Valar, and more importantly, Eru. What you have, child, is an opportunity to live as Eru always meant for you to live if you will just accept it."

"Perhaps if you and the other Reborn just continue to live your lives under the grace of the Valar," Ingwion said hesitantly, feeling his way, "those who resent the Reborn will see they have nothing to fear from you."

"Why would they fear us?" Glorfindel asked, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hands.

"You represent the unknown to them," Ulmo answered. "You have done something they will never experience or understand and that frightens them."

"Frightened people oft are a danger to themselves and others," Glorfindel said with great confidence, speaking from painful experience.

"Then you must show them that there is nothing to fear from the Reborn," Ulmo replied. He turned Glorfindel around to face him and put his hands on the ellon’s shoulders. "Go now. No decision need be made at the present moment. It is enough that we have talked. Spend the rest of your stay in Valmar among your friends. My brother Manwë will wish to speak with you all before you return to Vanyamar. Until then, I’m ordering you to have a good time."

The Vala feigned a stern look and Glorfindel found himself grinning in spite of himself. "Valar valuvar," he said softly and Ulmo chuckled.

"Indeed."

****

Marilla: Pearl. A symbol of purity and innocence.

Nenairë: Water-sea, from nén "water" + airë "sea"; what we would call aquamarine with the same meaning. It is believed that when submerged in water this gemstone becomes particularly powerful as a healing stone as well as a protective talisman against dangers at sea and against poisoning.

Indómë Eruva: The Will of Eru.

Valar valuvar: "The will of the Valar will be done." This is an attested phrase and translation found in The War of the Jewels, p. 404.

Sérë, hinya. Á lery’ ahatya. Á nuhta sárë sanwer herien óretya: "Peace, my child. Let go thy rage. Do not allow bitter thoughts to continue to rule thy heart."

Ávartyara nillo, herunya: "Forgive me, my lord".

Note: I adapted some of the descriptions of the various mansions from Karen Wynn Fonstad’s Atlas of Middle-earth.

48: Echoes of the Past, Storms of the Present

Glorfindel and Ingwion left Lord Ulmo’s mansion shortly thereafter, never knowing that the two hundred Maiar had come and gone, though a contingent of warriors still ringed the two elves on Manwë’s orders. The elves made their way back to Eldamas, wandering the streets in a random manner, stopping to admire a building or a fountain or to buy a sweet. Glorfindel decided to take Ulmo’s last words to heart and set out to enjoy himself. He had seen little of the town and wanted to explore. Ingwion was more than willing.

The Maiar in their midst smiled indulgently at the two elves, especially when Glorfindel reacted to something with childlike glee. Everything fascinated him and he often stopped to speak to this person or that, asking questions about the town and its inhabitants. Most recognized the prince who was obviously this strange elf’s companion and so remained respectfully polite in his presence, though not a few looked askance at Glorfindel’s outlandish braids shimmering in the afternoon sun. Glorfindel ignored the looks, determined not to let them upset him. He meant what he had said earlier: he was tired of apologizing for his life and was no longer going to do so. The Amaneldi would just have to accept him as he was... or not.

Ingwion found himself seeing Eldamas and its people as if for the first time through Glorfindel’s unjaded eyes. He took delight in "discovering" the town with his friend, and was surprised to find that one or two places were completely new to him.

"I never knew this was here," he said in surprise when the two came suddenly upon a small fountain in a courtyard off a narrow alley. It was a graceful structure of gleaming white marble with veins of deep blue depicting Ulmo and Ossë riding sea creatures that neither elf could put names to.

"I wonder who made it and why they hid it away here?" Glorfindel asked. The elves remained in the courtyard for some time enjoying the quiet and admiring the play of water plashing from the fountain. The Maiar warriors, of course, could have told them about the fountain and its maker, but as the elves were unaware of their presence, they weren’t asked.

The sun was setting as the two friends made their way to the inn where they joined the others for the evening meal. As before, no one pressed them to speak of their meeting with the Vala. Instead, they entertained each other by describing their favorite sights in the city. Alassiel was intrigued by Glorfindel’s description of the fountain and said that she would like to see it before they left. The others nodded in agreement.

"When do we leave?" Glorfindel asked Ingwion curiously.

"When the Valar say we may," Ingwion replied with equanimity.

Glorfindel looked surprised and somewhat concerned. "I-I don’t understand."

Findis leaned over and placed a hand on Glorfindel’s arm. "You were summoned here by Lord Manwë, Glorfindel. You may not depart without the Elder King’s leave to do so."

"Are you that anxious to return to Vanyamar, otornya?" Ingwion asked with a smile and Glorfindel shook his head. "Good. Because I for one am enjoying myself. Now, what should we do tomorrow?"

With that, everyone but Glorfindel began offering suggestions. Glorfindel sat back and let the flow of conversation pass over him. He would not mind remaining in Valmar for another day or two, but for some reason the thought of remaining for longer than that made him nervous. He was unaware that he was rubbing the peridot ring, though the Maiar took note and passed the information along to their lords.

No one noticed the hooded figure sitting in a dark corner of the common room observing Glorfindel and his friends for a time before leaving. No one, that is, but the Maiar.

****

It turned out that no one in their party had yet gone out the west gate of the city to see the Trees and the Ring of Doom.

"It would be a pity not to see them while we are here," Lómion had said the night before.

"Then you should go," Findis had said, indicating the four younger Noldor. "The rest of us will take our ease here."

So it was decided, but in the morning, as they were readying themselves to leave, Glorfindel joined them, much to everyone’s surprise.

"Are you sure?" Elessairon asked, looking at the golden-haired elf doubtfully.

Glorfindel gave him a grim smile. "Am I sure I want to do this? The answer to that is... no. Do I need to do this? The answer to that is... maybe. If I find it too distressful, I will turn back."

Ingwion offered to accompany them, but Glorfindel said he did not need a minder and anyway, it would be fun just for the Noldor to have an outing of their own. "I don’t know about the others, but you Vanyar are beginning to get on my nerves," Glorfindel joked and Ingwion obliged him by sticking out his tongue at them. They left the inn in a merry mood.

When they reached the end of the avenue, however, the mood shifted. They had walked the length of the Landamallë in lighthearted banter, stopping to admire the Mindon Nyellion for a moment before continuing. Glorfindel’s mood darkened as they came abreast of the mansion of the Lord of Mandos and the others became quiet as they all stopped to look through the front gate. There was nothing about the mansion that looked ominous or threatening. The courtyard before it was bright and colorful with many flowers and birds singing in the arbors. There was, in fact, a sense of peace and serenity about the place.

"The peace of the grave," Glorfindel muttered to himself, and only Elessairon heard him.

They did not linger but made their way through the golden gate out onto the Númenya Tëa. The Ezellohar and the Máhanaxar were some distance to the left of the road. A small path led directly to them. As they approached, the elves fell silent, awed beyond measure at the sight of the Green Mound and the dark husks of the Trees looming above them. They did not venture onto the Mound, but remained a respectful distance from it. They were the only visitors.

Glorfindel stood there staring up at the Trees, remembering. He twisted the peridot ring on his finger and its touch brought him comfort. His glance, however, wandered from the dead Trees to a spot to the south of it and without conscious volition he found himself leaving the others, moving along the path past the Ezellohar.

"Glorfindel, wait!" Elessairon shouted, his voice sounding harsh in the silence that seemed to permeate the very air around them. Not even birds could be heard here.

Glorfindel paid no heed but continued walking, indeed, almost running. The others ran after him and Manveru silently ordered a full alert as he and his companions took up positions around the Máhanaxar, still invisible to the elves.

Glorfindel did not stop running until he was in the center of the ring of thrones. The other elves stopped as well, but stood at the perimeter between two of the thrones. Glorfindel turned slowly around, his lips moving, but what he said they did not hear. Suddenly, he stopped and pointed to one of the thrones.

"Lord Manwë sat there," he said in a voice loud enough for them to hear. Then he pointed to another throne. "And Lady Varda was here." One by one he pointed to the various thrones, naming their occupants as the other elves looked on in wonder and consternation. When Glorfindel pointed to Námo’s throne, he hesitated before naming the Lord of Mandos. For a long moment he simply stared at it before glancing at his friends, giving them a brief, sad smile.

"I screamed," he said in a flat voice. "Screamed and screamed and screamed, but it did no good."

The younger Noldor did not move but stared at Glorfindel with a mixture of horror and pity. Glorfindel did not notice.

"They made me see... many things. People think we deserve judgment and they are correct, but they little think of the consequences of judgment, not all of them having to do with punishment." He shook his head and went silent, unwilling or unable to say more.

The others simply stood there, unsure how to react, seeing this Noldo in a new light, for he was far older than they, in spirit if not in body. It was a sobering thought and the ellith found themselves shivering, though the sun was warm on their skin.

Glorfindel gave a final glance at Námo’s throne then turned and walked towards his friends. "Let’s go," he said softly and they followed him silently back to the city.

More than one Maia breathed a sigh of relief to see Glorfindel leave the Ring of Doom. Námo, who had been standing invisibly by his throne and listening to Glorfindel, nodded grimly at the retreating figure.

****

They returned to the Laughing Vala to find that Ingwion and the Vanyarin ellith were not there. When the others decided to go look for them Glorfindel declined to join them.

"I think going out to the Ezellohar was a mistake," he said. "I want to just stay here and relax. Go, enjoy the day. I will see you this evening."

The others reluctantly left him sitting in the common room quietly nursing a goblet of wine.

Hours later, when all of the elves met in the common room, it was to discover that Glorfindel was not there, nor, when they inquired, had any of the inn’s staff seen him leave earlier. A quick glance in his room showed that all his clothes were still there; only his cloak was missing... and his new knife.

"Perhaps he decided to spend the night in one of the malinorni," Elessairon said, half-jokingly, remembering how Glorfindel seemed to like to sleep in trees back in Tirion. Ingwion was near to panic, for he feared the implications of Glorfindel taking his knife and would have rushed out to scour Eldamas and Valmar for the missing elf if Findis had not stopped him.

"He may have simply gone for a walk, Cousin," she said, "and taken the knife to be sharpened. It is still early yet. Let us dine and no doubt he will come in looking none the worse for wear."

The others all said the same and Ingwion was forced to acquiesce, not willing or perhaps unable to articulate his concerns in such a way as to make any sense to the others. But when the hours of the night deepened with still no sign of Glorfindel, even Findis looked worried.

"If he has not returned by morning," she said, "we will search for him."

No one slept.

****

Morning came and with it drear clouds out of the west, though the rain held off. Ingwion refused to break his fast and stated categorically that he was leaving to look for Glorfindel and the rest were free to do as they pleased.

Findis and Indil offered to remain at the inn, in case Glorfindel wandered in while the others were out. Alassiel elected to go with Ingwion along with Elessairon to Valmar; the others agreed to look for him in Eldamas.

"Go to that fountain he told us about," Alassiel suggested at the last minute. "Perhaps he’s been there all along."

Ingwion smiled for the first time since finding Glorfindel missing. "That’s a good idea, Cousin. I had forgotten about the fountain. Glorfindel was intrigued by it and may have decided to find out more about it."

The others agreed to start their search there while Ingwion and his party went to Valmar. "Perhaps he received a summons from one of the Valar," Elessairon said, though he did not sound confident about it.

Ingwion shook his head. "Even if that were true, and Glorfindel neglected to leave us a message, the Valar would have sent us word, knowing we would worry otherwise."

Ingwion walked quickly towards the north gate, then made his way down the main avenue. He never bothered to stop at the Mindon Nyellion, nor at any of the mansions along the way.

"Ingwion, where do you go?" Alassiel cried out. "Should we not stop to ask if Glorfindel is visiting one of the Valar?"

Ingwion shook his head, reluctantly stopping to answer the elleth’s question. "He would not voluntarily seek out any of the Valar... except perhaps for one."

"Lord Námo," Elessairon said, divining Ingwion’s intention.

"Yes, though I don’t think he is there or Lord Námo would have sent us word."

"Then where..." Elessairon began but Alassiel interrupted.

"He’s gone back to the Ezellohar."

Ingwion nodded. "Or to what lies beyond," and they all shivered slightly at the thought.

Ingwion resumed his walk and the other two were quick to follow. Soon, they reached the west gate and made their way towards the Green Mound. By now the clouds were dark and menacing. The wind had stiffened and Elessairon took hold of Alassiel to help her along. There was no sign of Glorfindel anywhere near the Mound and they continued on to the Ring.

It was there that they found their first clue that Glorfindel had possibly returned there earlier.

When they reached the Ring, they found the ground all churned up and Ingwion told the other two to stop and remain where they were until he could ascertain its meaning. He followed the signs back into the Ring, signs of scuffling and what appeared to be someone being dragged away. There, near the throne that Glorfindel claimed belonged to Lord Námo, he found evidence that someone had been attacked by several others. In the gathering gloom of the oncoming storm he saw something he thought he would never see.

Lying in the grass before Lord Námo’s throne was Glorfindel’s new knife, stained with blood.

****

They returned to Valmar with the knife. Alassiel went white at the sight of it in Ingwion’s hands. Ingwion’s expression was unreadable but his eyes burned with a deep flame that made it hard for any to look at him, so terrible was his expression. Without a word to either of his companions, the prince strode up the Landamallë, heedless of the deluge that now burst upon them.

"But surely the Valar would not permit such violence in their midst," Alassiel protested as she struggled to keep up with the longer legged ellyn.

"Lord Ulmo warned us that the Valar would not interfere with the internal strife of the Eldar," Ingwion stated baldly and would say no more. He went straight to Manwë’s mansion, stopping only when he reached the front portico to find two Maiar waiting for him, their expressions grim.

"You cannot enter, Prince Ingwion," Erunáro said gravely, staring briefly at the knife gleaming in the elf’s hand. "Lord Manwë will not see you."

"Then I will stand here until he does." Ingwion’s voice was cold and implacable. "I will not leave of my own volition otherwise."

The two Maiar exchanged glances, then Erunáro bowed. "So be it. Come."

The other Maia stepped aside and the three elves followed Erunáro down the nave to another door which opened silently for them. Neither Alassiel nor Elessairon had yet been inside the mansion of the Elder King and his Spouse and in spite of the gravity of the situation they took the time to admire it. Ingwion, however, ignored everything except the need to see the Elder King and learn the fate of his otorno. They entered what appeared to be a small audience chamber, the same one in fact in which Glorfindel had had his interview with Manwë only a few days before.

Manwë was there, sitting on his throne, with Varda next to him. Ingwion was not surprised to see either Námo standing beside Varda or Ulmo standing beside Manwë. None of the Valar looked happy to see the elves. Elessairon and Alassiel suddenly felt ill at ease and slowed their approach to the thrones; Ingwion never faltered. He stopped a mere two feet from the dais, dripping wet, staring straight at the Elder King. Without bowing or otherwise showing his obeisance to them, he threw the knife at the Vala’s feet, the sound of it hitting the floor loud and ominous.

"Where is he?" Ingwion whispered, his voice tight with barely controlled rage. "What have you done with him?"

Manwë stared at the knife lying at his feet for a moment before looking up. Alassiel found herself collapsing to the floor at the expression on the Elder King’s face and Elessairon felt the blood rush from his head. He never felt Erunáro grab him from behind and ease him gently to the floor next to the now unconscious elleth. He struggled to remain conscious, willing himself to remain a witness to whatever disaster was about to befall the heir to the High Kingship of Eldamar.

"Is that any way to greet me, child?" Manwë asked gently, though his expression remained stern, even terrifying.

Ingwion refused to be baited. "Where is he?" he repeated, even more softly than before.

Manwë stared at the prince for another moment, shaking his head. "I will not tell you. This is something you must discover for yourselves."

"Is he alive?" This question was directed at Lord Námo.

"For the moment," was that Vala’s only reply, his voice as cold and as implacable as Ingwion had ever heard it.

"I need to return to Vanyamar or at least send a message..."

Manwë raised a hand. "You do not have my leave to do either, child. You and your companions will remain here in Valmar and no message will be sent for now."

Ingwion stared at the Elder King in disbelief, and then the dam of emotion he had carefully constructed all the way up the Landamallë broke. He turned his wrath first on Ulmo, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You said there would be no interference on the part of the Valar," he shouted angrily before turning his attention back to Manwë, "and now you refuse to let me even warn the High King of what has happened? MAKE UP YOUR DAMN MINDS!"

An appalled silence followed, broken only when someone started weeping. Elessairon realized it was the prince, who had collapsed all the way to the floor after his outburst, heedlessly lying in a pool of rainwater. His face was hidden in the crook of his left arm; his right fist pounded the floor in futile rage.

"Ingwion, Ingwion, what are you doing?"

Elessairon turned his head to see two other Valar standing nearby staring down at the supine prince. One was Tulkas, his golden hair shining even in the gloom, for the storm still raged above them, an echo of the storm occurring below the crystal ceiling. The other was Oromë. It was he who had spoken.

The Vala gave a short bow to Manwë before going to the prince who still wept and lifting him up, gave him a slight shake, his expression not unkindly. "Have you forgotten everything I ever taught you about the Hunt, child?" he asked quietly.

Ingwion did not respond, going still, the light in his eyes flaming with something bordering on glee, dark and manic. Elessairon struggled to understand what was going on, but could not. He leaned against Erunáro who had never released him and felt the Maia stroke his hair, sending soothing waves of comfort his way.

"Is this what this is, my lord?" Ingwion finally asked, speaking in a harsh whisper that sent chills up Elessairon’s spine. "The Hunt?"

Oromë nodded.

"And is Glorfindel the Hunted?" Now Ingwion’s tone became dark again with anger.

"Nay, child," Manwë said. "He’s the bait."

Ingwion looked between the various Valar, their expressions ranging from neutral (Ulmo) to feral (Tulkas) and took a deep breath, stepping back from Oromë’s embrace. He walked over to the knife and picked it up, then, turning to Oromë and never taking his eyes off the Vala, he sliced the palm of his right hand and began calmly bloodying his hair.

"When you sound the Valaróma, my lord," he said flatly as he ran his bloody palm through his golden locks, "I will join you in the Hunt... and Eru help anyone who gets in my way."

Lightning lit the sky and thunder crashed above them. Elessairon chose that moment to finally succumb to the terror gripping his heart and fainted.

****

Otorno: Sworn brother.

Valaróma: Oromë’s horn which he sounds before a hunt, especially against any evil creatures of Melkor.

49: Plots and Counterplots

Vorondil was glad to see Ingwion and Glorfindel leave for Valmar. He had felt uncomfortable around the Reborn from the very beginning. Glorfindel’s presence unnerved him in a way he could not entirely understand. When the trip to Valmar had been proposed, he had declined to go and in truth he did not think the others minded him remaining in Vanyamar. It just made things easier all around.

The High King had asked Lord Valandur, Lady Findis’ husband, to act as Vorondil’s mentor, but the Noldo was not pleased with the arrangement. He found the Vanyarin lord to be rather dull and even a bit slow. He was certainly no warrior, being more of a scholar. Vorondil despised scholars. He had always regretted that he had not been born early enough to participate in the War of Wrath. The thought of wielding a sword and fighting set his blood pounding and he was hard-pressed to keep his emotions in check.

His own atar had fought in the War of Wrath long before he was born and he had listened eagerly to the stories when he was younger, little aware that what Aldundil had told him was a varnished version fit for elflings. Vorondil would never know or understand the true horror that his atar had witnessed and suffered. Not even Aldundil’s beloved wife knew the full story.

Thus, Vorondil lived in a fantasy world of great deeds and glorious battles and resented the Reborn in their midst. They did not deserve a second chance. They had forsaken Aman and the Valar, whom Vorondil respected, even feared. They should not have been allowed to be re-embodied. The fact that the Reborn he knew were warriors of great renown did not seem to matter. Vorondil both admired and hated them and his contradictory attitude caused him much emotional pain, though he rarely acknowledged it.

The warrior initiation ceremony he had witnessed had stirred his blood as nothing had in a long time and he resented the fact that that low-born potter had been recognized as a warrior by the Tol Eressëan elves. That was laughable. The idea of the stupid little Sinda being a warrior and being allowed to wear warrior braids had made Vorondil literally throw up when it was convenient to do so.

When Glorfindel and his friends had finally left Vanyamar, the first thing Vorondil did was to give himself warrior braids. He had purchased some colored beads and gemstones and did his best to copy the pattern Findaráto had used with Sador’s braids, but he was not always sure of the correct sequence of twists or the order in which the stones and beads were placed. Still, when he was done, he thought he had done a good job and felt a thrill of pleasure race through his fëa as he admired himself in the mirror.

He felt safe in wearing the braids here in Vanyamar for no one had remarked on the braids that Glorfindel sported and so he assumed that no one understood their significance and would not take him to task for wearing what he had not earned the right to wear.

Vorondil had found a kindred spirit in the Lady Tinwetariel, her antipathy towards the Reborn obvious, and when they had reached Vanyamar, he had met Lord Ingoldo, who also despised the Reborn. The ellon was often in their company, ostensibly to learn more of statecraft and trade, as Lady Tinwetariel, whatever her failings, was considered a shrewd bargainer and knew much about the ins and outs of trade and trade agreements.

The day Glorfindel left for Valmar Vorondil was sitting with Lord Ingoldo and Lady Tinwetariel in the parlor of their apartments, sipping a light wine and nibbling on cheese and fruit.

"So, what do you think of the recent events, young Vorondil?" Ingoldo asked, giving the younger elf a shrewd look. "How did you react to the Song?"

It was what everyone was calling the lullaby the Valar had sung to them. Vorondil gave a slight shiver. When the Valar had started singing, every nerve in his body had screamed, though he could not say why. The music had captured him and left him both replete and bereft at the same time. He did not like to think on it too often.

"I little liked waking to find myself with my face in my porridge," he said with a scowl. "And then, all that ruckus with Glorfindel and the High King refusing to see or speak to anyone for several days... I’m sure that damn Reborn Noldo was behind most of that. Nothing happened until he started singing that ridiculous lullaby and then Lord Manwë showed up."

He gave another shiver and took a swig of his wine, barely tasting it. It had been a shock to see Lord Manwë himself standing in the middle of the dining hall and Vorondil had felt a sense of guilt at the sight of the Elder King, though he could not recall why he should feel guilty about anything.

Ingoldo and Tinwetariel exchanged glances. Tinwetariel nodded slightly to her husband, then turned to Vorondil with a smile. "Yes, it was rather unsettling and I agree with you. I have no doubt that we can lay much of the trouble of the last few weeks squarely at Laurefindil’s feet."

She, for one, refused to sully her mouth with that ellon’s outlandish name and insisted on calling him by his Quenya name even in his presence. It amused her to see him struggling to control his wrath whenever they were in the same room together. It was Laurefindil who had humiliated her in front of her brother-in-law and his court and she would never forgive him for that. More than anything, she wanted revenge and she meant to get it.

Vorondil gave her a shrewd look of his own. "So what are you saying, my lady?"

Tinwetariel shrugged. "Why, nothing at all. I think, though, it would be best if Laurefindil never returned to Vanyamar, don’t you?"

Vorondil sucked in his breath at the implications. "You mean... he should not be able to return ever?"

Tinwetariel and her husband effected shocked looks. "Oh no!" Ingoldo exclaimed. "We do not mean to suggest any such thing. We merely think he should go back to Tirion... preferably in disgrace."

"If we can show how irresponsible the Reborn Noldor really are," Ingoldo added, "using Laurefindil as a prime example, then the Valar might reconsider their plans of releasing them from Mandos."

"While releasing the Vanyar dead instead," Vorondil added with a knowing grin. "Oh, mistake me not, my lady," he said when Tinwetariel looked to take umbrage at his words. "I entirely agree. None of the Exiles should be released from Mandos. It’s bad enough the survivors were permitted to return to Tol Eressëa, but at least they continue under the ban to some extent and will never enjoy full pardon by the Valar, and certainly not by the Amaneldi. No, the Etyangoldirin dead should remain that way. Let the Valar release those who were innocent of any wrongdoing, such as your own son, but let the Exiles remain as houseless fëar until Arda is Remade. It’s quite frankly more than they deserve anyway."

The two older elves looked at Vorondil in amazement, suddenly unsure in the face of the ellon’s bitterness, but they had already committed themselves and could not turn back.

"So, how best can we discredit the Reborn?" Ingoldo asked.

"Taniquetil," Tinwetariel said suddenly. "Do you not remember Ingwë warning us that the Noldo has been forbidden to step foot on Taniquetil?"

Ingoldo smiled in an unpleasant way. "Ah, yes. Now I remember, though I fail to see how that helps us."

Vorondil raised an eyebrow, a thought coming to him. "He’s been forbidden to ascend Taniquetil, you say? That must be why the meeting with the Elder King is taking place in Valmar." He went silent for a moment before continuing. "What if Laurefindil were found on the mountain where he doesn’t belong?"

"Can we do that?" Tinwetariel asked doubtfully.

Ingoldo nodded. "Yes, and it will be easier to accomplish when he is in Valmar."

"How so, my lord?" Vorondil asked.

"Laurefindil will not be as heavily guarded in Valmar as he would be here. It will be easier to get to him. I understand from overhearing something my nephew said to my brother that the Noldo will be sleeping in his own room at the inn where they are all staying. I do not know the reason for it, only that the request to give Laurefindil his own room came from Taniquetil."

Vorondil frowned. "Could there be any significance to such a request?"

Tinwetariel snorted. "Only that the Valar seek to keep their pet happy. Have you noticed how they practically fawn over him. I’m surprised they haven’t made him a collar with his name on it attached to a chain so they can lead him around like one does one’s favorite hound."

Ingoldo laughed and Vorondil smiled. The image of Glorfindel on all fours with a collar around his neck, leaning against Lord Námo like some dog begging for approval, while the said lord held his chain was too funny and Vorondil reveled in it with secret delight. Perhaps if they could get the Valar angry enough with Glorfindel, that would truly be his fate for all the ages of Arda.

"So, what do we do?" Vorondil asked nonchalantly, though neither of the older elves were fooled. They could see the depths of hatred the ellon held for Glorfindel and were pleased. It would make things easier.

"Perhaps you would like to help," Ingoldo said carefully. "I have people loyal to me in Eldamas who can aid you in removing Laurefindil from Valmar. After that, what you do to him is up to you, though I would caution you to refrain from killing him. There has not been any Kinslaying since Alqualondë and I don’t think you want to start now."

"But, how do I get there?" Vorondil exclaimed. "It would look odd if I suddenly changed my mind and decided I wanted to go to Valmar after all."

"What if you were given the opportunity to go hunting with me tomorrow?" Ingoldo replied with a sly smile. "I plan to visit the royal hunting lodge and will be gone for several days. It’s on the way to Valmar and once outside the city, no one will know that you are not with me. All who travel with me are loyal to me and will not betray me. You can continue on to Valmar with one of my own people who will contact my agents there while I take the Mall’ Etelerroron to the lodge."

Vorondil stared at his goblet of wine for a moment thinking through the implications of what Lord Ingoldo was saying and then looked up with a smile, raising his goblet in salute. "Sounds good to me, my lord. I think I will take you up on your kind offer to join you for a few days of hunting." Now he started laughing. "And who’s to say what game I might find?"

Now they were all laughing with Tinwetariel laughing the loudest and sounding the most cruel.

****

So it was arranged and the next day Vorondil left Vanyamar with Ingoldo and four others for a week of hunting. Vorondil made a point of seeking Lord Valandur’s permission, since technically speaking, he was still a minor and could not just leave of his own accord. Valandur gave the ellon a slow, shrewd look and Vorondil was hard-pressed to keep a neutral expression on his face. Finally, the Vanyarin lord nodded.

"I think some time away from the city will do you good," and Valandur said nothing more about it. Yet, as soon as Ingoldo and his party left the city, Valandur went to see Ingwë. What he said to the High King, no one ever learned, but within the hour, messengers were being sent to Taniquetil and Valmar under the High King’s seal.

****

"Here is where I leave you, youngling," Ingoldo said. "My road lies yonder." He pointed to a narrow track that led northward into the wilderness, then he pointed southwest. "Your route lies there. Tulcaner will escort you. You may stay at the Inn of the Evening Star. It’s not far from where you will find Laurefindil. I have sketched a layout of the inn. Tulcaner will ascertain which room is the Reborn’s for you. I know of only two single rooms in that inn and either one will be easily accessible to you from the outside."

Vorondil nodded, feeling excited and sick at the same time. Finally, he was going to be doing something heroic, to cleanse his beloved Aman of the filth that was the Reborn. "Good hunting, my lord," was all he said as he took the map Ingoldo held out to him.

Ingoldo smiled. "And good hunting to you, Vorondil. When you have done what you need to, Tulcaner will lead you to the lodge so it will appear as if you have been with me all this time. I’ll even hunt some extra game and declare them yours."

Vorondil nodded again, looked at Tulcaner, who grinned, then set off with the guard towards Valmar. Ingoldo sat there on his horse for several minutes watching the two wend their way down the road before giving the order to head north.

A quarter of an hour later a lone rider traveled down the road, stopping at the intersection of the two roads to look at the prints on the ground. It did not take long for him to catch up with the two elves heading for Valmar, though he hung back far enough that neither noticed him. Thus, it was that Vorondil was observed by at least one person from Ingwë’s court entering Eldamas. The traveler took note of where the two elves turned into the inn and then went on to Valmar to deliver his message to the Elder King.

50: Taken

Glorfindel sipped his wine but could not relax. His thoughts kept wandering back to the Ring of Doom and the way he had felt, or not felt, while standing in the center of it, speaking of his Judgment.

He finally went to his room, requesting the noon meal be sent up to him. Until then, he lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. When the servant came up with a tray, he thanked her and set about eating, though he little tasted it. He placed the tray out in the corridor and then resumed his place on the bed, still thinking. Eventually, he fell asleep.

Something woke him, but he did not know what. By the slant of the sunlight streaming through his window, he knew it was late afternoon, though it would be several hours before he was due to meet the others for the evening meal. He felt suddenly restless and a need to escape the confines of the inn took him.

He grabbed his cloak and at the last minute picked up his new knife and strapped the sheath to his belt, feeling unaccountably better for it. He was reminded of the way he had felt early in his re-embodiment, wishing for a sword with which to protect himself, though there was nothing to guard against in the gardens of the Reborn.

He started towards the door, then hesitated. He did not want to be seen and he did not want to have to answer any questions that might be asked. A quick look out the window convinced him that he could leave that way without trouble. He did so, careful to close the window after him. Thus, Ingwion never realized which way Glorfindel had taken when he left the inn.

****

Vorondil was feeling bored. Tulcaner had scouted the Inn of the Laughing Vala and had learned that Glorfindel was going to remain there that day. He and the other elves who were a part of his plans had decided to take the elf from the inn by way of the window to the ellon’s room. The window in question looked out on a narrow alley that ran behind the inn. No one would see them.

However, their plans went awry when one of Tulcaner’s men reported that Glorfindel had joined the party of Noldor going to the Ezellohar at the last moment. Vorondil nearly screamed in rage. Then luck found them, for the Noldor returned earlier than expected and Glorfindel did not leave the inn when the others left again a while later. Here was his chance. Tulcaner, however, counseled caution and so they waited, Tulcaner inside the inn, Vorondil in a courtyard across from it, nursing some wine.

Thus, it was Vorondil who saw Glorfindel nonchalantly strolling out of the alley onto the street fronting the inn, and head towards the north gate of Valmar. Vorondil quickly made his way to the inn and gestured to Tulcaner.

"There you are, sir," he said, attempting to sound like a respectful servant. "My lord bids you to come at once."

Tulcaner raised his eyebrow at the ellon but complied without a word and soon the two of them were walking swiftly down the street after Glorfindel.

"Alert the others," Vorondil ordered quietly. "I will follow the Reborn."

"Where do you think he goes?" Tulcaner asked, but Vorondil did not know.

Glorfindel apparently did not know either, for he seemed to be wandering aimlessly, stopping here and there and admiring this and that, never staying at any one place for very long. This was fortunate for Vorondil for it gave the others time to catch up with him. There were six of them, not including Vorondil and Tulcaner. Vorondil did not know what grievance they might have against the Reborn, but he suspected their hatred was more against the Exilic Noldor. It didn’t matter, so long as they did as he ordered.

Glorfindel eventually made his way to the north gate and entered Valmar proper, strolling nonchalantly down the avenue, though he did not bother to stop at the fountain where the bells tolled sweetly in a light breeze.

As he reached Námo’s mansion, he stopped and stared through the carnelian gate for the longest time. Vorondil and the others were hard-pressed to look as if they were merely sightseeing and the young Noldo fumed.

"What is he doing?" he whispered to Tulcaner in frustration as he leaned against a malinornë pretending to be fishing a stone out of his shoe.

"Maybe he wants the Lord of Mandos to come out and play," Tulcaner said and Vorondil gave the Vanya a horrified look. One did not jest about the Valar, especially THIS Vala. He shook his head in dismay.

"Look, he’s leaving," Tulcaner said with a nod and Vorondil quickly put his shoe back on and they resumed trailing after the former Balrog-slayer.

Glorfindel passed through the west gate, then took the path to the Ezellohar. Vorondil was elated. "He’s alone," he whispered to Tulcaner and the others who had stopped where the path to the Mound met the Númenya Tëa. "Wait until he is far enough from the road so no one will see."

They nodded and the seven Vanyar and one Noldo made their way towards the Trees. When they did not see Glorfindel there Vorondil felt a moment of panic until he remembered the Ring of Doom and silently pointed in that direction.

They found Glorfindel standing in the center of the Ring, staring at one particular throne, apparently deep in thought. Thus, it was with some surprise when he spoke without even looking at them.

"Welcome to the Máhanaxar, gentlemen. I’ve been expecting you."

The eight elves stopped in shock. Glorfindel turned slowly to face them and Vorondil noticed that he wore a knife sheathed in red leather. He swallowed nervously, suddenly aware that he was not armed. Indeed, he did not think any of them were.

Glorfindel spoke again, a feral smile on his face. "Eight of you. How flattering."

His tone sent a frisson of fear up Vorondil’s spine and he had the sick feeling that Glorfindel did not think the odds were terribly against him.

"Wh-what did you mean... you were expecting us?" Vorondil asked, and Tulcaner hissed in disgust at the fool of a Noldo.

Glorfindel’s smile merely deepened. "Before Turucáno hid us away behind the Echoriath, I spent nearly fifty years hunting and being hunted by orcs and other fell creatures of Melkor. Do you think even now I do not know when I’m being followed?" He laughed suddenly, though it was not a pleasant laugh and even Tulcaner shivered slightly at the sound of it. "You children have much to learn." Now his voice went cold and the light that gleamed from his eyes was darkly joyful.

Vorondil felt the sudden need to vomit. Instead, he whispered, "Take him." His companions needed no other urging. Two of them advanced on Glorfindel from either side, effectively blocking his way. Glorfindel could have retreated to the other side of the ring and could have even made his escape, but he never thought to do so. He was not surprised to find himself being followed; he was somewhat taken aback to see Vorondil there and even more surprised to see him wearing warrior braids, though he hid it successfully enough.

Nor did he fear them. Vorondil he discounted and while the others were unknown factors, they were also Vanyar, not terribly noted as warriors, and they were unarmed, or so he thought. Tulcaner growled at Vorondil to stay out of the way, then reached behind his cloak to pull out a short sword. Two others did the same. Vorondil saw Glorfindel’s eyes widen at the sight of the swords but to his surprise the Reborn Noldo did not otherwise flinch. Instead he moved deliberately towards one of the thrones. The Vanyar attempted to circle him, but he reached the throne first, pulling his knife out of its sheath.

No one spoke. Then Glorfindel made a come-on gesture and his expression was so arrogant that the three armed Vanyar attacked as one. Glorfindel dropped beneath their guards and swept Tulcaner down, slicing him on the sword arm, then, using the hilt of the knife, he attempted to knock him out, though it was only a glancing blow and the elf never lost consciousness. It was enough for Glorfindel to grab the sword from him. The other two elves, however, recovered enough to turn on him at the last minute and pin him to the ground, knocking both sword and knife from him.

With a mighty effort Glorfindel attempted to throw them off and, had it just been the two attackers, he would have succeeded, but now three other elves joined the fray and while they held him down Tulcaner and another systematically began beating him into submission until at last Glorfindel passed out.

Only then did Vorondil approach, looking down on the now bloody and unconscious elf, his expression full of hate. For a moment he stared at Glorfindel, then he kicked him in the ribs and spat on him, bending down to remove the peridot ring from Glorfindel’s finger before turning away.

"Bring him," he ordered. Two of the elves grabbed Glorfindel by the arms and began to drag him out of the Ring. Tulcaner retrieved his sword, clutching his wound and muttering dark curses.

In their haste to leave no one remembered Glorfindel’s knife.

****

Manveru watched with clinical detachment as Glorfindel attacked Tulcaner and then as the Vanyar grabbed him. He was faintly amused that it took five of them to hold Glorfindel down while the other two took turns beating him mercilessly. The other Maiar stood around the Ring, their own swords of light drawn, waiting for the signal from Manveru to intervene if necessary.

Manveru knew that many of his fellow warriors looked upon the Vanyar with disdain, and admired the Balrog-slayer for his coolness in the face of insurmountable odds, though Manveru suspected that Glorfindel did not think they were that insurmountable. When you’ve fought against a Valarauco, the Maia reflected, seven Vanyar, only three of them armed, probably did not look too threatening to you.

The beating went on longer than any of the Maiar liked and it took a direct order from Tulkas, who suddenly appeared among them, to stop any of them from interfering.

"The beating is severe, but not life-threatening," the Vala said, looking stern. It was rare enough to see this particular Vala looking so grim that it gave the Maiar pause. Then, Tulkas laughed. "We will play this game to the end and these Children will see who is truly in control."

So they stood by and watched as Vorondil approached the unconscious elf and kicked him in the ribs before spitting on him. They observed the Noldo reaching down and removing Glorfindel’s ring. That action alone caused Tulkas to scowl and several of the Maiar standing nearby flinched at the Vala’s expression. Then they looked on as the Vanyar dragged Glorfindel away. Two of the Vanyar left for Eldamas where they would retrieve their horses and meet the rest of the party on the North Road where that way met the Mall’ Etelerroron. The others would cut across country. In the dark, now that the sun had set, there would be none to see.

Tulkas ordered Manveru and two other Maiar to follow the elves and so they watched as Tulcaner ordered the elves to stop as he pulled out a vial from an inner pocket and forced the contents down Glorfindel’s throat.

"Fúmella juice," he said in explanation. "It will keep him out for hours."

The trek across country was done in complete silence, two of the elves taking turns dragging Glorfindel behind them, heedless of whether he sustained further injuries. Only Vorondil and Tulcaner did not help. When they finally reached their rendevous point with the horses, Tulcaner advised Vorondil to continue to the hunting lodge.

"It will be best if you are not seen anywhere near Taniquetil. Anardil here will see you safely to the lodge. I will see that your plan for this Noldo is carried out."

Vorondil reluctantly agreed and in short order the two parties split. The Maiar ignored Vorondil and followed Tulcaner, who lashed the still unconscious elf to one of the horses. Then the Vanyar continued along the road, leaving it about a league from Vanyamar and moving north and east around the mountain to a little known path that wound its way up Taniquetil. Tulcaner pointed it out to the others.

"Here we leave the horses. We must hurry. The way is long and I want to be off the mountain before dawn."

"What exactly do you plan to do with this rebel Noldo, Tulcaner?" one of the others asked. "Leave him on Lord Manwë’s doorstep?"

The others laughed at that and Tulcaner nodded. "Just about. Let’s get going."

Thus, six Vanyar dragged Glorfindel up the mountain unaware of the three Maiar trailing them. An hour before dawn saw them at their destination — the north wall of Ilmarin where no gate stood. They threw Glorfindel against the wall where he landed in a boneless heap, then made their way back down the mountain.

Glorfindel never stirred. The three Maiar settled around him to keep their vigil.

****

Fúmella: The poppy plant, the juice of which is a narcotic.

51: Return to Lórien

The journey to Lórien was both joyful and extremely uncomfortable for Finrod. It was joyful, in that he had a chance to renew his friendship with Laurendil; uncomfortable, because of Laurendil. The former ranger of Dorthonion alternated between being furious and depressed throughout the entire trip and even Manwen could not lift his mood. Finrod had the urge to order Laurendil to smile, just to see if he could get away with it, but decided against it. Laurendil needed to come to terms with things on his own. In the meantime, Finrod made his acquaintance with Manwen, and the two spent several hours speaking Sindarin about the people and places they remembered in Beleriand.

"I fled Doriath when it fell and met Glorendil along the way," Manwen said. "In spite of everything, we somehow found each other there on the edge of ruin and fell in love. After the War of Wrath we decided to travel east into Eriador and eventually settled in a place called Lórinand, a kingdom of Silvan elves, which lies on the other side of the Hithaeglir."

"When did you sail?" Finrod asked.

"Only a couple of years ago," Laurendil said, joining the conversation. "I-I couldn’t stop dreaming of the sea and Manwen had been experiencing the sea-longing for longer than I."

"You resisted for so long, husband," Manwen said sorrowfully, "and in the end you were barely conscious."

"I did not want to leave Ennorath," Laurendil said flatly. "There was nothing for me here. There still isn’t."

"Not even your family?" Finrod asked gently.

Laurendil did not answer and Finrod let it go. He recalled that Rialcar had been one of the elves who refused to go into Exile. Perhaps the parting between son and father had not been as amicable as his own parting with Arafinwë had been. He had detected a certain coolness between Laurendil and Rialcar when they were together, though there was no outright hostility on either elf’s part.

They stopped for a couple of days in Valmar. Manwen was awed by the city, Laurendil bored. He refused to accompany them on their tour of Valmar and Eldamas, electing to remain at the inn until they were ready to resume their journey. Thus, nearly a week and a half after leaving Tirion, they arrived before the gates of Lórien.

Lord Irmo was there to meet them as they dismounted from their horses, welcoming them with a warm smile and warmer words. Finrod greeted the Vala courteously, Manwen shyly, and Laurendil not at all, even going so far as to refuse to look at the Lord of Lórien. If Irmo was upset by the Noldo’s lack of manners, he did not show it. Finrod, on the other hand, had had enough of Laurendil’s sulking.

"Laurendil, you forget yourself!" he barked, not even trying to hide his annoyance.

Manwen stared at him in shock, never having known him when he was King of Nargothrond. Their escort looked suitably impressed by their prince. Laurendil went white and then abruptly turned around and walked quickly away back down the road. Manwen started to follow, but Finrod held her back.

"Stay here, all of you," he commanded the other elves and went after the nearly fleeing ellon. "Laurendil! Hold!" he shouted and the former ranger stumbled to a halt, obedience to a superior, and most especially to his king, too ingrained not to heed Finrod’s command. He stood there in dejected silence waiting for Finrod to approach.

"You disappoint me, cáno," Finrod said. "I expect better from my people." He spoke quietly yet there was the sting of a reprimand in his voice. "I trust you have an explanation."

For a moment Laurendil could only stare ahead, biting his lips. "I can’t," he whispered in anguish.

"Can’t what?"

"I can’t... do this. Please, aranya... don’t make me..."

"Laurendil, it was not I who summoned you here," Finrod said sympathetically. "There is nothing I can do to gainsay Lord Irmo." He paused, giving the other elf time to collect himself. Laurendil still would not look at him. "What is it, otornya?" he asked, taking Laurendil by the shoulders.

Laurendil shook his head. "I fled Aman to escape... from Them... from my atar."

"Why?"

But Laurendil would not or could not answer and Finrod had to let it go. Instead, he stepped back and gave the other elf a stern look.

"Well, you are here now, Laurendil. Best to get on with it. Come. It isn’t wise to keep a Vala waiting."

With that, he took Laurendil by the arm and brought him back to Manwen and Lord Irmo. The escort, he saw, had been dismissed and were no doubt glad to be elsewhere. Manwen gave her husband a kiss on the cheek to which he did not respond. Lord Irmo gave him a sympathetic look.

"It is not as bad as you think, Laurendil," the Vala said kindly. Then he addressed them all. "My people will see you all settled. Spend some time enjoying the gardens and relaxing. We will speak again in a few days."

Then the Vala was simply not there and two of the Lóriennildi came forward. One of them led Laurendil and Manwen away, along with their bags, the other turned out to be a friend of Finrod’s.

"Eärnur," Finrod said, giving the Lóriennildo a smile as they embraced and kissed in greeting. "It’s good to see a familiar face."

"Welcome, Findaráto," the Telerin elf said. "I’m glad to see you again. Are you well, meldonya?"

"I am well, thank you." Finrod said as they walked through a series of groves which were used as residences for the elves who resided in Lórien, whether as servants or guests.

Eärnur led him into a grove that he recognized. "Why, this is where I lived before," Finrod exclaimed.

"Lord Irmo thought you would appreciate staying somewhere familiar," Eärnur said with a smile. "Lord Laurendil and Lady Manwen are in the blue pavilion two groves to the right of this one."

Finrod looked about the pavilion, remembering his last stay there, when two other ellyn lived with him, two Sindar who had been somewhat in awe of him, much to his discomfort. He had left Lórien before them, and now wondered if they had yet been released. He would have to find out while he was there. Now, however, only one bed was evident. Eärnur plopped Finrod’s bags on the ground which was covered with rich carpets.

"I will leave you for now, meldonya," the Teler said. "We will catch up on news later."

Finrod nodded. "Thank you, Eärnur. I would like that."

The Telerin elf bowed briefly, leaving Finrod alone with his thoughts.

****

For the next two days Finrod wandered through Lórien, reacquainting himself with the place, greeting those among the Lóriennildi whom he remembered from his previous stay there. He saw nothing of either Laurendil or Manwen during that time nor did he seek them out, respecting their privacy. He was finishing the evening meal on the third day when Eärnur came to his pavilion to announce that Lord Irmo had summoned him. He followed the Lóriennildo towards Lórellin where Estë’s island was. Near the shore, lit with colored lanterns, he saw a pavilion opened on three sides. Chairs were arranged around a table where there were plates of fruit and cheese and a decanter of wine. A colorfully woven carpet covered the ground underneath.

Finrod was the first to arrive but he was shortly joined by Laurendil and Manwen, escorted by a Lóriennildë. She and Eärnur left them once Eärnur assured them that Lord Irmo would be there presently. Laurendil seemed more relaxed than he had been, but his eyes still had a haunted look to them and he would not meet Finrod’s gaze. Manwen gave the Noldorin prince a deep curtsey.

"Please, my lady," Finrod protested, "there is no need for such formality. Here, I am simply Findaráto, or if you will, Finrod."

"I see you are as humble as ever, Arafinwion."

The elves turned to see the Lord of Lórien approach and they gave him their obeisance, though Finrod noticed that Laurendil bowed somewhat reluctantly.

"Humility has nothing to do with it, my lord," Finrod rejoined. "I just prefer to be Findaráto these days."

"Hmm," Irmo said, seemingly unconvinced. "Why don’t we be seated?" He gestured towards the chairs and soon they were all finding a seat while the Vala poured them some wine.

As they were sipping the wine, Irmo gave the three elves an appraising look, tinged with humor. "I imagine you are all anxious to learn what is expected of you as my apprentices."

Laurendil flinched at the Vala’s words and Manwen went pale, though her eyes were bright with anticipation. She, at least, wanted to be there. Finrod simply stared at Lord Irmo in disbelief, suddenly aware that the Vala had included him in that statement.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

Irmo gave Finrod a wry smile. "You didn’t think I asked you here on a whim, did you, child?"

"But...but..."

Now Laurendil smiled grimly, the first real emotion he had exhibited since arriving in Lórien. "So now that the orc is on the other foot, aranya...."

Manwen sniggered at her husband’s words and Irmo raised an eyebrow, his amusement obvious. Finrod had no choice but to laugh.

"‘Orc on the other foot.’ Oh my. I haven’t heard that expression in... in ages."

"Rather colorful, to say the least," Irmo said, his smile deepening.

Finrod’s laughter died and he became sober. "I do not recall even being asked if I wished to be your apprentice, my lord."

"Sounds familiar," Finrod heard Laurendil mutter, but he decided to ignore his friend for the moment.

"I thought I was re-embodied so that I might take my proper place at my atar’s side," Finrod continued.

Irmo nodded. "Yes, well, plans change, as they say." The Vala held up a hand to forestall Finrod’s next words. "Child, you will find that often our expectations do not conform to reality. What you thought was your reason for being reborn is not the case. You were always meant to come to me."

"But why?" Finrod put his goblet on the table and stood up to face the Vala, his expression more confused than angry. In truth, he did not find the idea of becoming Lord Irmo’s apprentice objectionable, as Laurendil apparently did, but he was bewildered by it.

"You will be the first Reborn to become one of my Lóriennildi, Findaráto," Irmo said quietly. "You will learn to minister to other Reborn."

Finrod sat down, suddenly aware of the implications of Irmo’s words. He stared at nothing for a moment, then gave the Lord of Lórien a calculating look. "And the fact that I’m the son of the King of the Noldor doesn’t enter into it, does it?"

Irmo laughed lightly. "Why, not at all, child. Furthest thought from my mind."

Finrod sat back with a nod, willing to play the game as the Vala saw fit. Truly, he had no objections. He well remembered the care he had been given by many of the Lóriennildi in those early days of his re-embodiment and even remembered how he had toyed with the idea of joining them, thinking it was a worthy occupation for a one-time king of a lost kingdom who was uncertain of his reception by his family once he was released from Lórien.

He also remembered how some of those same Lóriennildi had treated him, and the other Reborn, and suddenly understood the deviousness of the Vala sitting before him. Yet, he still had doubts.

"W-will I have to remain here for all time then?"

Irmo shook his head. "Nay. Your apprenticeship will not extend that far, not even for the usual length of twenty-four years. You might say that I’m borrowing you temporarily, and I may not be the only Vala to whom you will be apprenticed over time. Your own atar was apprenticed to Lord Manwë for three years of the Trees after he returned to Tirion, for he had had little training in the art of rulership, being the youngest son."

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that but did not offer any other objections. Irmo turned his attention to the other two elves, speaking first to Manwen.

"Daughter, I know well your skills as a healer. Young Elerondo taught you well. Even here in Aman accidents will happen, especially among the young, who are heedless of any dangers. Yet, the greatest need is for healers of the fëa. Many who sail from the Thither Shores are wounded in spirit more than in body. I think you will find that your own experiences will help you to be sympathetic to those who come to us for help."

Manwen gave the Vala a shrewd look. "More sympathetic than those who have never experienced the horrors of war, my lord?"

Irmo nodded and smiled. "I think we understand each other, don’t we, my daughter?" Manwen nodded but did not return the Vala’s smile. Instead, she stared into her goblet, deep in thought.

The Vala then looked at Laurendil, who had retreated into sullen silence, and sighed. "And now, we come to you, my son."

Laurendil jumped up. "I am not your son! I will never be your son!" he practically screamed, throwing his goblet to the ground, staining the carpet red with wine. He stalked out of the pavilion, moving quickly towards the lake, while Finrod and Manwen sat in shocked silence.

Irmo merely sighed, then, without raising his voice he said, "Laurendil, stop."

Finrod saw the ellon fall on his knees by the shore of the lake. He wanted to go to his friend but Irmo shook his head. "Come back here, child," the Vala said, still speaking softly.

Laurendil did not move and Finrod could see he was struggling to resist Lord Irmo’s bidding. "Laurendil," Irmo said again and with a strangled sob Laurendil rose and stumbled back to the pavilion. Manwen stood then and gathered her husband into her arms. Irmo stood as well and placed a hand on Laurendil’s head.

"Why are you so afraid, child?" the Vala asked gently.

"I don’t know. I don’t know," was all Laurendil could say as he wept in Manwen’s arms. Finrod’s heart went out to him and he felt helpless to do anything to assuage his friend’s grief.

"Then, child," Irmo said sympathetically, "that will be your first task as my apprentice, to learn of your fears and to understand them." He gently pulled Laurendil out of Manwen’s embrace and forced the ellon to look at him. "You’ve been running away for too long, Laurendil — running from your atar... running from me... running from yourself. Time to stop running, son."

Laurendil did not answer, only nodded, his expression one of defeat. Then Irmo turned to Finrod. "Laurendil will be your first patient, Findaráto."

Finrod started at that. "But I don’t know the first thing..."

"Eärnur will assist you," Irmo said, countering Finrod’s protest. "You will start tomorrow." He then turned back to Laurendil and Manwen and gathered them both into his embrace, giving them both a kiss on the brow. "Go now, my children and rest. Tomorrow will be the start of a new life for you both. Do not be afraid, Laurendil. It is not as terrible a fate as you might think."

With that the Lord of Lórien was gone and three Lóriennildi were approaching the pavilion. Two of them took Laurendil and Manwen in hand, gently leading them away to their pavilion. The other was Eärnur, who smiled at Finrod.

"I understand we will be working together, meldonya," the Teler said as the two of them made their way back to Finrod’s pavilion.

Finrod sighed. "So it would seem."

"You do not sound particularly happy about it."

Finrod shook his head. "I am not. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I am not as averse to the idea of being here as Laurendil, but I am a prince of the realm and have other duties. I cannot waste my days holding Laurendil’s hand... or anyone else’s for that matter."

Eärnur stopped, a frown on his face, and Finrod stopped as well. "Perhaps, in time, you will discover it is not as much of a waste of time as you might think, Findaráto."

"Perhaps," Finrod conceded reluctantly and they resumed their walk to the pavilion.

Eärnur bade Finrod good night at the entrance to the grove. Finrod readied himself for bed, then lay there staring at the ceiling of the pavilion. It was a long time before he was able to fall asleep.

****

Lórinand: Golden Valley. One of the earlier names for Lothlórien.

Cáno: Commander.

Elerondo: The Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin Elrond.

Note: Irmo mentions that Arafinwë was apprenticed to Manwë for "three years of the Trees". This was during the Darkening of Valinor, which lasted for five years of the Trees before Isil was launched. One year of the Trees is equivalent to 9.5 solar years, thus Arafinwë was Manwë’s apprentice for 28.5 years.

52: Nightmare In Broad Daylight

When Finrod woke the next morning, he found a tabard draped over a chair. It was similar to the ones worn by the Lóriennildi, but where theirs were white with a rainbow embroidered over the left breast, his was a pale blue with a white stripe between two black ones along the hem. There was no insignia embroidered on it. Obviously, he was meant to wear it and he was donning it over his tunic when Eärnur appeared at the entrance. His eyes widened at the sight of the tabard.

"I have never seen that particular tabard worn by any here," he said. "Apprentices normally wear a plain light blue tabard with no stripes and all are students of both Lord Irmo and Lady Estë. When you reach Journeyman stage, you are chosen by one Vala or the other and continue your studies under them. Those chosen by Lady Estë wear light blue tabards with a single purple stripe along the hem and are known as Estenduri. When they have achieved Master status they wear a purple tabard with the Lady’s insignia of the harp. Those chosen by Lord Irmo have a single white stripe along the hem, like the one I am wearing." He pointed to his own tabard. "Eventually, I will win my Mastership and be allowed to wear the white tabard with my Lord’s insignia of the rainbow."

"What then is the significance of these stripes?" Finrod asked, pointing to the black and white stripes on his own tabard.

"I do not know," Eärnur answered. "I do not recall ever seeing anyone wearing such a tabard."

Finrod looked confused. "But I thought I was to be Lord Irmo’s apprentice."

"I have no explanation," the Teler said. "No doubt Lord Irmo will explain it to you in time. Come. Let us go find some breakfast and then I will tell you your duties."

So the two left Finrod’s pavilion and walked to a larger grove where a dining pavilion was set up for the elves who either served in Lórien or were guests. Those who were considered patients usually ate their meals at their pavilions. Finrod did not see either Manwen or Laurendil there.

"Lord Irmo may have decided that Lord Laurendil will be a patient first before becoming an apprentice," Eärnur suggested as he led Finrod to a sideboard. "Your friend seems very... reluctant to be here," he added diffidently.

Finrod grinned. "That’s putting it mildly." He paused, his expression sobering. "I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do for him."

"Mainly just listen," Eärnur said. "That’s usually the most important thing you can do, listen without judgment. As an apprentice, you would normally follow one of us Journeymen around as we perform our duties, but you would not actually do anything but observe." They found a place to sit and began eating. "I do not know exactly what Lord Irmo has in mind for you."

"It all sounds so..."

"Confusing?" the Teler grinned sympathetically, then froze as a horrendous scream ripped the air.

Finrod was out of his seat before anyone else had time to react and was already running towards the grove where the screams originated before Eärnur and a few other Lóriennildi had gotten outside. Finrod saw Laurendil running towards him from the opposite direction, his face white. Finrod noticed dimly that the other Noldo was not wearing a tabard.

"Aranya!" Laurendil shouted. "What was that?"

"Trouble. Come," Finrod ordered and led the way to a grove not far from where they stood. There was only a single pavilion in the grove and when they reached it they found nothing but pandemonium. Two elves wearing the white-striped blue tabards of Journeymen were attempting to pull an ellon with silver-white hair — Sinda by the look of his braids, Finrod noticed — off of another elf with the golden locks of a Vanya who wore the white tabard of a Master. The Sinda was doing a good job of choking him to death, screaming in a language none understood — none, that is, but Finrod and Laurendil.

Finrod never hesitated. He launched himself at the Lóriennildi and tried to pull them off the Sinda, shouting at the same time to Laurendil. "Laurendil, find a knife!"

"At once, aranya," Laurendil said with a nod and ran from the pavilion.

By now, Eärnur and the others had entered the pavilion. Eärnur grabbed Finrod by the arm. "What are you about, Findaráto? Leave this for those who know what they’re doing."

"Do any of you know what he’s saying?" he shouted above the screams of the Sinda. "Do any of you know what terrors he sees? Well, I do. Laurendil does. In this, I’m the only one who knows what he’s doing." He pulled his arm out of Eärnur’s grip and grabbed one of the Journeymen and pulled him off the Sinda, taking his place, pushing the other ellon out of his way. He did not try to release the Sinda’s death grip on the Vanya. Instead, he started to croon in Sindarin.

"Sîdh, sîdh, mellon nîn. Pen hen, ú-goth ho."

The two elves that Finrod had pulled off the Sinda started to pull him away as well. Finrod shrugged them off. "Stay back!" he shouted, his expression imperious. "Do not interfere in this."

One of the Journeymen sneered. "Who are you to issue any orders to us?"

"The King of Nargothrond," answered Laurendil firmly as he entered the pavilion carrying a sharp knife. He fell to his knees at the struggling Vanya’s head and showed the knife to Finrod. "Here, aran meletyalda. It is the sharpest one I could find."

"It’ll do, thanks," Finrod said. "The right shoulder. Make this quick." Laurendil grabbed the Vanya’s clothes at the shoulder and slit them with the knife, exposing his skin. All this time Finrod had kept one arm around the Sinda, pulling him back enough so that his hold on the Vanya was loosened somewhat. The Vanya had managed to hold the Sinda’s hands so that the pressure on his throat was not as great as it might be, but he was still gasping for air and would be passing out soon enough. Finrod spoke to the Sinda again. "Tiro, mellon nîn! iHereg dîn caran, ú-vorn." Then he spoke to the Vanyarin elf. "Forgive us, but this needs to be done."

With those words he nodded to Laurendil who forced the Vanya’s right arm down far enough to make a quick cut on the elf’s shoulder starting from just above the breastbone and moving back towards the shoulder itself. It was shallow enough that it would not require stitches later, but it was no mere scratch. The Vanya made a strangled sound of pain and went white. Red blood flowed quickly out.

Eärnur yelled and tried to take the knife from Laurendil. "Are you insane? What are you doing?"

"Saving a life!" Laurendil yelled back, shrugging the Teler away. "Now leave off!"

Then Finrod pushed the Sinda’s head down so he could see the blood welling from the cut, all the while continuing his crooning.

"Tiro, tiro, maethor veren nîn. iHereg dîn caran... caran!... ú-vorn. Ho edhel... edhel!... ú-orch."

Almost at once the Sinda calmed and released his stranglehold on the Vanya, shuddering and staring at the blood in wonder. Finrod gently pulled the now quiescent elf back into his embrace and moved off the Vanya to sit on the floor of the pavilion, the Sinda sitting in front of him.

"There now," he continued to croon softly. "That’s better. You had a bit of a scare, didn’t you? But it’s over with and you’re safe. See. No orcs. Only friends."

The Sinda looked around dazedly, taking in the shocked and angry faces of the Vanyar and Noldor surrounding him and cowered into Finrod’s embrace.

"Hush now," Finrod said. "No one will harm you. I give you my word."

"Y-you cut me!" croaked the Vanya in disbelief, attempting to sit up. Laurendil helped him.

"Oh, don’t whine," the former ranger said in disgust. "It’s barely a flesh wound. Here, let me look at it." He proceeded to pull the tabard, tunic and shirt off the elf who hissed in pain and then took the knife and cut a strip from the now ruined shirt to tie up the wound until it could be properly treated. "Honestly, I received worse falling out of a tree."

Finrod looked at his friend in amusement as he continued to hold the now quiet Sinda, stroking his hair. "When did you ever fall out of a tree?"

"You don’t want to know," Laurendil quipped. "The Wood Elves still laugh about it."

Finrod laughed lightly at that and was pleased to see a small smile on Laurendil’s face. He turned his attention to the Sinda. "Man eneth gîn, mellon nîn, hmm?"

The Sinda turned to look at Finrod, his eyes still haunted by the nightmare that had gripped him. "Mi-mithlas, hîr nîn. Im estannen Mithlas ed Lindon."

"Mithlas of Lindon. I am Finrod. This is Glorendil. Do you remember where you are?"

"L-lórien, my lord," Mithlas stammered, his eyes widening at Finrod’s name. "In Aman."

"Very good. Would you like to get up now?" Mithlas nodded and Laurendil stood up and gave the Sinda a hand, while Finrod managed on his own. The Vanya was still lying on the ground, now tended by his anxious Journeymen. His expression was grim as he looked up at Finrod.

"You have much to answer for, whoever you are," he said, his voice harsh and raspy.

"Oh, indeed he does, but not to you, Meneldil," came a calm voice from the entrance to the pavilion. All turned to see Irmo standing there and bowed, giving the Vala room as he came to the center. Irmo wore a knee-length light blue watered silk tunic trimmed with embroidered flowers and vines with breeches and shirt of palest green underneath.

As the Vala made his way past the crowd of elves, many had to look away, for Irmo’s eyes were dark with an unreadable expression. Only Finrod and Laurendil did not flinch when Irmo’s glance fell on them. Meneldil was helped to his feet by the two Journeymen. Irmo took in the scene, pausing to smile gently at the now embarrassed Sinda who could only stare at the ground while Finrod continued to offer him the support of an arm around his shoulders.

"A rather unorthodox method, to say the least," commented the Vala as he looked at Finrod, humor now glinting in his eyes.

"Unorthodox by the standards of Aman, no doubt," conceded Finrod with a nod. "All too common in Endórë, I’m afraid. Sometimes the nightmares would become so horrific only the sight and smell of red blood would bring the person out of it, and for some reason only the blood of the person attacked would do. Otherwise I or Laurendil could have cut ourselves instead."

"Did you ever experience..." Eärnur started to ask but could not continue, his expression still one of horror and dismay at what he had witnessed.

"Once," Finrod said grimly, his eyes dark and cold with memory, and no one ventured to ask him for the details.

"Well, the crisis seems to be over for now," Irmo said, nodding in satisfaction. "Meneldil, go to the healers and see to your wound. You, my young friend," the Vala said, turning to Mithlas with a gentle smile, "should clean up this mess you’ve made."

Mithlas just nodded, his eyes still on the ground and Finrod gave him a squeeze of encouragement. Irmo turned to the others. "The rest of you are dismissed. Findaráto, please come with me."

Finrod hesitated. "Mithlas shouldn’t be alone..."

"I will stay with him, aranya," Laurendil said. "We can talk about Lindon. Manwen and I lived there for several decades before deciding to travel east. We might even know the same people."

"That would be fine, Laurendil," Irmo said, his expression thoughtful. "Just don’t forget that you too are a patient for the moment. You still have your own healing to accomplish, but perhaps it can begin here with Mithlas. Eärnur, why don’t you remain here as well?"

"Yes, lord," Eärnur said quietly, giving the Vala a respectful bow.

With that, Irmo turned to leave. Eärnur gave Finrod a strange look and the Noldorin prince just shrugged, a wry smile on his face, as he followed the Vala out.

****

Estenduri: (Quenya) Servants of Estë. They perform a role similar to that of the Lóriennildi, who are charged with the healing of fëar and helping the Reborn, but they tend to deal with the hurts of the hröar. The singular would be Estendur (male) and Estenduriën (female).

Sîdh, sîdh, mellon nîn. Pen hen, ú-goth ho: (Sindarin) "Peace, peace, my friend. This one, no enemy (is) he."

Tiro, tiro, maethor veren nîn. iHereg dîn caran... caran!... ú-vorn. Ho edhel... edhel!... ú-orch: (Sindarin) "Look, look, my bold warrior. His blood (is) red... red!... not black. He (is) an elf... an elf!... not an orc". [Since caran is used here as a predicate adjective, it does not suffer mutation.]

Man eneth gîn, mellon nîn?: (Sindarin) "What is your name, my friend?"

Mithlas, hîr nîn. Im estannen Mithlas ed Lindon: (Sindarin) "Mithlas, my lord. I am called Mithlas of Lindon".

53: Vand’ Antaina

Finrod followed Irmo out of the grove and across a sward towards Lórellin. They walked in silence for a while. Finrod wondered how much trouble he was in. Then Irmo finally spoke.

"You and Laurendil were very impressive, though it is not how I planned for you two to spend your morning."

Finrod grinned. "Me neither. I never got to finish my breakfast. I don’t think I leapt out of a chair so fast in my life."

"I’m afraid Meneldil did not appreciate your... er... methods."

Finrod snorted in disdain. "I’m sure he would have appreciated being strangled to death even less and I did apologize."

Irmo raised an eyebrow at that. "Well, he is a master healer and his pride has been damaged somewhat by what happened. The others were also upset, including Eärnur. They are not used to a mere apprentice ordering them about, especially one who is known to have been Exiled."

Now Finrod’s expression was one of complete disgust. "I am not here to pander to those who think they’re better than I because they never left Aman or died. Your Lóriennildi will just have to live with it... and me, as long as I’m stuck here."

Irmo stopped, his expression inscrutable. "Is that how you feel, my son? Stuck here? Is this truly a prison for you?"

Finrod frowned, his eyes staring down at the ground, trying to gather his thoughts. "I told Eärnur last night that I am a prince of Eldamar." He looked up, not really seeing anything. "I cannot waste my days holding other people’s hands when my atar has need of me. I’m flattered that you want me to be your apprentice. I even toyed with the idea of asking to become one early in my re-embodiment, did you know?" Irmo nodded with a warm smile. Finrod continued, "But hiding away in Lórien is not what I wish to do." Here, he looked directly at the Vala, his lips tightening, his eyes flashing. "And I don’t appreciate not being asked."

Irmo nodded. "As for that, I will not apologize. Some things are not in your purview to control just yet. The course of your life is one of those things for the moment."

"Lord Námo keeps insisting that we Reborn have the opportunity to live the life Eru meant for us to live, yet you blithely deny me that right."

"Do I?" Irmo asked in a mild tone. "Or perhaps I have a better idea what that life was meant to be and am simply guiding you on the right path."

"Guiding me?" Finrod laughed without any real mirth, beginning to feel anger. "More like pushing me... and Glorfindel... and possibly even Sador. Don’t think just because sometimes my actions are those of an elfling of forty that I’m blind or stupid not to notice how you Valar are manipulating us."

Irmo’s expression became sad. "I have never thought of you as either, my son. If it seems to you that we are being manipulative, that is only from your perspective. Plans have been put into motion that have been in the making since the Darkening of Valinor." Finrod paled slightly at that and Irmo nodded. "Even as you and Glorfindel and Turgon and all the others were trudging across the Helcaraxë, we have been working towards this day when you are standing here in Lórien berating me."

Finrod blushed at that, but his anger was still not assuaged. "So you knew I would die... or did you only hope?"

Now Irmo looked shocked. "Oh, Findaráto. Have you come through death and judgment and know so little of us? Our greatest wish was for you to turn back from the folly of your ventures. You little know the grief your leaving caused us, not the least because we knew we were partly at fault. Every step you took towards your destiny was as a death knell to us and we could do naught to prevent it."

He sighed and shook his head before continuing. "From the moment the Trees were destroyed we began making contingency plans, most of which have been abandoned over the centuries as choices were made or not made among the Elves." Here, Irmo gave Finrod a deprecating grin. "The problem, you see, is that we cannot predict with any real certainty which way you Children will jump. If you hadn’t tired of hunting with the sons of Fëanáro, who do you think would have met with Bëor’s people first?"

Finrod could only shake his head, for he could not conceive of anyone finding the Atani before him, yet he had a sick feeling that had it been another, events would have gone otherwise than how they did, to the sorrow of them all.

"You... you planned for me to..."

"Nay, child," Irmo protested. "But I think Eru did. I think Eru planted that restlessness in your heart that drove you into Exile, not because you particularly wished to defy our Authority, but because your destiny was larger than Aman could hold. The meeting of Finrod Felagund with Bëor of the Edain was as a pebble dropped into a still lake, its ripples echoing down the Ages until even we Valar do not know where it will lead."

Finrod was silent at that and when Irmo continued walking, he followed, deep in thought. Irmo remained silent also, allowing the ellon time to think things through for himself. They reached the lake and were strolling along the shore when Finrod spoke again, pointing to his tabard.

"Eärnur did not recognize this. I thought I was to be your apprentice."

"And you are," Irmo said, smiling gently. "But not mine alone."

Finrod stopped in surprise. "Who?"

"Mine, actually."

Finrod turned to see Námo striding towards them from further along the shore. The Lord of Mandos was dressed in an ankle-length black velvet tunic with wide sleeves. He wore a shirt of fine lawn with gathered sleeves underneath. The tunic was cinched at the waist by a silver-linked belt of marillar and isilsardi. On his carefully braided hair he wore a thin circlet of mithril with a single tumbled white topaz embedded in the center of it.

Then he noticed that Irmo’s clothes had changed. Gone was the light blue silk tunic. Instead, the Vala wore an ankle-length tunic of pure white velvet with wide sleeves. The shirt underneath was dyed black and the tunic was cinched at the waist with a belt made of black onyx linked with gold. His hair was elf-braided in a similar pattern to Námo’s and on his head was a thin circlet of gold with a single black opal embedded in its center.

Except for the color schemes, the two Valar were identically dressed.

"Yours?" Finrod asked.

Námo nodded with a smile. "My brother and I took note of your interest in becoming a Lóriennildo when you first came here after being Reborn. You were at a loss to know what was expected of you and you were uncertain of your reception among your people and your family. It was natural that you would want to find some other, alternate, occupation worthy of your skills and abilities."

Finrod gave the Valar a wry smile. "So does this mean that you don’t think I’m good enough to rule and must needs find other... employment?"

Irmo shook his head in amusement. "It means just the opposite. A ruler who has no compassion for the hurts of his people and kingdom is not worthy to rule. That you exhibited a wish to become my apprentice and serve your people in a different manner than by ruling them, thinking that you would not be welcomed at Tirion, is a testament to your right to rule... eventually."

Námo spoke then. "We are offering you the opportunity to fulfill that desire to serve in a manner other than as a king. That destiny is no longer yours unless and until Arafinwë steps down as Noldóran. But that will not happen, if it happens at all, for some time yet. In the meantime, we thought you might like to become our apprentice."

"So the significance of the stripes...?" Finrod looked down at the tabard he was wearing.

"They are known as the Fëanturnildi, those who serve both of us. They are few in number and most Elves are unaware of their existence."

"Why?"

Námo gave Finrod a shrug and a diffident smile. "We thought it would be easier that way."

The elf gave the two Valar a shrewd look. "One of your contingency plans, my lord?" he asked Irmo.

The Vala nodded. "One that has existed unchanged in all this time. Come, let us walk."

Together, elf and Valar continued along the shores of Lórellin with Finrod walking between the Fëanturi. Had any elf looked their way they would have seen naught but a fine mist blanketing the shore. Had any Maia done so, they would have seen only the two Valar walking together, speaking to one another. Finrod’s presence would have been hidden from them.

Irmo was speaking. "The Estenduri were the first. They have existed as an order, if you will, since the Eldar first came to Aman. The Great Journey was long and in some cases harrowing. There was a need almost from the beginning for your people to learn the rudiments of healcraft. The Lóriennildi came from among the Estenduri. They are healers of fëar and their skills of mind are great indeed as the Eldar would measure such. Over time, some of the duties of each have changed, especially once elves began to be re-embodied."

Námo picked up the tale. "The Fëanturnildi come from neither order, yet they have the skills and duties of both. My brother and I created the order during the time of the Darkening. The Lóriennildi and the Estenduri are charged with the healing of the fëar and hröar of the Eldar. The Fëanturnildi are charged with nothing less than the healing of Aman itself."

"What?" Finrod stopped in shock and surprise.

Both Valar nodded, looking grave. "The peoples of Aman suffered terribly from Melkor’s depredations... and the Rebellion of the Noldor against our Authority."

Finrod went white at that and gazed at nothing in particular. Námo laid a comforting hand on the elf’s shoulder and Finrod turned to him. The Vala’s expression was still grave, but Finrod also saw compassion there. "What is past is past, my son. We have forgiven you, all of you, though some have not yet forgiven themselves or are unwilling to accept our forgiveness, claiming that it is feigned or no more than condescending arrogance on our part."

"My sister..."

Námo nodded. "Artanis was always a willful child. Yet, we do not blame her or think the less of her. She has a vital role to play in Endórë, though it is one that even we but dimly see. Have faith that when the time is right for her, your sister will return."

"The Fëanturnildi, then..."

"They are pledged to see that Aman itself is healed of the wounds left by the rape of the Trees and all that followed from that," Námo said. "They are few in number and their existence is secret, for they work behind the scenes, as it were."

"How then should I explain this tabard to any who ask?" Finrod enquired. "Eärnur was puzzled by it, never having seen its like before."

"You will say that its significance is unknown to you," Irmo said. "Nor would you be lying, for you see only the colors most associated with us, but you do not understand the full significance of those colors or why we two chose them for ourselves."

"Does my atar know why you summoned me here, my lord?" Finrod asked Irmo and the Vala nodded.

"I approached him and told him what I wished for you and he agreed that you should be given the chance to accept our offer."

"Offer," Finrod echoed. "Yet, I have heard no offers, my lords, only commands. You tell me to come... and I do. You tell me to stay... and I do. You tell me take up this tabard... and I do. I have been obedient to your commands, my lords. Tell me where in all this has there been any offer?"

It was Námo who answered him. "Child, do you not yet realize that in your obedience you have been given the offer? At any stage you could have refused our commands, yet you did not."

"Had you refused at any point," Irmo said, "the offer would have been rescinded. Indeed, you would never have known that an offer had even been presented to you."

"We do not demand that you give us your answer now, Findaráto," Námo said. "Only that you take the time to think about it. Do not concern yourself unduly over your status here. You are an apprentice with duties to both of us. Most of your training will be the same as any of the Lóriennildi or Estenduri."

"There is always a trial period for any apprentice," Irmo then said. "You will remain here for that time. If, at the end of the trial period, you decide you do not wish to continue your studies, you will be free to leave. All that we would pledge from you would be your silence on the matter of the Fëanturnildi. Their greatest strength lies in their being unknown."

Námo looked at the elf, his expression kind. "Will you agree to this, child? Will you at least think about it?"

For a long moment Finrod did not answer or even look at the two Valar. His gaze swept the lake and the island in its midst belonging to the Lady Estë. When he had listened to Lord Námo describe the Fëanturnildi and the task given to them to heal the wounds of Aman itself, a thrill of something akin to joy had gone through him. Here, indeed, would be a worthy calling. He had accepted that he would no longer be a king and thought himself content to sit at his atar’s feet, but he had also feared that in time he would come to resent the loss. Now, however....

He looked at the two Valar standing there, waiting patiently, yet anxiously, for his answer. Then he was on his knees, his hands lifted up in the attitude of a vassal before his liege lord. "I do not need to think about it, my lords." he said, then he intoned the ancient words that would seal his fate and bind him for all the Ages of Arda to the Fëanturi who stood before him, their hands covering his, their expressions ones of solemn joy.

"Here do I give unto thee my oath, that I shall be obedient in all things, in hröa and fëa, to thy will, to come when thou sayest ‘come’, to go when thou sayest ‘go’, that I may be found acceptable in the eyes of Eru Ilúvatar as thy apprentice." Then he paused and his eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth. "Nai tiruvantes i hárar mahalmassen mi Númen ar i Eru i or ilyë mahalmar eä tennoio."

Both Valar laughed at that. Námo raised Finrod to his feet, and gave him a kiss on the brow. "And we will, my dear Findaráto, never fear. We will."

Irmo then took the elf in his embrace. "Á vala Manwë," he whispered, then kissed him on the brow as well before releasing him.

"Now what?" the elf asked, feeling suddenly shy.

"Now comes the hard part," Námo said.

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that and both Valar nodded, identical grins on their faces.

"And that will be what exactly?" he asked suspiciously.

"Remembering to call us ‘Master’... and meaning it." Námo replied, then the Fëanturi started laughing and Finrod found himself joining them as they stood there by the shore of Lórellin.

****

*Will you two go somewhere else and laugh,* Estë’s thoughts rang in the Valar’s minds, sounding highly annoyed. *Some of us ARE trying to sleep, you know!*

Finrod never understood why his Masters suddenly fell to the ground howling with glee.

****

Vand’ Antaina: An Oath Given. Vanda is elided.

Marillar: Plural of marilla: pearl. A symbol of purity and innocence.

Isilsardi: Plural of isilsar: moonstone. A symbol of truth in self-reflection and showing what ‘is’. [isil ‘moon’ + sar ‘stone’].

White Topaz: A symbol of truth and forgiveness.

Black onyx: Used to help people to let go of the past or past attachments. A grounding stone, it is valuable during the confusing or difficult times in a person’s life and is useful for deflecting or absorbing negative forces and influences. A symbol of self-control and resilience.

Black opal: A symbol of faithfulness and confidence.

Noldóran: King of the Noldor [noldo + aran].

Fëanturnildi: Friends of the Fëanturi, i.e. Námo and Irmo. The singular would be Fëanturnildo (male) and Fëanturnildë (female).

Nai tiruvantes i hárar mahalmassen mi Númen ar i Eru i or ilyë mahalmar eä tennoio: "May they keep it, the ones who are sitting on the thrones of the West, and the One who is above all thrones forever." This, of course, is lifted directly from Cirion’s Oath (Unfinished Tales, p. 305).

Á vala Manwë: "May Manwë order it". This is an attested phrase and translation found in The War of the Jewels, p. 404.

54: Language Lessons

Later that afternoon, Finrod met with Laurendil and Eärnur in Laurendil’s pavilion.

"Manwen’s happily engaged in her studies," Laurendil said somewhat acerbically, "so we have the place to ourselves for a few hours."

"How’s Mithlas?" Finrod asked, ignoring Laurendil’s tone.

"Embarrassed, but otherwise well," Laurendil replied with something of his old humor. "Like old times, neh, aranya?"

Finrod laughed as he settled into a chair. "One aspect of living in the shadow of Angband I do not miss."

"Neither of you had any doubt as to what was happening or what to do about it," Eärnur observed diffidently.

Finrod shrugged. "Had you understood what he was screaming..."

"Which was what exactly?" the Telerin elf asked.

"Nothing complimentary, I can assure you," Finrod laughed without much humor, then he shook his head. "I cannot believe that after all this time there are not at least some of the Lóriennildi conversant with Sindarin. How do you communicate with those not of Aman?"

Laurendil grimaced. "We’re all expected to learn Quenya, aranya. At least I had the advantage of already knowing it. I ended up teaching Manwen and several others while we were on the ship to Tol Eressëa."

Finrod shook his head in disgust. "I understand the need for the Sindar and Nandor to learn Quenya if they can, but I cannot believe Lord Irmo to be so insensitive as to not have some of his people learn Sindarin."

Eärnur looked uncomfortable. "The Reborn always seem to know something of Quenya when they come here."

"I think it is a gift given to them by Lord Námo," Finrod said with a shrug, for he really did not know. "The Sindar Reborn I met here understood Quenya well enough, though they were not fluent in speaking it and could not read it. In Mandos, of course, our fëar spoke mind to mind, yet I know that I always ‘thought’ in Sindarin when addressing a Sinda, but I ‘thought’ in Quenya when, say, speaking to a Maia attendant or to Lord Námo."

"What of those, like poor Mithlas, who come to Lórien from Endórë?" Laurendil asked Eärnur. "How do any of you communicate with them?"

Eärnur frowned. "Usually we’ve been able to find one of the... the Etyangoldi to translate for us."

Both Finrod and Laurendil raised an eyebrow at that. "Is that what you call us?" Finrod asked softly.

Eärnur blushed. "Sorry, it’s rude, I know."

"But true," Laurendil grinned sourly. "And we did it so well, too."

Finrod laughed at Laurendil’s dry tone and it was not long before the other two joined him.

"So why haven’t you learned to speak Sindarin, Eärnur?" Finrod asked once they had calmed down. "I would think that you would want to be able to speak with your Sindarin kin."

"I guess I never thought about it," Eärnur answered with an embarrassed sigh. "My other studies and duties take up much of my time. I guess I just didn’t feel the need to burden myself with even more studies. Besides, if the Sindar all learn Quenya eventually, what’s the point?"

Finrod shook his head. "I doubt that will be the case, and even less so among the Nandor. Many of them do not even speak Sindarin and that was the common tongue of all the peoples of Beleriand. There will always be a need for some to be able to speak a language other than Quenya, nor should it be otherwise."

"The Sindar have a beautiful language," Laurendil added. "It’s very subtle in nuance, and full of grey tones, one might say, which is not surprising since the language developed under the dark of the stars away from the Light of the Trees."

"Many of us when we came to Beleriand," Finrod said sadly, "looked down upon the Sindar as less than we for having abandoned the Journey, for never having seen the Light of the Trees. We little appreciated the complex culture that had developed or the fact that they were ruled by one who had espoused a Maia. We considered them uncouth and barbaric." Here, he flashed a grin and ran his fingers through his front braids. "Naturally, some of us took to their ways like ducks to water."

Laurendil grinned. "Some more than others."

"Well, I think that your education has been sadly neglected, Eärnur," Finrod said. "Why don’t Laurendil and I give you your first lesson in Sindarin?"

"We’re supposed to be speaking about Laurendil’s fears," Eärnur reminded them.

"But this will be more fun," Laurendil said. "Come. Here is your first lesson." He then pointed to himself. "Im... im." Then he pointed to Eärnur. "Ci... ci." Then he pointed to Finrod. "Ho... ho." He then repeated the sequence, indicating that Eärnur should echo him.

When he was satisfied that Eärnur had gotten that down he began speaking simple sentences, pointing to each of them in turn. "Im magor...ci nestor... ho aran."

"He is a king," Eärnur repeated in Quenya. "That word is the same in both languages?" he asked and the other two ellyn nodded. "But I don’t understand the other two words."

"Can you not guess?" Finrod asked. "What word are you reminded of in Quenya when you hear ‘magor’?"

Eärnur thought for a moment. "It sort of sounds like ‘macar’," he said hesitantly.

Both Laurendil and Finrod grinned. "Correct!" Laurendil exclaimed.

"But ‘nestor’ does not sound like any word in Quenya," the Teler protested.

Finrod nodded. "Yes, well not all words correspond. In Quenya the closest to ‘nestor’ would probably be ‘envinyatar’, though the meanings are not quite the same."

"Nestor...envinyatar. Im nestor," Eärnur said slowly, testing the sound and feel of the strange words.

"Very good. See, it’s not so hard," Finrod said with a grin.

"Yet," Laurendil added with a laugh. "Now let’s try a longer sentence. Im estannen Glorendil ah im magor...."

****

It was nearing the time for the evening meal when Manwen made her way back to her pavilion, pleased with her first day as an apprentice. She wondered how Laurendil had fared, knowing how reluctant he had been to be there. She hoped his first session with Eärnur and Finrod had not been too stressful or embarrassing. So she was quite surprised to hear laughter ringing from the pavilion as she came into the grove.

When she entered it was to find Finrod sprawled over a chair, his head thrown back in laughter, while her husband was on their bed curled up around a pillow either in extreme pain or trying desperately not to laugh. Eärnur, she saw, was sitting on the floor looking between them with a bemused expression on his face.

"What did I say? What did I say?" he kept demanding, but neither Finrod nor Laurendil were in a position to answer him.

Manwen smiled. "Anyone want to share the joke?"

Laurendil leapt off the bed and ran to his wife, hugging her and laughing all the while. "We’ve been teaching Eärnur Sindarin. He just said something very naughty."

"What? What did I say?" the poor Teler jumped up from the floor, nearly screaming, but Laurendil would not answer.

Manwen took pity on him and asked, "What did you say?"

For a moment Eärnur hesitated, knowing that whatever he had said was obviously not what he had meant to say. Laurendil gave him a wicked grin. "Go ahead, Eärnur, tell Manwen what you said."

"I... I said ‘Gerin seron-en-orch... or... er... gaim nîn’," the Telerin elf said softly, now deeply embarrassed but not knowing why.

Manwen looked at the elf in disbelief then turned to Laurendil. "Did you teach him that?"

Laurendil raised his hands in protest. "I swear, my love, we did not. He just sort of... stumbled upon it all by himself."

Manwen looked back at the now totally confused Teler and her eyes widened and then she was laughing so hard she collapsed to the ground. "Oh, Valar! Oh, Valar! Th-that’s... to-too... funny!"

"WILL SOMEBODY TELL ME WHAT I SAID?" Eärnur screamed, stamping his foot in frustration.

"Oh no, meldonya," Finrod got out between bouts of laughter. "You’re much too young. You’ll have to wait until you’re older before we tell you."

That set Laurendil and Manwen laughing even harder, Laurendil now joining Manwen on the floor, their arms wrapped around each other in mutual support.

"What do you mean, I’m too young?" Eärnur shouted. "I’m an adult, same as you."

"Eärnur, Eärnur," Finrod said, rising from his chair and taking the frustrated elf into his embrace. "You’ve not reached your second yén yet. Believe me, you’re much too young."

"But what did I say?" Now he was almost in tears.

"Hush, meldonya," Finrod said, rubbing the younger ellon’s back to calm him. "What you should have said was ‘Gerin sereg-en-orch or chaim nîn’. That’s all you have to know."

"You’re not going to tell me, are you?" Eärnur sighed.

"No, and don’t even think of seeking out any Sindar to translate it for you," Finrod admonished him. "Others will not find it quite so amusing as we, believe me."

By now Manwen and Laurendil had gotten themselves under control and had risen, their faces wreathed with identical wide grins.

"Finrod’s right, Eärnur," Laurendil said with a nod. "You will learn soon enough the meaning of what you said, but for now, allow us to enjoy the joke at your expense. Believe me, I remember some of my own gaffes when first learning Sindarin and they were almost as funny as yours."

Finrod stepped back from his embrace of the Telerin healer, his expression merry. "I remember Celeborn and Thingol falling out of their chairs one time during a feast when I said something I shouldn’t have. Lúthien started choking on some meat and Melian was pounding her on the back and laughing at the same time." He started chuckling at the memory. "I kept hoping the ground would conveniently open up and swallow me, I was so embarrassed."

"What did you say?" Eärnur asked, intrigued.

Finrod shook his head. "Never you mind, youngling. Now come, I don’t know about anyone else but all that laughter’s given me an appetite."

As if on cue, bells began ringing softly in the early evening air announcing the dinner hour. Manwen begged for a few minutes to freshen up first and they all agreed to meet at the dining pavilion, though Laurendil wondered if he would be welcomed there.

"Seeing as how I’m not yet an apprentice," he opined, but Eärnur shook his head.

"Most patients, we find, prefer to eat in private while they are recovering from whatever trauma brought them here, but there is no prohibition against them joining the rest of us in the dining pavilion."

So it was settled and shortly thereafter Finrod and Eärnur left to go to their own pavilions to freshen up before joining Laurendil and Manwen for dinner.

****

Etyangoldi: (Quenya) Plural of Etyangol: Exiled one; a name given to the Noldor who fled to Beleriand, and now considered somewhat insulting.

Im...ci...ho: (Sindarin) I... you (familiar)... he.

Im magor... ci nestor... ho aran: (Sindarin) "I am a swordsman... you are a healer... he is a king." Nestor is from the verb nesta- "to heal" with agental suffix.

Macar: (Quenya) Swordsman/warrior.

Envinyatar: (Quenya) Literally means ‘renewer’, and by extension ‘healer’ because a healer renews the hröa and/or the fëa to its original state of health.

Im estannen Glorendil ah im magor: (Sindarin) "I am called Laurendil and I am a swordsman."

Yén: (Quenya) An elvish century, equivalent to 144 solar years. Eärnur is quite young by Elvish standards, only 200 years old. Finrod and Laurendil were born well before the Darkening of Valinor and Manwen was born twenty solar years before Isil first arose.

Gerin seron-en-orch or gaim nîn: (Sindarin) "I have an orc lover on my hands". Seron-en-orch is considered one of the worse insults in Sindarin, equivalent to "mother-you-know-what", but with a more literal meaning. However, in the context of the sentence, and given who is saying it in all innocence, Finrod, Laurendil and Manwen find it hysterically funny rather than insulting. Eärnur further compounds the hilarity for the others by using the wrong mutation for caim.

Gerin sereg-en-orch or chaim nîn: (Sindarin) "I have orc blood on my hands".

55: Vanda Mapaina

Laurendil and Finrod insisted on continuing Eärnur’s Sindarin lesson while they were eating, sticking to such safe subjects as pointing to objects on the table and giving their names in Sindarin or teaching him the verbs that are associated with eating.

Others at the table looked at them with expressions ranging from vaguely interested to studiously dismissive. Finrod and the others ignored them, the Noldorin ellyn and Sindarin elleth laughing at Eärnur’s pronunciation and encouraging him to try again.

It was while they were doing this that Meneldil approached them, his expression grim and humorless. Eärnur and the other apprentices and journeymen at the table rose and gave the master healer their bows. Finrod, Laurendil and Manwen remained seated.

Meneldil glowered at the three of them. "You should rise when one of the masters approaches, or don’t you know this?"

"Forgive us, Master Meneldil," Finrod said quietly, rising, as did Laurendil and Manwen. "We were unaware of the protocol. We’ve only been here a few days, after all, and not all has been explained to us."

"Yes, one day as an apprentice and you two," here Meneldil raked his gaze over both Finrod and Laurendil, "have caused quite a stir." He turned his attention to Eärnur. "I would like your report on your first session with our newest Etyangol in the morning, Journeyman." Laurendil went white at the master’s words but otherwise made no other move. "I trust this one," Meneldil continued, nodding at Finrod who merely raised an eyebrow, "acted appropriately during the session."

"Indeed, Master," Eärnur said levelly, though emphasizing both Finrod and Laurendil’s ranks as he spoke. "Prince Findaráto has done nothing inappropriate in all the time that I’ve known him. And I can give you my report on my first session with Lord Laurendil here and now... we had no session."

Meneldil looked taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"Just that, Master," Eärnur replied, keeping his tone neutrally respectful. "When I arrived at Lord Laurendil’s pavilion with Prince Findaráto, his Highness and Lord Laurendil decided I was in sore need of a lesson in Sindarin. They spent the afternoon teaching me insults in that language and I spent the afternoon happily learning them."

"Hah!" Laurendil said with a grin and Finrod sniggered.

"You were ordered to begin counseling this Etyangol," Meneldil practically growled. "Patients are not permitted to take control of their sessions. You know this. I find it very disturbing that you failed so miserably in your duties, Journeyman Eärnur. I will have no choice but to leave a note of reprimand with your tutor."

Eärnur turned white at that. Now Finrod frowned and Laurendil’s face became suffused with anger. Before either could respond, Meneldil turned on them, his features imperious.

"As for you Apprentice Findaráto, you will report to me in the morning. I fear your actions need correction. And you, Laurendil, you are slated to become an apprentice yourself, but until then you are merely a patient. I think it best you return to your pavilion. If you wish for sustenance, someone will bring you a tray."

This last was too much for either Laurendil or Finrod. Finrod started to fume. Laurendil merely laughed.

"Master Meneldil, there are only two people in Lórien who can order me from this pavilion, and neither one of them is you."

Finrod turned to his friend with a wicked smile. "Two people? I would have thought there were three."

"Oh?" was Laurendil’s only response.

Finrod nodded, quite ignoring Meneldil and everyone else in his teasing of his former ranger captain. "Well, it goes without saying that Lord Irmo is one. I, of course, am the second..."

"You!?" Meneldil interrupted in surprise. "Why you?"

"Because he is my king, and he has my life," Laurendil said flatly, and there was no levity in his posture.

"What does that mean, he has your life? What nonsense is that?" Meneldil asked in disdain.

Without a word and more quickly than any would expect, Laurendil reached for a sharp knife lying on the table and tossed it to Finrod, who deftly caught it, then calmly placed the knife at Laurendil’s throat. Everyone there gasped and Manwen went white, sinking to her seat in shock. The expression on Finrod’s face was terrible to behold and he seemed to the onlookers to have grown in stature and a fell light glowed about him. Laurendil stared calmly at Meneldil, never flinching.

"It means," he said softly, "that he has my life and may do with it as he pleases, up to and including sending me to Mandos."

"Which I wouldn’t do," Finrod said calmly as he took the knife away from Laurendil’s throat and placed it on the table, "if only because Lord Námo wouldn’t appreciate the joke when you showed up on his front doorstep."

*Don’t be so sure of that, you insolent pup,* came the surprising words to Finrod’s mind, sounding highly amused. The shocked looks of the others told him that they had heard Námo’s words as well. Finrod smiled and stuck his tongue out at no one in particular. Then all in the pavilion heard the Lord of Mandos laughing, though he did not appear. Not a few shivered and looked upon Finrod with awe, or perhaps fear.

"Friend of yours?" Laurendil asked dryly.

Finrod laughed. "You might say that."

"So who’s the third?" Eärnur suddenly asked.

"Hmm?" Finrod turned his attention to the Telerin elf and remembered what he had been saying before. "Ah, yes. Well that should be obvious." He looked pointedly at Manwen, still seated and still looking white.

"Are you well, child?" he asked her, aware that she must have been shocked by the tableau she had just witnessed. Manwen looked up at Finrod and her expression was unreadable. Then she slowly sank to her knees, her body quaking, and took one of Finrod’s hands.

"A-aran meletyalda... qui haryalyë i-cuilë vennonya, haryalyë yando cuilenya."

Laurendil started at that but a glance from Finrod stilled him. Finrod gently raised the still quaking elleth and gazed sadly into her eyes. "Child," he whispered, "you do not know what you are saying."

"Yet she says it, nonetheless, King of Nargothrond that was."

All turned at the sound of Lord Irmo’s voice. His appearance was not surprising. What was surprising was the fact that he was accompanied by Lord Námo. Even more surprising was that Lady Estë was there as well... and Lady Nienna.

Finrod looked at the Valar calmly. "I am king no longer, and do not have the authority. I will not accept her oath."

"Yet, you do not release Laurendil from his," Námo commented.

"Nor would I allow him to, my lord," Laurendil replied firmly. "And Manwen has the right to choose as she will to whom she gives her oath. I will not stay her, little though I might like it."

The Valar looked at Laurendil with something like amazement, though it was difficult for the elves to truly read their expressions. Finally, Nienna stepped forward and gestured to Manwen, who came to her, her expression one of confusion. Nienna smiled at the elleth and gently brushed a hand through her dark silver locks.

"Child, do you understand what your words bind you to? Findaráto is no longer a king, as he rightly reminds us, but he still retains the authority of one. That authority was never rescinded, neither by us nor by Eru. The oath you would swear is a dangerous one. Be very sure that you understand its implications fully." Then Nienna bent down and gave the elleth a kiss on the forehead.

"Come here, Manwen," Námo then said and Manwen found herself gazing into the eyes of the Lord of Mandos, falling into their amaranthine depths, and she felt no fear, only awe. "You have stared into the eyes of death often enough, my child, to understand this: death is not to be feared, but neither is it to be sought after. Your love for your husband and your love for Findaráto drive you to this, but love may not be enough. Be certain to the depths of your fëa that this is the way you would go." Then he bent down and kissed her on the brow. Manwen half-expected either Lord Irmo or Lady Estë to summon her before them, but they did not and she felt a twinge of disappointment.

"Manwen, come here."

She turned to see Finrod standing there, looking grim. Laurendil stood by his side and she was surprised to see him holding a knife, the same knife that Finrod had held against her husband’s throat. Finrod took her face in his hands and leaned down so that their foreheads touched. She gasped as she felt his mind caress hers and she tried to break away, but could not.

*Na quildë, yeldenya. Áva rucë! Open your mind to mine.*

Manwen did as she was bid and the intimacy of Finrod’s mental touch was beyond anything she had ever felt before, even with her husband. It was as if she stood naked before him, yet there was no sense of shame or embarrassment. She stood rapt in an emotion that was akin to joy yet held a trace of fear, for she suddenly knew herself to be vulnerable. He could do anything to her and she would allow it, indeed, welcome it, and that thought nearly drove her to deny what was happening, to flee from his mental and physical touch.

*Shh. Ávo rucë, yeldenya. Your integrity is safe with me. I will ask nothing of you that you would not willingly give in full knowledge of that giving. Your life I accept into my keeping.*

Then she felt him opening himself to her in such a way that defied description and suddenly she realized the full implication of the oath she had so naively given. Her life was indeed his, but by that same token, his life was now hers and the awesome responsibility that entailed was nearly more than she could accept, and yet she did, with fear and trembling, but with joy as well.

Then, slowly the contact between their minds diminished and she found herself alone within herself and was glad. She felt dazed and somewhat disoriented and was only dimly aware of her husband handing Finrod the knife. She was only dimly aware of Finrod taking her hand and slicing the palm, then doing the same to his own hand. She was only dimly aware of him placing her bleeding hand in his and then Laurendil was whispering words to her that she knew she must say aloud.

"By our blood mingled, our minds now one, I give thee my oath, aranya, that thou mayest have my life into thy keeping, tenn’ Ambar-metta. Valar valuvar."

Then Finrod was speaking and his voice was as ice and she shivered involuntarily.

"By our blood mingled, our minds now one, I accept your oath, Manwen vessë Laurendilo, and take your life into my keeping, tenn’ Ambar-metta. Valar valuvar."

Then for the first time Finrod smiled and the joy of it broke through her shock and she began to weep, falling into his embrace. "Oh, Valar, forgive me. What have I done?"

She felt, rather than saw, someone approach and then she was gathered into another’s embrace. Still weeping, she looked up into the calm eyes of Lady Nienna. "Hush now, child. What’s done is done. Do not weep. It will be well."

Then Laurendil was lifting her into his arms and she heard Finrod say compassionately, "Be gentle with her, Laurendil. She is precious to me, as are you, my son." There was a timbre to the Elf-lord’s voice that held the echo of Another and the other elves there felt a tremor run through their fëar, though they little understood its source.

Laurendil did not reply but took his wife from the pavilion and none stayed him. Then in the ensuing silence Lord Irmo spoke.

"Meneldil, Laurendil and Manwen are under my protection, and Findaráto I claim for myself. Eärnur, come to me in the morning. I think your duties will be changing. I rather like the idea of you learning Sindarin, if you have no objections."

Eärnur shook his head. "Nay, lord, I do not. Thank you."

"Good. Good. Now we will leave you, my children. Remember what you have witnessed here, all of you."

"But, what is it we have witnessed, lord?" Meneldil asked, sounding angry and confused at one and the same time.

But it was Lord Námo who answered, his expression grave beyond enduring and many had to look elsewhere. "You have witnessed the giving and taking of an oath between vassal and lord, one that should never be entered lightly by either party, for it will remain binding until Arda is Remade. Not even death can sever it or make it void."

Then he turned to Finrod who stood there looking sad and doubtful and his expression softened. "Do not fret, my son. It was well done."

"She understands not what she has done and when she does..."

"When she does, she will have Laurendil beside her to help her through it." Irmo said.

Finrod looked at the Lord of Lórien and there was a slight quirk in his smile. "I fear I have deprived you of a valuable apprentice, my lord, for which I humbly apologize."

"Oh, Manwen isn’t going anywhere," Irmo said blithely. "She is still mine and will continue to be so, just as Laurendil is mine, though he is also yours, and just as you are mine, if memory serves." He gave Finrod a wry smile.

The former King of Nargothrond smiled back, looking less grim. "Valar valuvar."

"Oh, of that, you may have no doubt, my son." Irmo said with a light laugh.

Estë, who had remained silent throughout, then came to Finrod and gave him a kiss on the brow, whispering something in his ear that only he heard. The onlookers saw Finrod’s eyes widen at whatever the Valië said to him and he nodded to her. Then all four Valar were gone, leaving the elves alone.

Without a backward glance, Finrod left the pavilion and none followed. Where he spent the night, no one knew, save for the Valar, two Maiar, who watched over him by Námo’s command, and one delighted oak tree deep in the heart of Estë’s island.

****

Vanda Mapaina: An Oath Taken.

Aran meletyalda, qui haryalyë i-cuilë vennonya, haryalyë yando cuilenya: "Your Majesty, if you have my husband’s life, you have also my life."

Na quilde, yeldenya. Áva rucë!: "Be still, my daughter. Do not fear!"

Tenn’ Ambar-metta. Valar valuvar: "Until World’s end. The will of the Valar will be done."

Manwen vessë Laurendilo: Manwen wife of Laurendil.

56: Repercussions

Laurendil and Manwen were not seen by any for nearly three days. Eärnur came from his meeting with Lord Irmo the next morning looking both bemused and happy. Finrod, when he finally appeared, was solemn and few had the courage to approach him. Yet, he was courtesy itself if any had the occasion to speak to him. The elves who had been witnesses to the oath-taking looked upon the former King of Nargothrond with awe, especially those who remembered the confused ellon who had come to them from Mandos hiding in trees and generally acting the elfling.

Now they saw him in a different light and not a few felt their jaws drop when they happened to see him conversing with one of the Maiar, who then gave Finrod a most deferential bow before departing. Those who witnessed this noticed that Finrod showed neither embarrassment nor discomfort at the Maia’s show of deep respect.

Eärnur was reluctant to seek out Finrod but he had been given his instructions and so, two days after the oath-taking he came to Finrod’s pavilion shortly after the morning meal. Finrod met him with a smile, his manner easy and unaffected.

"How are you, mellon nîn?" Finrod asked in Sindarin.

"I am well, a-aran nîn," Eärnur answered somewhat hesitantly in the same language, stumbling over the title, not sure how to address this elf who had become a stranger to him overnight.

Finrod frowned slightly and shook his head. "Now, Eärnur, you need not use that form of address with me. I am not your king. Olwë is and you owe your allegiance to him alone. I am, I hope, your friend, and as a friend, you should call me Finrod."

At the hesitation and embarrassment he saw in Eärnur’s eyes, he smiled wryly. "I can always make that an order," he said, amusement deep in his eyes.

Eärnur started at the words but then he recognized the humor of Finrod’s statement and started laughing.

"That’s better," Finrod said with a nod. "I take it you’re here for another Sindarin lesson?"

Eärnur nodded. "Lord Irmo says I am to report to either you or Laurendil each morning after breakfast for one hour of lessons."

Finrod nodded, taking a chair and indicating that Eärnur should take another. "Well, then, let us begin...."

****

When Laurendil and Manwen finally emerged from their pavilion they both were diffident in Finrod’s presence. Manwen especially felt shy before him, not sure how she was to act or speak.

Finrod put them at ease with his warm smile and gentle laughter and Manwen was surprised that nothing had actually changed between them, or so it seemed. He was still respectful of her and teasing of Laurendil. Yet, there was something there, something indefinable between them that had not existed before and she was unsure how to respond to it.

She also found that nothing had changed in her status as an apprentice. True, some of the other apprentices and journeymen, not to mention one or two of the masters, looked upon her with some disquiet, though no one was actually rude to her. However, she was not unduly upset by it, not having been there long enough to form any attachments with the other Lóriennildi. Still, she was embarrassed by the stares.

One thing that did change was that Laurendil willingly donned the tabard that they found hanging next to hers on the third morning after the oath-taking. Manwen found that she enjoyed having her husband by her side as they attended lectures and tutorials together. She was even more pleased when Finrod joined them for some of the classes.

Laurendil, for his part, found that being an apprentice was not as onerous as he had thought, or hoped. As the days went by and he became more and more involved with the rhythm of life that was typical of an apprentice Lóriennildo, he found some part of him settling in, becoming more comfortable, and he realized that there had always been a part of his fëa that had never been at ease, never at rest. Now it was and he felt happier and more content than he had ever felt before. He found that he even enjoyed helping those who came to Lórien for healing or the Reborn attempting to reclaim their lives and felt deep satisfaction when one of his charges (he refused to use the term ‘patient’ as many Lóriennildi did) thanked him, even though he had done little more than hold their hands as they poured out their grief or anger or confusion.

Finrod, everyone noticed, seemed to have grown in stature after that night. There was a deeper level of maturity that stunned them and he moved among them with a grace that was astonishing to behold. As he began to interact more with the Reborn or others come to Lórien for healing the Amaneldi witnessed the most amazing scenes. Elves who had been nearly catatonic with the terrors and griefs they had experienced in Middle-earth upon their arrival in Aman became responsive with but a single touch or a soft word from Finrod, often rising from their beds to fall to their knees in near adoration of one who for many was but a figure out of legend.

Among the Reborn he showed great patience and humor and could often be found singing softly an ancient lullaby accompanied by the harp whenever one of them proved especially restless and uncooperative. Any who heard his voice and the playing of the harp felt great peace and even the Lóriennildi felt refreshed by the song.

It was nearly a week and a half after the oath-taking when Manwen experienced an emotional crisis. She and Laurendil were attending a lecture with other apprentices given by Master Meneldil. While neither of them cared for the master healer, they had to admit that he was very knowledgeable of his craft and they learned much from him. Finrod was also attending the lecture, sitting towards the back, having arrived late.

As they were sitting there in one of the groves reserved for such things, one of the other apprentices was answering a question put to her by the master when something in Manwen snapped and she found herself weeping uncontrollably. Everyone stopped to stare and Meneldil looked particularly put out by the elleth’s hysterics. Laurendil wrapped his arms around his wife in an attempt to comfort her but she would not cease weeping.

"Laurendil," Meneldil exclaimed in anger, "if you cannot control your wife..."

"Enough, Meneldil."

Everyone turned in surprise at the ring of authority that came from Finrod who now was striding towards Laurendil and Manwen. Meneldil turned white with shock. Laurendil looked up at Finrod.

"Aranya, I can’t get her to stop," he said, nearly weeping himself, fear and concern for Manwen filling him.

"Hush, meldonya," Finrod said kindly. "All will be well. Let me have her. Here, my daughter, why these tears? Hush now, ammeldanya, be at peace."

He helped her to rise and took her into his arms, gently rubbing her back, speaking in soft tones that nonetheless held great authority in them. "You’ve been very brave these last few days and I know you are feeling some confusion, but it will pass and you will see that nothing has truly changed with you."

"Wh-what did I do?" Manwen stammered. "Please, ar-aranya, what did I do?"

"What you did was nothing less than to pledge your life to me," Finrod explained gently. "I now hold it in my keeping. With your oath you have given me permission to use your life as I think necessary, even so far as to demand your death." Manwen gave a strangled sob and the others looking on shivered at the expression on Finrod’s face, cold and implacable, and they sensed that he would indeed take the elleth’s life if necessary, yet his eyes and voice were full of compassion. "Hush now, what is done is done, my daughter, and cannot be undone," he said, gently releasing her from his embrace. "Now dry these tears. I don’t like my people getting me all wet like this. It does nothing for my image."

The dryness of his tone and the glint of humor in his eyes forced a giggle out of the elleth and then she was laughing. Finrod nodded.

"That’s better, my dear. Now, look what I have for you." He pulled out a small velvet bag from under his tabard. "I’m afraid I’ve been rather neglectful of my duty to you." He handed her the bag and she opened it somewhat hesitantly and gasped, pulling out a necklace of linked mithril chain from which hung a single large heart-shaped amethyst with peridot gemstones surrounding it.

"If you will permit me," Finrod said, taking the necklace from her. She nodded mutely and, lifting her locks, allowed him to place it around her neck. She looked down at the exquisite gift, the amethyst and peridot pendant lying between her breasts. The mingling of their colors in the sunlight was reminiscent of the purple-green shades of twilight.

"It... it’s beautiful," she murmured.

Finrod smiled. "It is now."

"But I can’t accept this!" she protested.

"Ah, but you have no choice, my dear," Finrod said with a laugh. "It is my duty and my joy as your liege lord to gift you on the occasion of your taking oath to me. It is your duty to accept."

Manwen turned to Laurendil, a look of wonder in her eyes. "Do you... I mean... did he..."

"Yes, my love," Laurendil laughed, taking her in his arms and planting a kiss on her lips. "See, this ring is Finrod’s gift to me." He held up his left hand and she noticed, as if for the first time, a mithril ring set with a single amethyst surrounded by peridot gemstones. She looked enquiringly at Finrod, who merely shrugged.

"I thought you should have a matched set of jewelry," he said in a droll tone.

Laurendil snorted and Manwen found herself rolling her eyes and giggling. Meneldil, who had been fuming silently all the while, chose this time to speak.

"Perhaps, your Majesty," Meneldil sneered, "if you are finished holding your audience we may continue with this lecture."

Finrod had to physically hold Laurendil back from attacking the master healer right then and there. Manwen went white with cold fury as well and managed to elude Finrod’s grasp as she strode towards the Vanyarin healer.

"You haven’t the right to use that form of address even in jest, Master Meneldil," she said softly. "I might respectfully suggest you apologize to Lord Findaráto before every Sinda and... and Etyangol in Lórien rises up in arms against you."

"And they would, too."

Lord Irmo was suddenly in their midst, smiling at the furious elleth who merely nodded to him without taking her eyes off the master healer. He glanced over at Finrod, still holding Laurendil back and sighed.

"Honestly, I’m beginning to regret ever having asked you here, Findaráto," the Vala said in feigned exasperation. "You’ve been nothing but trouble since you arrived."

"First of all, my lord, you ordered me here and second..." Finrod’s eyes glinted with some undefinable dark emotion, yet there was a hint of humor in them as well. "Sauron said the same thing... just before he set his werewolf on me."

Laurendil’s mouth hung open as he stared at Finrod, his anger towards Meneldil forgotten. Everyone else was equally stunned by the Elf-lord’s words. "Aranya," Laurendil whispered in a strangled voice. "You are very dangerous."

Finrod’s smile was cold and fell. "The orcs at the Dagor Bragollach seemed to think so."

Irmo merely rolled his eyes and sighed, then turned his attention to Meneldil, his expression not unkindly. "My son, I think you should do as Lady Manwen says and apologize to Lord Findaráto for your remarks. While he is indeed an apprentice, Findaráto is also the firstborn son of the Noldóran and great-nephew to the Ingaran. Not to mention a king in his own right, though Nargothrond now lies beneath the waves. Some respect should be shown."

Meneldil took a deep breath then bowed towards Finrod. "I beg your forgiveness, my lord. My anger got the better of me."

"I accept your apology, Master Meneldil," Finrod said with all sincerity, "if you will accept mine for...er... holding court in the middle of your lecture."

For a moment Meneldil simply stared at the Noldo lord and then a slow smile creased his lips and he bowed again, more deeply. "I think I can see my way to forgiving you, my lord."

"Well, now that that’s over and done with," Irmo said, sounding satisfied, "I think, Manwen, you might benefit by spending some time keeping company with my sister, Nienna. She has offered her house for your use and I think you should accept."

Manwen turned to Irmo in surprise. "B-but what about my studies? I just got here."

"Oh, my sister is quite capable of tutoring you, my dear," Irmo said somewhat dismissively. "You will not fall behind in your studies if you go."

Finrod spoke then. "It might be for the best, Manwen. You need a time of solitude and reflection after what has happened."

Manwen looked at Finrod doubtfully. "A-are you ordering me to go, aranya?"

The Noldo smiled and shook his head. "No, my dear. This is your decision to make."

"What about Laurendil?"

"Oh, he’s not invited," Nienna said as she suddenly appeared, a smile on her face. "He will remain here and continue his own studies, won’t you, Laurendil?"

Laurendil bowed. "Be iest lîn, hiril nîn."

Nienna nodded and moved to put an arm around Manwen’s shoulders. "Then it’s settled, my dear. You will come and stay with me for a while."

"But for how long will I be gone?" Manwen asked, sounding confused and embarrassed.

It was Finrod who answered her, placing his hands on either side of her face. "For as long as you need to, daughter. There is no shame in the length of time it takes. Return to us when you are ready. We will be here."

"I assume I’m at least allowed to see my wife off?" Laurendil asked no one in particular.

"Well, only if you insist," Nienna said with a sigh, winking at Manwen who giggled.

With that, Laurendil and Manwen took their leave of Finrod and Irmo (in that order) then allowed Nienna to lead them away. Irmo then motioned for Finrod to follow him and soon Meneldil was left to continue his lecture. His heart wasn’t in it, though, and the apprentices weren’t paying attention anyway so it was not long before he dismissed them. As he wandered out of the grove in search of his own pavilion, he wondered if he was in the wrong profession.

****

Ammeldanya: (Quenya) My best beloved [an- (intensive or superlative prefix with assimilation) + melda + -nya (first person singular pronomial possessive ending)].

Amethyst: A purple stone and, when given as a gift, symbolic of protection and the power to overcome difficulty. Often worn by healers as it focuses energy. That Finrod chose this particular stone for Laurendil’s ring, as well, is perhaps due to Finrod’s gift of foresight.

Peridot: A green stone, and when worn together with an amethyst, symbolic of purity and moral integrity. It is also a protector against negative emotions.

Ingaran: (Quenya) High King [inga "high" + aran "king"], referring to Ingwë.

Be iest lîn, hiril nîn: (Sindarin) "As you wish, my lady".

57: Those Who Guard

Finrod followed Irmo for some time, neither of them speaking. The Vala took him to a part of Lórien he had never seen before, bringing him to a small grove surrounded by great oaks. There was something unearthly, even by elvish standards, about the place, or perhaps, Finrod amended, more earthly than anything he had ever felt before. The light seemed... different somehow and there was something in the air that made him feel both ancient and young at the same time. Finrod stopped and shivered slightly. Irmo gave him a small smile.

"Our personal sanctuary," he said in explanation, gesturing for him to enter.

"Our... as in...?"

Irmo nodded. "All of us. My brother Valar enjoy coming here to refresh their own spirits on occasion." Finrod felt humbled at the thought of being there, for he suspected that few Eldar had ever been invited to this place. Irmo nodded. "Very few."

There was a table and two chairs in the center of the grove and the two of them sat. Irmo poured some wine from a decanter and offered Finrod a goblet which the ellon took, enjoying the fruity taste of raspberries as he sipped the drink appreciatively.

"I meant what I said," Irmo commented after a few minutes, "about you being nothing but trouble."

Finrod smiled faintly. "So did I."

Irmo threw back his head and laughed. "Point taken. Laurendil was correct, you are very dangerous."

Finrod frowned then, looking into his goblet. "I do not intentionally mean to cause trouble, my lord. It’s just that lately..."

"Go on," Irmo said.

"It’s just that lately I find myself acting... differently." Finrod looked up at the Vala. "Like today. Manwen started weeping and I knew what the reason for it was and without actually thinking about it I ... well, you know what happened."

"You were acting as you should," Irmo said kindly. "You were acting as the king you were and still are. You are beginning to reclaim that part of you. Does that frighten you?"

"Sometimes," Finrod admitted reluctantly.

"Good."

"Huh?"

Irmo nodded. "That you hesitate to take up your role is a sign that you are ready to do so. Kingship, especially when it manifests itself as Guardianship, is an awesome responsibility, not to be entered into lightly. You fled Aman in search of adventure and a desire to carve out for yourself your own kingdom. It is remarkable that being the son of a younger prince with no expectation of ruling, you were able to exhibit those aspects of kingship that are the most difficult to achieve: to be the guardian of the people’s trust, more than to be the ruler of their lives. Your own atar had to learn this from Lord Manwë, yet you seemed to know it instinctively. That is why you were able to relinquish your crown as readily as you did. Few could or would have done so, oath or no oath."

"And that makes me... what?" Finrod asked somewhat skeptically.

"Dangerous," Irmo replied in all seriousness. "Very dangerous, indeed."

Finrod gave Irmo a surprised look. "How so?"

Irmo sat for a moment in thought before speaking. "Anyone can rule. The trick is not to rule, but to guard."

Finrod shook his head in confusion. "I don’t..."

"When you traveled through Beleriand, you always posted a watch wherever you stopped for the night," Irmo said. "What was the purpose of the watch?"

Finrod shrugged, thinking it was obvious. "To stand guard over those asleep and assure nothing threatened them."

"Yes," Irmo said with a nod. "Those asleep would be vulnerable to an attack. The same for a people. As king, your duty was to protect the welfare of your subjects. It wasn’t to tell them what to do. That’s why you did not force any to go with you and Beren. That’s why you willingly relinquished your crown, even to one you knew might not remain faithful to the trust given him."

Finrod grimaced. "In that I had no choice."

"Perhaps not," Irmo conceded. "The point is, you gave up the crown for a higher purpose. That has led you here."

Finrod sighed. "I’ve often wondered what happened to my companions, if they’ve been released from Mandos or not."

"Most have," Irmo said, "but you must not seek them out. Let them come to you."

"Why?" Finrod asked.

"Each of them took oath to you, didn’t they?" Finrod nodded. "Their oaths will lead them to you when the time is right for them to do so. Until then, it is best not to intrude into their lives."

"I have no wish to do that. I only wish to apologize to them for leading them to their deaths."

"An apology none of them will accept, for they will have seen their deaths as a fulfillment of their oaths. None of them betrayed you or your mission, did they?"

Finrod shook his head and there was a look of pride in his eyes. "None."

"Then you have no need to apologize to them. To do so would be to diminish their sacrifice in their own eyes."

Finrod took a sip of wine, thinking over the Vala’s words. "I did not wish to take Manwen’s oath."

"I know, and we are sorry you had to."

"We?"

"You call us ‘Valar’ yet it would have been better had you named us ‘Tirnor’, for that is our true nature. We are Guardians of Arda and its peoples, not their rulers. It is far more difficult to guard than to rule, to watch than to lord it over others." Here Irmo gave Finrod a deprecating smile, tinged with sadness. "Whenever we have forgotten this, it usually ends up badly for all concerned."

Finrod grinned slyly. "So I’ve noticed."

Irmo laughed merrily at that. "Such insolence! I think it should be rewarded."

Now Finrod looked slightly worried. "That sounds ominous."

"Not at all," the Lord of Lórien said. "Your gifting Manwen reminded me that my brother and I have been neglectful of our duty to you. It is customary for us to gift those who take oath to us as well."

Finrod frowned. "Was it a similar oath? The one that binds me to my people seems to affect them rather adversely at first. Laurendil wept for days, and now Manwen..."

"It was very similar," Irmo said with a nod. "You were not as deeply affected, not because it wasn’t as grave an oath, but because my brother and I have been shielding you from its full import."

Finrod felt his jaw drop in amazement. "Whyever would you do such a thing? Are my emotions so suspect that you will not permit me to feel them to the fullest?"

"No, my son," Irmo said gravely. "But you are still coming to grips with those emotions and you had a recent... shall we say, incident, did you not?"

Finrod went white at that and he nodded grimly, his lips clenched with the memory of his Judgment still fresh in his mind. Irmo nodded and poured more wine into the ellon’s goblet, encouraging him to drink. When the elf appeared somewhat calmer, the Vala spoke again.

"My brother and I had rather thought you would take some time to think over our offer before taking oath to us. The last thing we expected was for you to offer yourself right then and there. It took us totally by surprise. We’re still reeling from it, if you want to know."

"I find that rather hard to believe, Master," Finrod said, looking skeptical and amused at the same time.

"Believe what you will, Findaráto, it is the truth."

Finrod turned to see Lord Námo striding towards them and rose to offer him a bow, which the Lord of Mandos acknowledged with a nod of his head. Finrod saw that Lord Námo was holding a small box made of fine mahogany wood that fit in the palm of his hand. Námo smiled at the elf and handed it to him.

"This is our gift to you, my son," Námo said. "We apologize for not giving it to you sooner."

Finrod took the box but did not open it immediately, looking enquiringly into Námo’s eyes. Námo smiled gently. "From our perspective, Findaráto, you Children arrived in Arda only last week. We’re still learning about you. You are all full of surprises. When you knelt before us on the shore of Lórellin..." the Vala shook his head and sighed.

"We felt it best to shield you from the full impact of the oath until you were ready," Irmo then said, speaking just as gently. "I brought you here to our sanctuary so that you might experience the oath in a more private setting. My brother and I will... stand watch over you as you do."

"Open the box, Findaráto," Námo said. "See what we have gifted you."

Finrod opened the box and gasped, staring in shock at what lay within. Nestled in a fold of black velvet was a ring. He had last seen it on the left hand of the son of Barahir. "Th-this is my ring," he whispered in disbelief.

Námo smiled. "We thought you might like it back."

Finrod stared at the Vala in shock. "Oh, don’t worry," Námo said reassuringly. "This is but a fair copy. The original even now graces the hand of the present Lord of Andúnië in Númenórë. It is considered a great heirloom of his house."

Finrod nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. He had heard of the island gifted to the Edain and knew that some of the elves of Tol Eressëa even journeyed there, but he himself had no desire to do so. His life was here in Aman now, and he was content.

He stared down at the ring shaped like twin serpents, whose eyes were emeralds. Their heads met beneath a crown of golden flowers that the one upheld and the other devoured.

"Why don’t you put it on?" Irmo said softly.

Finrod nodded and, taking the ring from the box he gave the box to Irmo, then he slipped the ring onto the forefinger of his left hand, its weight feeling familiar to him even after all this time. Almost at once he felt something within him open up and he gasped, unaware that he had fallen to his knees or that he was now weeping. Irmo and Námo stood on either side of him and lightly touched him on the head. Finrod felt their minds touch his. There was no intrusion, merely loving support and Finrod found himself opening up to his Masters, much as Manwen had opened herself to him, and knew only joy in the giving of himself. He knew even more joy when the gift was accepted by the two who stood beside him.

How long it lasted, he never knew, but at last the storm of emotions ebbed and the tears ceased and he grew calm. He was surprised to find himself on his knees and looking up was even more surprised at what he saw. Irmo and Námo still stood on either side of him, but ranged in a loose circle around them were the other twelve Valar. Manwë stood before him, his countenance glad.

Finrod started to rise, but both Irmo and Námo gently held him in his place and he sank back to his knees. Manwë took a step forward.

"Welcome, my son. We are glad you have chosen to join us in our task as Guardians, and though your guardianship extends only to the boundaries of Aman, while ours extends to the edge of Arda and beyond, it is no less a sacred trust and solemn duty that you embrace than the one we hold by the grace of Eru Ilúvatar."

Then Námo spoke. "Once you found yourself within the Ring of Doom and we were your Judges. Today you find yourself within a circle of friends and we are your Companions."

Irmo spoke next. "The role of a Guardian is not an easy one, for we can only inspire, not demand; exhort, not compel. Often we must step back and allow the natural course of events to unfold in the fullness of Time, whether we wish it or not. The ability to let go is an important one for any who would guard and watch over those in most need of it."

Manwë spoke again. "Now rise and let us greet you properly as our brother."

Námo and Irmo helped Finrod to his feet and he was surprised at how weak-kneed he felt. Then he was facing Námo who smiled at him and gave him the kiss of liege lord to vassal. "Welcome, best beloved. Nai tiruva tielya Eru."

Then he handed him off to Irmo who gave him a warm smile and offered his own blessing. After that he found himself being handed around the circle. Each Vala or Valië gave him a kiss in greeting and offered a blessing. When he came to Tulkas, however, the Vala merely laughed and gave him a bone-crushing hug before handing him to Oromë who rolled his eyes at his brother Vala and shared a grin with Finrod. Eventually, he found himself facing Lord Manwë once again.

The Elder King took him by the shoulders and their foreheads touched and Finrod heard Manwë speak to him in ósanwë.

*As one king to another, I need not remind you that kingship is a special burden, a solemn trust, but also there is joy. Do not forget that, child. Á enyalë illúmë i-alassë. It will sustain you during the dark times that may come.*

Then Manwë withdrew his mind from his, kissed him on the brow and stepped back. "You may stay here in this grove for as long as you need to, Findaráto, until you are ready to face the outer world again."

"Thank you, Lord," Finrod said, then smiled ruefully. "I think, though, I should see how Laurendil is holding up. If he’s like every other husband I’ve ever known whose wife has gone away from his side for more than five minutes, he will be feeling morose and full of self-pity. I think I should go and cheer him up."

There were grins all around. "And how do you propose to do that?" Varda asked with a glint of merriment in her eyes.

Finrod shrugged and gave the Valië a wry grin. "Oh, in the usual manner, Lady. I’ll get him uproariously drunk and then we’ll spend the rest of the night singing bawdy songs at the top of our lungs and showing each other our battle scars...or..." he paused, thinking about it, "he can show me his new ones since I don’t seem to have any anymore."

The Valar chuckled at that.

"In that case," Manwë said, "don’t be surprised if my beloved shows up at your pavilion when you start singing ‘The Elf and the Fruit Vendor’." He winked at Finrod who stood there in shocked surprise. "It’s her favorite song, you know, especially verse thirty-one."

Finrod reddened in embarrassment at that revelation and would not look at anyone in particular, much to their amusement. Finally he cleared his throat and said in a diffident tone, "Yes, well, perhaps it would be more prudent if we just have a quiet dinner and forget about the drinking."

Námo nodded solemnly. "More prudent, no doubt... but not nearly as much fun."

Now there was outright laughter and Finrod couldn’t help but join in.

****

Valar: Powers/Authorities.

Tirnor: Watchers/Guardians.

Nai tiruva tielya Eru: "May Eru guard your path".

Á enyalë illúmë i-alassë:  "Remember always the joy".

Ósanwë: Telepathic communication.

The Ring of Barahir: Made by the Noldor in Valinor. Finrod gave the ring to Barahir as a token of his Oath to him after the Dagor Bragollach and Beren later redeemed that Oath during the Quest for the Silmaril. The ring would be passed down through the ages by the descendants of Beren until eventually it will come into the possession of Aragorn near the end of the Third Age. The description of the ring is from The Silmarillion, "Of Beren and Lúthien".

58: Friends in High Places

Laurendil, it turned out, was neither morose nor wallowing in self-pity. Instead, he was grim and white-faced when Finrod entered his pavilion to find the ranger there pacing back and forth.

"Mithlas," he said before Finrod could ask him what was wrong. "They won’t let me see him."

"They?"

"The Lóriennildi masters," Laurendil replied bitterly. "As an apprentice, I’m apparently incapable of holding the ellon’s hand while he suffers terrors about which they know nothing. At least they let Eärnur stay."

"But he barely understands Sindarin," Finrod said in exasperation. "Are they being deliberately insensitive or is their own arrogance getting in the way?"

"Well, nothing we can do about it," Laurendil said with a diffident shrug that did not fool Finrod.

"Honestly, gwador nîn, when did that ever stop us?" Finrod said, feigning surprise.

Laurendil grinned wickedly. "I’ll guard your back, aran nîn."

Finrod laughed. "You’ll do more than that, bôr nîn. Come. We need some reinforcements."

Without giving Laurendil a chance to ask what he had in mind, Finrod strode out of the pavilion, the light of battle in his eyes. Laurendil followed him, automatically walking three paces behind and to Finrod’s left, the traditional position of a guard, though neither elf was armed. Those who saw them stepped aside with alacrity and alarm. None of these Amaneldi were used to seeing elves in the midst of a battle-meld, for Laurendil had reflexively opened himself to Finrod, allowing his lord to coordinate their movements.

Finrod made his way to a particular grove where he found a certain Maia. Irmo had told him about this place and the one who dwelt there.

"If ever you need assistance, seek her out. She will aid you."

Finrod now entered the grove and bowed deeply. "Le suilon, hiril nîn."

Melian turned from the roses she was deadheading and smiled. "Findaráto! I was told you were here." She held out her hands and Finrod went to her with a smile. The two kissed and Finrod turned and gestured for Laurendil to approach.

"This is my gwador, Glorendil," he said and Laurendil went to his knees before the former Queen of Doriath.

"My lady," he said, awe in his voice as he looked upon the Maia who had captured the heart of Elu Thingol.

"Now, now, child. None of that," Melian gently chided him. "Stand up and let me see you." She nodded as he complied and her smile deepened. "I’m glad to see you have finally made peace with your destiny, my dear."

Laurendil found himself blushing. Apparently, his soul was an open book to all and sundry. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

"Not to all and sundry, child," Melian said with gentle amusement. "Just to those of us granted the privilege of seeing. Lord Irmo can be somewhat persistent when it comes to finding his apprentices."

"Lord Irmo has been very patient with me," Laurendil murmured apologetically.

Melian nodded and turned to Finrod who had watched the exchange with interest. "What brings you to me, Nephew? Your eyes are bright with the light of battle, yet I see no orcs here."

"Orcs there are none, Aunt," Finrod said with a grim smile, "yet enemies abound."

Melian looked at this Reborn elf for whom she had always had a special fondness, and her expression turned grave. "Tell me."

****

Eärnur was attempting to calm Mithlas with the little Sindarin he knew, which, admittedly wasn’t much. ‘Im nestor a melon cerdyf phihin. Man o ci?’ (the only Sindarin he could remember) was proving to be unhelpful, nor did Mithlas seem to care if Eärnur liked apples, juicy or otherwise. Thus, he looked up with some relief when he saw Finrod come striding into the pavilion with Laurendil in tow... and one other.

He would have scrambled to his feet in respect except that Mithlas chose that moment to start struggling again while another journeyman healer attempted to put restraints on him. Two master healers — one dark-haired, the other auburn — looked on with undisguised disgust. Their expressions changed rather rapidly to undisguised awe as Melian bore down on them like the wrath of Mandos.

She took one look at poor Mithlas and, kneeling beside the writhing elf, touched him lightly on his head and sent him into healing sleep. "Losto, hên nîn. No na hîdh." Mithlas subsided into Eärnur’s arms with a sigh. Eärnur felt himself blushing under the mild scrutiny of the Maia queen, though there was no condemnation in her eyes as she gazed at him. Her expression darkened, however, when she stood and faced the Lóriennildi masters. Finrod stood beside her. Laurendil silently helped Eärnur with Mithlas, removing the restraints and composing his limbs to more comfortable positions. The other journeyman stood uncertainly, not sure how much trouble he might be in himself. Melian glanced at him and gave him a quick smile. "Rananur, you may leave. This does not concern you."

The Noldorin journeyman was only too happy to comply with the Maia’s orders and with a short bow left the pavilion as quickly as possible.

"Perhaps I should leave, too..." Eärnur began. In truth, he wouldn’t mind leaving. He had the feeling that Mithlas’ pavilion was about to become an unhealthy place to be.

It was Finrod, rather than Melian, who stopped him. "No, Eärnur. Stay here. This concerns you."

Eärnur looked decidedly unhappy at that, but when Melian nodded in his direction he gave her a respectful bow and stepped away, not wanting to be caught in the line of fire between the Maia and his masters. Melian raked them over with her gaze, her posture imperious, yet not arrogant.

"Would either of you care to explain yourself?" she asked mildly.

The two masters, both Noldor, glanced at each other nervously and then back at Melian, who stood there waiting patiently for one of them to answer her.

"May I ask, my lady, what concern you have here?" the dark-haired master asked. "And why are these two apprentices with you?"

"I am not here as an apprentice," Finrod said before Melian could speak. "I am here in my capacity as a prince of Eldamar, and as the High King’s great-nephew."

"And mine," Melian said quietly.

Eärnur felt his eyes widen at that and wondered what other surprises were in store.

"Well, that explains you," the other master said with a sneer at Finrod, "but what about the other?"

Laurendil had by then returned to stand behind Finrod.

Finrod smiled, and it wasn’t pleasant. "Laurendil is not here as an apprentice either."

"What then?" the first master asked. "He’s no prince."

"No," Finrod agreed. "He’s my vassal and he guards my back."

There didn’t seem to be much they could say about that, not really understanding what it meant. Melian decided to step in again.

"You still haven’t answered my question."

The dark-haired master sighed. "We’ve been having trouble with this particular Sinda..."

"His name is Mithlas and he’s from Lindon," Finrod said coldly. "He fought in the Dagor Bragollach and survived the fall of Doriath. He has seen horrors you cannot imagine. He has come here for healing, but all he has gotten from us is abuse."

Now the two masters looked affronted. "We have never abused any of our patients!" the auburn-haired master yelled.

"Charges."

The master looked at Laurendil in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Charges," Laurendil repeated, sounding just as cold as Finrod had. "They are not ‘patients’, they are your charges. They have been entrusted to you, much as elflings are entrusted to caregivers."

"So Mithlas has been giving you trouble, has he?" Melian asked, steering the conversation back to its original point. "What kind of trouble?"

Now the two masters looked worried again. It wasn’t that the Sinda had caused trouble so much as he’d been troublesome, refusing to cooperate, never speaking Quenya, suddenly screaming for no reason....

"How do you know?" Finrod asked, interrupting their diatribe.

"Er... well... that is...."

Finrod nodded then turned to Melian. "Can you wake him, Aunt? I would like to question him myself."

Melian nodded and went over to the cot, leaned over and gently brushed her hand across the ellon’s forehead. "Echuio, Mithlas! Tolo ’ni galad." It took several minutes for the elf to bestir himself, but finally he opened his eyes, looking somewhat fearful.

Finrod sat in a chair next to the cot and placed a hand on the ellon’s arm. "Mae govannen, mellon nîn. Gerich rîn en-nin?"

Mithlas nodded. "Y-you’re the dead king."

Laurendil rolled his eyes and slapped his forehead. "Of course! I knew there was something different about you, aran nîn. I just couldn’t put my finger on it."

"And you only just noticed?" Finrod quipped, giving Mithlas a smile and a wink. Now Mithlas looked at them in confusion as Laurendil and Melian laughed. It was her laughter that brought the Maia to the Sinda’s attention and he nearly fainted at the sight of her.

"Easy now, Mithlas," Finrod said quietly. "There is nothing to fear here. You recognize your queen."

It was not a question, but Mithlas nodded mutely anyway, tears running down his cheeks as he continued to stare into Melian’s eyes. Melian smiled sadly and leaned over and gave the ellon a gentle kiss on the forehead, brushing an errant lock away from his face.

"I am glad that you survived the fall of our fair nation, Mithlas of Lindon," Melian said softly, "but it grieves me to see you in such straits."

"Would you like to talk about it?" Finrod asked. Mithlas hesitated, staring around the pavilion, paling at the sight of the masters, but smiling tremulously at Eärnur, who smiled back. "Why did you think I would be interested in apples?"

Finrod had to translate that for Eärnur, who had only caught one or two words of the entire exchange. He blushed. "It was the only thing I could remember how to say."

Finrod and Laurendil laughed outright. Melian smiled sympathetically and Mithlas grinned, but his face darkened as he noticed the bruises on his wrists and gasped. Finrod took the elf’s chin in his hand, forcing him to look at the Noldorin prince. "Do not concern yourself with these. You will not be restrained again. Of that you have my word."

"And mine," Melian replied softly, looking mildly at the two masters who flinched under her ancient regard.

"You know, Mithlas," Finrod said in a conversational tone. "Glorendil here is feeling a bit lonely. His wife, a lovely Sinda healer named Manwen, is taking lessons with Lady Nienna for a time and so Glorendil is quite alone. I think he might like some company until Manwen returns. She’s from Doriath too and Glorendil knew Dior and Nimloth when they lived at Tol Galen."

Mithlas’ eyes widened as he glanced at Laurendil. "Truly, my lord? You knew Elúchil?"

Laurendil nodded. "And Beren and Lúthien as well, after they returned from Mandos."

"M-my beloved is in Mandos," Mithlas said shyly, looking down. "I-I wanted to follow her...but her last words... she made me promise..."

And then he was weeping and Melian sat on the edge of the cot and took the ellon in her arms, crooning softly and rocking him until he grew calmer.

"What is her name?" Melian asked gently.

"Glassiel," he whispered.

"A lovely name," the Maia said. "I think she would be very sad to see you here, child."

"So do I," Finrod said in a rather no-nonsense tone. "That’s why I think you would be better off staying with Glorendil. You can both drown yourselves in sorrows together. It’s much more fun than doing it alone, or so I’ve been told."

Mithlas raised an eyebrow at that. "I... I don’t think I’m allowed..."

"Nonsense, child. I think it’s a marvelous idea."

Everyone turned to see Lord Irmo striding into the pavilion and gave the Vala their obeisance, with Eärnur and Finrod helping Mithlas to his feet. He ignored everyone but Melian who gave her lord a small smile. "Ah, I see our intrepid prince roped you into his cause as well."

"There was no roping involved, my lord," Melian said lightly. "It was the least I could do for one of my former subjects."

"Then it’s settled," Irmo said with a nod. He turned to Finrod and smiled. "Dangerous, very dangerous, indeed."

Finrod smiled back. Irmo then turned to the two masters and sighed, giving them a crook of his finger. "You two, come with me."

Without another word the Vala turned and left the pavilion with the two masters stumbling behind him, looking as if they might faint at any moment. Finrod noticed Eärnur looking concerned and put a hand on the ellon’s arm.

"Do not fear for them, Eärnur. Irmo will not treat them unkindly."

Melian went to Eärnur and gave him a brief kiss on the forehead. "You are very good at what you do, child. Your parents will be very proud of you when you become a master healer. Continue as you have and you will do well."

"Thank you, Lady," the Teler murmured.

Melian turned to Finrod. "It is good to see you again, Nephew. I trust you find your new life to your liking?"

"Yes, Aunt, I do," Finrod said with a smile. "Thank you for your help."

"Come and see me when you are not busy and we will talk." Then Melian gave them all a brilliant smile and was gone, leaving the four elves alone.

Finrod looked at Mithlas and smiled. "Why don’t we help you pack?"

****

Bôr nîn: (Sindarin) My vassal. The Quenya equivalent would be vorondonya.

Le suilon, hiril nîn: (Sindarin) "I greet thee, my lady".

Im nestor a melon cerdyf phihin. Man o ci?: (Sindarin) "I am a healer and I love juicy apples. What about you?".

Losto, hên nîn. No na hîdh: (Sindarin) "Sleep, my child. Be at peace."

Echuio, Mithlas! Tolo ’ni galad: (Sindarin) "Awake, Mithlas! Come towards the light."

Mae govannen, mellon nîn. Gerich rîn en-nin?: (Sindarin) "Greetings, my friend. Do you remember me?". Literally, "Do you have remembrance of me?".

Notes: Finrod is Elu Thingol’s great-nephew through his mother, Eärwen, the daughter of Elu’s brother, Olwë.

Tol Galen is the name of the island where Beren and Lúthien lived after their return from Mandos.

59: Storm Clouds Gathering

A couple of weeks went by without any further incidents. Mithlas and Laurendil became fast friends and after his initial shyness around Finrod wore off, the Sinda could be seen speaking animatedly with the prince of Eldamar whenever they were together. Finrod, for his part, took Mithlas under his wing and encouraged him to speak about his life in Endórë and about his beloved Glassiel.

"I will not tell you what she is experiencing in Mandos," Finrod told him when Mithlas brought the subject up during one of their conversations. "Such knowledge is not for the Living. You only need to know that she is happy and suffers not and one day you will be reunited." Finrod looked at the ellon sympathetically. "Your beloved was wise to forbid you to follow her."

"Wh-why do you say that, a-aranya?" Mithlas asked forlornly, stumbling over the Quenya which he had begun to learn under Laurendil’s tutelage. He had picked up the habit of using the title Laurendil used for the former King of Nargothrond, much to Finrod’s amusement.

Finrod smiled, "Because otherwise you and I could not have become friends, and I value our friendship very much."

Mithlas looked stunned at that and could only stammer a shy ‘Hantanyel’.

Finrod and Laurendil continued to act as apprentices, following various journeymen on their rounds and attending lectures, although no one, least of all the masters, was fooled by this. Whatever their true status, neither Finrod nor Laurendil were truly a part of the Lóriennildi or even the Estenduri. Everyone treated Finrod with grave respect, respect usually reserved for one of the Kings. Many of the Lóriennildi who remembered him from his previous stay were amazed at the depth of power they felt from him now and some of the elves, journeymen and apprentices, caught themselves addressing him as ‘master’ on more than one occasion.

"Not yet," he would say with a laugh as the one who had so addressed him blushed with embarrassment.

Eärnur found himself more and more in their company, and his command of Sindarin grew apace. Lord Irmo had told him that his usual duties were suspended while he concentrated on learning Sindarin and helping both Laurendil and Mithlas. After his ‘rescue’, Mithlas no longer suffered from the terrors that had plagued him earlier, and his fëa began to heal. Laurendil’s own healing seemed to be complete, for he now donned his apprentice’s tabard without a qualm and took his duties seriously, even joyfully.

"I find that I enjoy helping to heal the fëar of people like Mithlas," he confided to Finrod one day. "Perhaps Lord Irmo will accept me as a Journeyman when the time comes."

Finrod smiled at his friend. "That would be wonderful. Manwen’s skills seem to gravitate towards healing of the hröa, so I think she will eventually become an Estenduriën. With you as a Lóriennildo, you will make a formidable pair."

"And you, aranya? What of you?"

"Oh, do not concern yourself there, my friend," Finrod said lightly. "Lord Irmo and I have an understanding, but I think that when your training is complete you and Manwen and I will be working together."

Laurendil wanted to ask for more details but Finrod refused to be forthcoming. "Nothing is certain at this stage. Learn what you will from both Lord Irmo and Lady Estë, vorondonya, and we will see."

With that Laurendil had to be content.

Finrod, for his part, found that in many respects nothing had really changed for him. Yet, everything had changed. Always, he had been the receiver of any oaths offered and to find himself to be the giver of an oath was a new experience for him and he reveled in it. After his initial reaction to the oath in the Valar’s grove he often found himself stopping at odd moments in the day, staring at nothing in particular and rubbing the gift-ring in an absentminded fashion. Laurendil noticed the ring right away.

"Aranya, where did you get the ring?" he asked shortly after they had seen Mithlas settled in Laurendil’s pavilion.

"A gift from Lord Irmo and Lord Námo."

"But... is that not the same ring that you gave to Barahir? The same ring young Beren...?"

"Yes and no," Finrod replied, suddenly reluctant to explain further. Laurendil must have noticed the change in his lord’s demeanor for he did not pursue his questions, for which Finrod was grateful.

Being both a receiver of and a giver of an oath brought its own problems for the erstwhile king and he found himself seeking advice from Melian who welcomed him to her grove when he appeared one day, looking somewhat lost and uncertain.

"You have always been the one entrusted with the oath of another," Melian said as they sat sipping wine, giving the elf a shrewd yet sympathetic look. "You are used to the responsibility that entails. Now you find you have given your oath to another and you are not able to reconcile the feelings you have with what you know is true about yourself. Is that not so, Nephew?"

Finrod nodded. "Yes, Aunt. I know myself as a king and the keeper of oaths. Each one of my people whose life I hold in my keeping, I know with great intimacy and I love them as my sons and daughters. Now... I have these other feelings... other thoughts... and I don’t know whence they come or how to deal with them."

"Tell me what you feel, child," the Maia queen said encouragingly.

For a moment Finrod could only stare into his goblet of wine, then he looked up at Melian, his expression one of confusion and joy mixed. "I feel...loved, but more than that. It... my life is no longer mine. Someone else holds it for me and now... and now... lady, what do I do now?"

Melian took the goblet from Finrod’s suddenly nerveless fingers and placed it on the table before gathering the ellon into her arms and holding him as he wept. She did not attempt to do anything but hold him until he was calmer, then she spoke softly into his ear.

"You do as you always have done, child. You continue to be Findaráto. You are discovering that one can be both the lover and the beloved. For long ages you have known only how to be the lover, the keeper of others’ lives. Now, you are learning what it means to be the beloved, to have another hold your life in their keeping. Do you think my lord Námo calling you his ‘best beloved’ a mere turn of phrase? Nay, there has always been a deeper truth to that, and you are only just finding that out, are you not?"

Finrod nodded but did not speak. He had never thought of his role as king in such terms before, but now that he thought about it, it made sense. He knew how his people had looked at him with adoration bordering on awe at times. He had never felt uncomfortable with that, for he loved them truly as a father loves his children. Now, he realized, he probably had that same look on his own face whenever he was in the presence of either Lord Irmo or Lord Námo. They need only smile at him and he felt such unmitigated joy and a sense of belonging that it often brought tears to his eyes. He suspected that his own people had felt the same way whenever he gave them his attention.

So it went, and life settled into a comfortable routine for them all. Manwen sent frequent letters to Laurendil, and he sent his own back, but other than to say she was happy and coming to terms with herself, he did not offer to share what she wrote and Finrod did not press.

"She might be coming home soon," Laurendil said one day after receiving a letter from Manwen, his eyes bright with anticipation, "perhaps as early as next week," and Finrod smiled, glad that his gwador would soon be reunited with his beloved.

Then, something happened.

Finrod woke up one morning to find himself staring into the anxious eyes of Lady Estë and Lord Irmo. He himself felt weak and disoriented with no idea why.

"M-my lady," he rasped, for his throat was raw and he thought he might have been screaming. "What happened?"

"What do you remember, child?" Irmo asked.

Finrod shook his head, which was a mistake because the world started spinning. When it eventually righted itself he became violently ill. It was some time before he felt sufficiently ‘present’ to the world to answer the Vala’s question.

"I...went to sleep," he said, taking a sip of water from a glass that Lady Estë held for him, too weak to do more than sit up slightly. "I think I dreamt... something bad... Glorfindel!" His gwador! Something was wrong with his gwador!

Estë held him down. "Hush now, Findaráto. Glorfindel is fine. Nothing has happened to him. He went to Vanyamar, to learn statecraft from Ingwë. I think he’s visiting Valmar with Prince Ingwion. A sort of holiday as it were."

"But why..."

"Perhaps something occurred earlier in the day that triggered a memory of dark times in your life and you transferred your anxiety to your closest friend and brother," Irmo suggested. "Not all dreams have import, child. You simply had a very frightening nightmare, nothing more."

"Why don’t you go back to sleep, child?" Estë said. "I think you’ll feel better once you’ve slept the terror away. No one will disturb you. Sleep as long as you need. Would you like someone to sit with you until you fall asleep?"

Finrod blushed at that, feeling foolish and very much an elfling, but the thought of being alone, even in broad daylight, suddenly did not appeal to him. "M-melian..." he said hesitantly, going suddenly shy.

Then the Maia queen was there, concern in her eyes, but also sympathy and Finrod smiled gratefully at her. "I understand you had a difficult night, Nephew. Would you like me to sit with you and sing you songs until you fall asleep again?"

Finrod nodded, settling back into his bed, feeling immeasurably better and... safe. Safe from what, he did not know and did not wish to know. It was enough that he was safe. He looked up at the two Valar.

"Glorfindel..."

"Is perfectly safe," Irmo said firmly. "Everything is as it should be. There is no need to worry on his account."

Finrod nodded and soon he and Melian were alone. Melian sat in a chair next to the bed and, picking up Finrod’s harp, tuned it to 'Undómë Lairessë', and softly began to sing. It was not long before Finrod slipped into the Path of Dreams.

He never knew that twenty Maiar ringed his pavilion to guard him and to keep others away.

****

Finrod awoke still feeling anxious. He could not remember the nightmare, but whatever terror he had experienced seemed to linger. He was moody and withdrawn all that next day and by evening his friends were becoming concerned.

"I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong," Finrod confided to Laurendil at one point, "but everyone from Lord Irmo on down insists that everything is as it should be."

Laurendil started at the choice of words. "Is that what they say exactly, everything is as it should be?"

Finrod nodded. "You think it means something other than what they want me to think?"

"I do not know, aranya," Laurendil said musingly, "but I do know this: the Valar are very careful with their words. That phrasing is not accidental."

Finrod nodded, well aware of the truth of what Laurendil said.

The next day was no better. If anything, it was worse. Storm clouds gathered on the western horizon and there was much tension in the air. Finrod could not concentrate on anything and eventually had to excuse himself and retire to his pavilion. Lord Irmo sighed, knowing what was to come and being unable to help his newest apprentice. Finrod would learn soon enough what was happening.

That night Finrod had another dream that brought him screaming awake. Melian was suddenly there and Estë. It was some hours before they could calm him. Irmo was busy dealing with Laurendil and Mithlas who had heard the screams and rushed to Finrod’s pavilion only to be stayed by several Maiar. It was not a restful night for many.

The next morning, Irmo ordered Finrod to remain in his pavilion for the day and the ellon had no objections. Laurendil and Mithlas joined him to keep him company and Eärnur came sometime later with a tray of food for them all.

It was midafternoon when a messenger arrived in Lórien asking for Prince Findaráto. He was led to Finrod’s pavilion where the four friends were sitting quietly. Finrod and Laurendil were playing draughts while Eärnur and Mithlas were giving each other language lessons with Eärnur speaking Sindarin and Mithlas speaking Quenya.

"Lord Findaráto, a message has arrived for you," said the Lóriennildo charged with escorting the messenger.

"From Tirion?" Finrod asked excitedly, wondering if his atar, or even better, Amarië, had written him.

"Nay, lord. He comes from Valmar."

Finrod paled at that and the other three ellon looked concerned as the messenger, a Vanya, entered the pavilion. He gave them a respectful bow and handed Finrod a message tube.

"I have been told to wait for an answer, my lord," the messenger said.

"Thank you," Finrod responded with a nod. "Russafindil, would you see to our guest, please?"

The Lóriennildo bowed and gestured for the messenger to follow him out, leaving Finrod alone with his friends. For a moment he merely stared at the tube and then with a decisive gesture opened it and pulled out the roll of vellum beribboned and sealed with the seal of Ingwion, his cousin. He broke the seal and began reading.

"Glorfindel is missing," he said flatly, never looking up from the message. Laurendil gasped.

"How? When?" Laurendil demanded.

Finrod shook his head and handed the message to Laurendil. His blood ran cold at the words he began reading aloud. "Laurefindil vanw’ ar i-roimë yesta ná. Á tulë Valmarenna. Ómentuvanyet sé Cöa Oromëo. Ingwion."

Finrod stood up suddenly, his expression cold and unyielding. "I need to speak with Lord Irmo. Laurendil, start packing." Before anyone else could react he strode out of the pavilion.

Two hours later, Finrod and Laurendil joined the messenger on the road to Valmar. "When we get to Valmar, Laurendil," Finrod said as they rode their horses at a ground-eating pace, "find a fresh horse and continue on to Tirion. I have a message for my atar that you will give him. Then, I want you to go to Tol Eressëa."

Laurendil looked at his lord in surprise. "Tol Eressëa, why?"

"I want you to bring Sador to Valmar. Ingwion mentioned the Hunt. That can only mean one thing: Sador is in danger as well." The expression on Finrod’s face was grim.

"And you, aranya?" Laurendil asked. "Are you not also in danger?"

Finrod’s smile was not pleasant. "With you beside me, gwador? Whoever took Glorfindel will soon learn that it is they who are in danger."

And Findaráto, Prince of Eldamar, once King of Nargothrond, rode into the gathering gloom with the light of battle in his eyes... and he was glad.

****

Hantanyel: I thank thee (formal).

Undómë Lairessë: Summer Twilight.

Laurenfindil vanw’ ar i-roimë yesta ná. Á tulë Valmarenna. Ómentuvanyet sé Cöa Oromëo. Ingwion: "Glorfindel is lost and the Hunt begins. Come to Valmar. I will meet you at the House of Oromë. Ingwion".

60: Sador on Tol Eressëa

Tol Eressëa proved quite interesting to young Sador as he rode beside Netilmírë. They were heading for Kortirion, the main city that sat on a great height in the center of the island overlooking the plains and valleys that fell towards the sea. He was so busy trying to see everything at once as their party made their way through Kortirion’s busy streets that Netilmírë finally put her hand out and touched his arm to get his attention.

"Sador, please, you’re making me dizzy," she laughed. "Kortirion is not going to disappear. You’ll have plenty of time to see whatever you desire."

Sador blushed. "Sorry, Mistress."

Netilmírë nodded, the light of amusement still in her eyes. "See now, we are coming to the inn where we’ll be staying. I for one am looking forward to a long hot soak and a good hot meal."

Sador grinned, feeling the same. An hour later he was freshly bathed and pulling out clean clothes from his pack. Digging for a shirt he came upon a package wrapped with colored paper and string. Attached to the string was a piece of parchment on which was written in careful tengwar script in the Beleriandic mode:

An edhel dithen veren nîn. Ada.

Opening the package he found a stuffed toy and suddenly he was crying, hugging the toy to him. It took him several minutes to get himself under control but finally the tears ceased and he was calm again. He quietly put the toy back in the bottom of his pack, placing it inside the wardrobe before going to join the others for dinner.

****

Netilmírë and the other guildmasters were to meet with their Tol Eressëan counterparts the next morning. Netilmírë suggested to Sador while they supped that he might wish to spend the day exploring the city.

"This initial meeting will be more an introduction and none of the apprentices have been invited," she explained. "Indeed, I suspect that no apprentices will be invited to any of the meetings, so this will give you the freedom to pursue your own mission."

Gilvagor offered to show the ellon around and Sador readily agreed. Thus, morning found them wandering the streets, with no particular destination in mind. Sador reveled in the sound of Sindarin being softly spoken and no one looked twice at him because of his braids. They were new enough to him that he still felt self-conscious wearing them, but the elves of Kortirion merely nodded and smiled his way and he began to relax. Indeed, he felt at home for the first time since being re-embodied and thought that he would like to live in Kortirion someday.

The ellyn came to a small square where a fountain sang gaily while elflings played around it in a game that made sense only to them. "It’s a beautiful city," Sador commented to Gilvagor.

"It has its good points," Gilvagor said with a small smile. "I know the Noldóran has given you a mission for him, but I do not know the particulars. Tell me what you will and I will do my best to help you achieve your goal."

Sador sat for a moment, thinking. "Adar did not give me any specific instructions except to speak to as many people as possible, listening to their hopes and dreams, but not necessarily speaking about kings and such. I think he wants to know what the populace think rather than just the leaders of the island."

Gilvagor nodded, looking thoughtful. "We have few leaders and one of them is now in Lórien." He gave Sador a wry smile. "Perhaps the best place to start will be one of the markets. That’s where the best gossip is anyway."

"And you know this because?" Sador asked with a grin.

"Ah," Gilvagor laughed. "That would be telling."

So, they made their way to the market square and wandered through the stalls, idly speaking to this person or that, admiring the goods, haggling for one or two items that Sador wanted to buy for his gwedyr. What information they received had little to do with the state of the government, or the lack thereof, and much to do with the prices of foodstuffs that could not be grown on the island but had to be imported from the farming communities of Aman.

"They charge too much for transport," one merchant opined. "And it’s not even luxury items either, but necessary staples that all need."

Sador carefully stored that piece of information away as he thanked the merchant for his time and continued on. Eventually the two ellyn made their way to an inn for lunch. The inn was not full, but there were still a number of patrons enjoying the noon meal. Sador tried to overhear some of the conversations that were going on around him. Most of them seemed to center around the fact that more and more elves were coming West and there was fear that there would not be room enough for all of them on the island.

"It is, after all, not a very large island," one patron commented to another at a nearby table. "I fear that we will suffer from overpopulation if something isn’t done."

"What do you suggest should be done then?" his companion asked.

The first elf shrugged. "I hear that much of Valinor is wilderness. Perhaps the Valar would allow us to migrate."

The second elf frowned. "They made it clear that we weren’t welcome in Aman, especially the Noldorin Exiles. It seems that we Sindar have been tarred with the same brush as they."

"Well we did refuse their call, so I can see their point. Still, it would be nice to see other places, explore new lands."

"Well, it sounds nice, but I don’t see Them being that generous towards us. They love their precious Edhil e-Dor Rodyn more."

Sador gave Gilvagor a quick glance and the ellon shrugged. The Sinda stored the conversation away for future reference.

Over the next couple of days, as he wandered through the city and even out into the nearby countryside, Sador began to detect a pattern in the malaise that seemed to permeate the island’s inhabitants. There was a growing discontent concerning the higher prices for certain items of trade and the feeling that the island was becoming overcrowded as more elves sailed West. Sador realized that the two concerns were somewhat related, though he could not see his way to a solution.

Each evening after dinner, the ellon would sit down and write out every scrap of conversation or information he could remember from his wanderings. He tried to make his report as coherent as possible, disguised as a letter to "Atto":

Dear Atto,

Aunt Netilmírë and I are enjoying ourselves very much. While Aunt is busy setting up trade agreements I am busy wandering the city with my friend Gilvagor. We have overheard some rather amusing conversations of late. I have appended the more interesting of them to this letter.

Gilvagor has been very helpful in introducing me to his friends. Many of them are Sindar but there are several Noldor as well, even one or two Nandor. The Noldor are quite different from the ones I remember from my youth. They are quieter than usual, less haughty, and their eyes are haunted with guilt, I think. It is very sad.

The Sindar are also quiet and I think many are still adjusting to life here without the constant threat of attacks by orcs and such. I have seen not a few jump at the slightest sound, then look embarrassed when they see that it is nothing. I feel sorry for them.

The few Nandor I have met are the most unfortunate. They do not like the cities or even the small communities that surround Kortirion and Avallónë. They prefer the wilder areas of the island, only there aren’t that many and I think they are regretting leaving Endórë.

And of course, there are the Reborn. They too are different from those I know elsewhere. The elves of Tol Eressëa are more accepting of them, but I think they feel inferior to those who managed to survive the War of Wrath and such. It is very heartbreaking to see. And I know how they feel.

Anyway, I hope you and emmë are well. Please tell my hannor that I miss them and hope to see them soon.

Edhel dithen veren gîn, Sador

****

After the first week, Netilmírë began to regret coming to Tol Eressëa. The Tol Eressëan guildmasters were Sindar to the core and only one spoke Quenya with any amount of fluency. Much of the conversation was conducted with Arodeth acting as a translator. The Sindarin masters, it turned out, had little use for any exchange of information and techniques between them and the Amaneldi.

"You Noldor were always arrogant from the very beginning," one elleth said bitterly. She was a master weaver. "We don’t need you to tell us how we are doing things wrong and lord it over us."

"We do not wish to lord it over you, as you say," Netilmírë said as calmly as she could, though she was seething inside. "We think it’s time that the elves of Tol Eressëa begin to feel a part of Aman. The Noldóran thinks that mutual exchange of information and techniques would be a benefit to both groups of elves."

"Perhaps," one of the Sindar conceded, a master of the smith’s guild. "I heard the King of the Noldor’s own son is one of the Reborn and that he used to be a king in Beleriand. I imagine that Finarfin would be very happy to see his son ruling over us as well."

Netilmírë shook her head. "Prince Findaráto has said he does not wish to rule again. He is content to sit by his atar’s side. Indeed, when the Tol Eressëan embassy broached the subject to him, he flat out refused to consider it. But we are not here to discuss politics. We are here to discuss mutual exchange of apprentices and journeymen who will only benefit from being exposed to different ways of doing things, thereby enriching us all."

"Enriching the elves of Aman, you mean," said another Sinda, this one a master tanner. "I doubt if we of Tol Eressëa will see any real benefit from all of this."

And so it went.

By the second week the talks had nearly broken down completely and Netilmírë and the other guildmasters from Tirion were at a loss as to what to do. They hated the idea of going back to Tirion empty-handed. It was Gilvagor who gave them a suggestion.

"Take Sador with you to the next meeting," the Noldo said. "Show them that you do not disparage the Sindar or consider them inferior to yourselves."

Netilmírë glanced at Sador who shrugged. "It won’t hurt to try."

So it was decided.

The next day Sador dressed in his best tunic and carefully braided his hair. He was nervous but he tried not to show it and Netilmírë looked upon him with approval. When they arrived at the meeting hall, though, they were met with great hostility.

"We agreed not to bring any of our apprentices and journeymen to these meetings," said the weaver master, her eyes flashing as she looked at Sador. "And since when are the Amaneldi allowed to wear warrior braids? It’s an insult."

"I’m not an elf of Aman," Sador said quietly, speaking Sindarin. "I am one of the Iathrim and I died at the Havens of Sirion. I have been recently re-embodied and as there were none of my kin to welcome me, I became a ward of the Aran Golodhrim and now serve as an apprentice to Mistress Netilmírë."

"Why would the King of the Noldor take a Sinda as ward?" asked the tanner.

"Because his son, Finrod, is my gwador," Sador said coldly and unflinchingly. He did not like the belligerent and disrespectful attitude of these guildmasters towards his own mistress or towards the Noldorin royal family.

The guildmasters looked suitably chastened by Sador’s words, but they weren’t completely satisfied with the reason for his presence at their meeting.

"I thought you would like to meet Sador," Netilmírë said. "He is an excellent potter and had he not been brutally slain by one of the Kinslayers, he would have been a master by now, I have no doubt. Arafinwë thought that Sador could benefit from my own expertise."

"And how does it feel to be an apprentice to an Amanelda?" the weaver master asked. "You wear warrior braids and yet you demean yourself by becoming the apprentice of one who is not of your own people."

Sador raised an eyebrow at that. "I was a potter long before I was a warrior, mistress. The destruction of Doriath forced me to put aside the potter and become the warrior."

All of which was complete nonsense, of course, but they didn’t need to know that and he did not think either Netilmírë or Arodeth would correct him.

"Now that I have been Reborn," he continued, "I can once again take up the potter’s wheel rather than the sword, but I will not forget what these braids cost me, and so I continue to wear them. And there is no shame in wanting to learn from the best." He flashed a grin at Netilmírë and winked. She winked back.

There did not seem to be much to say about that, but the Tol Eressëans were clearly unhappy and Sador left the meeting sometime later feeling unquiet in his mind.

"What are you thinking, Sador?" Netilmírë asked tiredly. The constant battle of wills was beginning to take their toll and she looked grey.

Sador stopped and looked gravely into her eyes. "I think Laurendil understated the problem. I have wandered the city and the countryside these last two weeks and there is much discontent and fear. The obvious hostility of the guildmasters is but a shadow of the real problem." He stared at nothing in particular for a long moment before returning his attention to Netilmírë. "I think Tol Eressëa is an explosion waiting to happen."

Netilmírë sighed and nodded. "I fear you are correct, young Sador." Then she smiled weakly. "You were quite impressive back there for all that you were piling one falsehood on top of another."

Sador sighed himself, shaking his head. "I wish Finrod and Glorfindel were here. They would know what to do."

****

An edhel dithen veren nîn. Ada: (Sindarin) "For my bold little elf. Papa."

Edhel dithen veren gîn: (Sindarin) "Your bold little elf."

Edhil e-Dor Rodyn: (Sindarin) Elves of Valinor, the Sindarin equivalent of the Quenya Amaneldi.

Hannor: (Quenya) Plural of hanno (colloquial): brother.

Iathrim: (Sindarin) Elves of Doriath; iath "fence" + rim: "people, as a class".

Aran Golodhrim: (Sindarin) King of the Noldor, the Sindarin equivalent of the Quenya Noldóran.

61: Family Ties

In the end, the masters from Tirion admitted defeat and decided it was not worth remaining on Tol Eressëa. When Netilmírë informed the Sindarin masters she thought she detected a flash of triumph on at least one of their faces, but it was quickly gone and perhaps she only imagined it. Sador decided that he wished to remain on the island to investigate further, especially when a missive from Arafinwë informed him that Finrod and Glorfindel had departed Tirion on missions of their own. Netilmírë insisted on staying with him.

"Technically, you’re an adult," she had said, "but I think you will agree that as your guildmaster, I hold ultimate responsibility for you and your actions. Someone has to be here to haul you out of trouble."

Sador had laughed at that and raised no objections. In truth, he was glad his mistress had not gone back to Tirion.

"I think I would like to see if I can learn anything about my family," Sador confided to Netilmírë as they sat in the common room of the inn. They had seen the other Noldorin guildmasters on their way earlier and were enjoying a glass of wine after their dinner. "I am hoping someone will have news of them, whether they still live or not."

Netilmírë felt a sudden pang in the depths of her heart as she remembered that she, too, had family that were missing. She often wondered if daughter and husband were even now keeping each other company in Mandos.

"I would like to find out what my daughter’s fate was. I wonder how one goes about asking?" she mused half to herself.

"What was her name?"

"Ezelmiril."

"Hmm," Sador pondered. "It is unlikely that she would have kept that name. The Noldor adopted Sindarin names or were given them by others. Lady Galadriel, for instance was given her name by Lord Celeborn whom she married. I think you might know her better as Lady Artanis," Sador added when Netilmírë gave him an enquiring look.

She raised an eyebrow at that revelation, and wondered why she was surprised. After all, Prince Findaráto had changed his name to Finrod and seemed to prefer it to his Quenya name.

"So what would ‘Ezelmiril’ translate into in Sindarin?" she asked and Sador shrugged.

"I do not know what it means."

"Ah, well ‘ezel’ is taken from the language of the Valar and means the same as ‘laiqua’. You will only hear it being used by the Vanyar. My husband comes from them."

"Well, in Sindarin there are two words that mean ‘green’. One is rarely used anymore, the other being more common."

"And they are?" Netilmírë asked in amusement.

Sador blushed. "Oh, sorry. ‘Laeg’ is the word that we don’t use. It’s more a poetical word, although I understand it’s more common among the Silvan elves. The more common word is ‘calen’. I think ‘miril’ might be translated into..."

He stopped, and there was a stunned expression on his face as he stared at Netilmírë. The guild mistress looked on her apprentice with concern.

"Sador, what’s wrong?"

Sador could only shake his head and then he was standing and racing for the door. "Sador! wait, please. What’s wrong?"

Netilmírë stood up and followed the ellon out, ignoring the surprised looks on the other patrons’ faces. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness outside as she looked to see where Sador had gone. He had not fled far, she was happy to see. He stood on the other side of the courtyard fronting the inn where a small fountain played softly. She approached him carefully, not sure what had happened and afraid that any sudden moves would cause him to flee again.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Sador," she said softly, "Please, yonya, tell me what’s wrong."

Sador did not speak. Indeed he could not. His chest felt tight and his skin burned and he had this need to scream, but all that came out was a slight whimper and then he was collapsing into Netilmírë’s arms, weeping.

"Oh, Sador," Netilmírë crooned softly. "Please child, tell me what troubles you."

"S-she changed her name to C-calemmíriel," he stammered through his tears.

"Who did, Sador?" Netilmírë asked in confusion, not sure what the ellon was talking about. "Who changed her name?"

Sador pulled himself out of Netilmírë’s embrace and looked at her, his eyes glowing with something indefinable. "Ezelmiril. She changed her name to Calemmíriel."

Netilmírë felt the earth tilt. "How do you know this?" she whispered.

"Because Calemmíriel is my anamillë."

Netilmírë never felt Sador catch her as she crumpled to the ground.

****

She woke to find herself still in the courtyard with Sador holding her head in his lap. He had a goblet in his hand. "Can you sit up? I have some water. It should help."

She nodded weakly, not trusting herself to speak and with his help was able to sit up enough to sip from the goblet. She did not attempt to hold the goblet herself, content to let Sador do all the work. When she had her fill, he gently lowered her to his lap again.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shock you like that."

"Do not concern yourself, youngster," she croaked. "I am well."

Sador smiled thinly. "Not from where I’m sitting. Come, let me help you up."

Soon they were both standing and Sador was leading her back into the inn. The other patrons pretended not to notice them. Sador led her back to their table. For a long moment, neither spoke. Netilmírë stared at nothing in particular. Then she turned to the one who was her great-grandson.

"Is she alive?"

Sador shook his head. "She did not make it out of Doriath. Neither did anatar."

Netilmírë closed her eyes, tears beginning to form. "Who is your anatar?" she finally asked. Her daughter was lost to her, as was her husband, but she had her great-grandson beside her, and that was more than she had had for a very long time.

"His name is Mallor. He’s a Sinda and was a member of Prince Celeborn’s retinue in Doriath. That’s how they met."

"What do you mean?"

"Anamillë was one of Lady Galadriel’s ladies-in-waiting and often traveled with her between Doriath and Nargothrond."

Netilmírë was confused. "Wait. I do not understand. My daughter was a lady-in-waiting to Lady Artanis? How can that be? She was naught but a potter’s apprentice."

Sador shrugged. "Perhaps that was true here in Aman, but many of the Noldor who fled to Beleriand carved for themselves new lives and new identities. I never heard the entire story, mind you, but apparently anamillë did some kind of service to Lady Galadriel during the Crossing of the Grinding Ice and as a result she was rewarded by being asked to become one of Lady Galadriel’s ladies-in-waiting. Obviously, when she and Lord Celeborn began to keep company together, Calemmíriel and Mallor had a chance to meet and know one another."

Netilmírë thought about that for a bit. Apparently the old social structures that the elves knew here in Aman ceased to exist among the Exiles. She had heard about the Grinding Ice and shuddered to think her beloved child had had to suffer through such hardship. Yet, in the end she had apparently found love and a purpose.

"You said your atar was a potter?"

Sador nodded, smiling. "Yes, atar took up the trade that apparently anamillë had abandoned. She was his first teacher, I’ve been told, when he began to exhibit an interest in the craft. Lord Celeborn actually found him a suitable master to study under."

"What is your atar’s name?"

"Bronweg and my amillë is named Rían. My sister’s name is Ninniach, which has the same meaning as Helyanwë."

"Bronweg..." she said, testing the name out.

Sador looked at the person who was both his guild mistress and great-grandmother and smiled. "I’ve been told he was named after his anatar."

Netilmírë gasped. "Voronwë." Then she stared hard at the ellon beside her trying to find any trace of her daughter in him, but she could not see anything of Ezelmiril in him, especially with his silvery hair which was obviously inherited from his Sindarin father, though it was several shades darker than the norm. Tears began to form and she had to look away.

"I’m sorry. I was hoping to see my daughter in you, but..."

Sador placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Everyone says that I look more like my anatar."

"Why didn’t Lord Irmo release you into my custody?" she asked. "Why the charade?"

Sador shrugged. "I don’t know, Mistress..."

"Shh. None of that, Inyonya," Netilmirë said. "We are family. You must call me Anammë as is only right."

Sador nodded shyly. "Anammë."

She smiled and then she opened her arms and welcomed him into her embrace. "I have lost both husband and daughter," she whispered, "but I have gained a great-grandson, whom I love very much." She kissed him and hugged him fiercely before letting him go.

Sador looked at his anammë in wonder. "I can’t believe that all this time... and I never suspected."

"The Valar are a devious bunch, aren’t they?" she said with a wry grin and soon the two of them were laughing heartily.

****

Later that evening, after Sador had retired, Netilmírë found herself feeling restless and wandered out to the courtyard to look at the stars and think. She still found it hard to believe that all these weeks she had had her great-grandson in her company and never knew it.

"Do you like our little surprise?"

Netilmírë turned with a gasp to find herself gazing into the amused expressions of Lord Aulë and Lady Yavanna.

"You knew all along," she said and then silently berated herself. Of course they would know. The question was, why?

"Would you have accepted him as your great-grandson from the beginning?" Yavanna asked quietly.

"Would you have even believed us had we told you of his existence?" Aulë added. 

She started to protest, but then stopped, realizing the truth of their words and blushed in shame. "I’ve been so bitter. I would have rejected him from the beginning."

Aulë nodded. "Yes. We knew that would be your reaction, so we decided to circumvent it by approaching the subject sideways, you might say." He laughed lightly at her expression. "It’s all right, daughter. No one blames you. You needed time to come to terms with what had happened. We gave you that time and the opportunity to get to know young Sador without the burden of blood ties to influence you."

"I’ve been so stupid..."

"Hush now," Yavanna admonished her, giving her a quick hug. "None of that. What’s past is past. The important thing is that you’ve found one another."

"My grandson... Sador’s sister... are they....?"

Aulë shook his head. "We will not tell you. Be content that you and Sador have each other. Someday the other members of your family will join you, but until then..."

Netilmírë nodded, not really surprised by the Vala’s answer. She had actually asked for Sador’s sake, knowing how much he missed his family and wondered about their fate, especially the sister he had died defending.

Aulë smiled at her gently and took her into his embrace and kissed her on the brow. "Sador will do well enough, daughter. He has survived many hardships and heartaches and is the stronger for it. Do not fear for him."

"Now, we must leave you, child," Yavanna said, offering Netilmírë her own kiss. "Treat your great-grandson gently and all will be well. He is as precious to us as you are."

Then they were gone and Netilmírë found herself alone with the stars as company once again.

****

"...and she’s my anammë, can you believe it?" Sador said, a delighted smile on his face.

He was lying in his bed, clutching his stuffed toy to himself, while Lord Námo sat on the edge grinning at the eagerness in which the ellon had told him his news, quite forgetting that the Lord of Mandos would have known about it all along.

"Are you happy, best beloved, now that you’ve found your anammë?"

Sador nodded. "But why did no one tell us... me? Didn’t you want me to know my anammë?"

Námo shook his head, gently running a hand through Sador's hair. "We wanted nothing more than to have the two of you be a family, but Netilmírë was not ready to accept a great-grandson she had never met before. We decided to give you both time to know each other first."

Sador looked pensive. "M-my family... did they...?"

Námo put a finger to Sador’s lips. "You know I will not tell you. You must have faith that when the time is right you will all be reunited."

Sador nodded, looking somewhat downcast, but then his eyes lit up with wonder again. "She’s my anammë... she’s my anammë." He hugged himself with glee and with a gentle laugh Lord Námo gathered the ellon into his arms and gave him a kiss.

"Yes, she is, indeed."

****

Ezel/Laiqua: Green. Laiqua is found in older sources of Tolkien's works and is more properly Qenya, while later sources have laica. I use the earlier form here to indicate that the Quenya of Aman has retained older forms that changed in the Quenya spoken in Middle-earth by the Exiles.

Calemmíriel: (Sindarin) calen "green" + mîr "shining jewel" with assimilation + -iel "female suffix".

Helyanwë: (Quenya) Rainbow.

Inyonya: (Quenya): My grandson. Netilmírë is using the word to mean "descendant".

Anammë: (Quenya) Grandmother, using an alternate form of amillë. Great-grandmother would most likely be alatanammë, but this is awkward and in informal situations the elves would probably use some version of "grandmother" instead, much as humans do.

Sador’s Family Tree in Middle-earth:

Ezelmiril (Calemmíriel) m. Mallor of Doriath

      Bronweg m. Rían

     Sador

     Ninniach

62: A Familiar Scene

The next morning Sador met Netilmírë in the common room for breakfast, feeling suddenly shy.

"Good morning... Anammë," he said and hesitantly leaned over to give her a kiss.

Netilmírë smiled and pulled him into her embrace. "Good morning to you, Inyo. Did you sleep well?"

Sador nodded, then blushed. "Er... yes, well, Lord Námo had to sing to me first."

Netilmírë raised an eyebrow at that. "Lord Námo was here?"

The ellon grinned. "I had to tell someone the news. He was the only one I could think of."

Netilmírë laughed, understanding that even now Sador probably didn’t realize that he had told the news to the one person who had known all along and had probably arranged for all this to happen in the first place. No doubt Lord Námo had simply taken delight in Sador’s joy in discovering he had family in Aman and allowed the ellon to believe he was hearing the news for the first time.

"Do you still want to see if we can discover something about your... our family?" Netilmírë asked and was rewarded by a brilliant smile and a glad nod from Sador.

"Gilvagor did help me with some enquiries here in Kortirion, but we had no luck. He suggested I might try Avallónë or Tavrobel. As it is, I wish to look into some of the allegations that the Tol Eressëans have made about the high cost of transporting goods to the island. I do not know if it is true, or if they think it’s true. It may be that the prices the Amaneldi are asking for are in fact reasonable. I don’t know."

Netilmírë frowned slightly in thought. "What do you want to do?"

"I should go to Tavrobel. That is where all shipments are made and then they are dispersed across the island."

"Odd. It would make more sense to have some shipments sent to Avallónë. I would think it becomes rather expensive to move items across the island where there are few roads."

"I thought so too," Sador agreed, "but I would be the first to admit that I have no idea what the logistics of such things are. Perhaps it is more cost effective this way. I want to find out. If the Tol Eressëans’ complaint is legitimate, Atar should know so he can act."

"Then why don’t we go together?" Netilmírë asked. "While you are investigating shipments from Aman, I can perhaps speak to people there about Bro-bronweg and Rían," she added, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar names. "It’s as good a place to start as any."

So it was agreed and after consulting with Gilvagor it was decided that he would accompany them to Tavrobel and help them in their investigations.

"It would be best if I acted as a guide," he said to Netilmírë. "You might get more forthcoming answers to your questions."

"What about Sador?" Netilmirë enquired.

Gilvagor grinned. "Those braids of his are all the introduction he needs. The people of Tol Eressëa have the greatest respect for any who wear the warrior braids, knowing what it was they faced. If they learn that Sador is also a Reborn, so much the better."

"The Reborn here seem somewhat... embarrassed to my mind," commented Sador. "I think they feel inferior to the rest of you because they did not manage to survive long enough to return to Aman of their own free will."

"Only in their own minds is that true," Gilvagor said sadly. "We, better than most, know what the Reborn sacrificed. Many died horribly and in great torment of hröa and fëa. I, frankly, stand in awe of you and all the Reborn, knowing what you did and what it cost you."

Now Sador blushed, feeling embarrassed. "Perhaps if you took the time to tell that to your own Reborn, they might begin to feel differently."

Gilvagor smiled ruefully. "Perhaps you are correct, youngling. Perhaps we don’t take the time to express our gratitude to them and so they think we take them and their sacrifices for granted when the opposite is the truth."

In the end they decided the three of them would travel to Tavrobel in the morning. In the meantime, Sador gave Netilmírë a tour of Kortirion, pointing out the more interesting features of the city. She was quite impressed with the architecture, little though it resembled anything in Tirion or the other cities of Eldamar. It was obvious that the city was heavily influenced by Sindarin values of form and color, though Noldorin touches could be seen as well. It was, she decided, a lovely blend of both cultures that did not detract from either.

"It’s quite beautiful and the elves who built it have nothing to be ashamed of," she said at one point as they sat by a fountain enjoying the afternoon breeze that sent the sharp scent of salt water to them and Sador nodded.

"I think I would like to move here someday. It feels wonderful to hear Sindarin spoken all around me. I feel at home here as I have not felt since being re-embodied."

Netilmírë looked a bit wistful at that. "I wonder if my daughter ever felt at home anywhere after she left Aman."

Sador took Netilmírë’s hand and smiled. "She loved my anatar very much. She once told me that she never felt at home anywhere, not even here in Aman, until she met anatar, and then she knew she was home at last." He paused, looking somewhat uncertain. "I’m glad they died together in Doriath. Anamillë would not have long survived anatar’s death. She would have followed him to Mandos."

Netilmírë patted Sador’s arm. "Then I’m glad they are still together in the Halls of Waiting."

Sador, however, shook his head, looking sad. "It is likely they are not for the Halls are endless and there are many rooms. But even if they are together they will not know one another."

Netilmírë gave him a quizzical look. "What do you mean?"

The ellon sighed, then as gently as he could, he explained. "The Dead have no memory of their lives before dying. It is Lord Námo’s gift to them so they are not overburdened with the guilt and remorse that might follow from such memories. All we are left with are our names."

"But... that’s... oh Valar!" Netilmírë stood up, shock written all over her and she turned to flee but Sador stood as well and took her into his arms.

"Hush, Anammë. It’s all right. Please. It’s fine. Anamillë and Anatar are happy. They know nothing but joy and love and peace. All the pain, all the horror and the terror has fled and they remember them not. Someday, when they are re-embodied they will begin to remember their past and will reclaim it." He stepped out of the embrace enough to look her in the eyes and smiled. "You and I must be ready to welcome them and help them to mature into the elves Eru meant for them to be, just as you and Atar and Amillë have helped me."

Netilmírë still felt somewhat shaken at the thought that Voronwë and Ezelmiril had no memory of her, did not even know or care that she lived and waited for them. She looked at this ellon whom she loved now as her great-grandson and not just as an apprentice and smiled back, though she wasn’t sure how successful it was. "They would be very proud of you, you know, as am I." She gave him a hug and kissed him. "Why don’t we continue our tour?"

****

They were walking through another courtyard on the way back to the inn when they saw several elves gathered around a tree. An elleth, a Sinda by her looks and bearing, was standing under it pleading to someone who was apparently hiding in the branches. The other elves looked on in amusement.

"Please, my love, come down." The elleth was nearly in tears. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you."

"What happened?" Sador asked one of the onlookers.

The elf turned and was not surprised to see a Sinda and Noldo standing together. What was odd was that both the Sinda and Noldo were wearing the brighter, flashier clothing of the Amanians. There was something jarring about the ellon wearing a brilliant blue watered silk tunic with a linen shirt dyed a deep rose showing underneath while sporting Doriathrin warrior braids. And the elleth who accompanied him was even more outlandishly dressed and was definitely an elf of Aman. The Tol Eressëan elf could not imagine what one of his own people would be doing in the company of one of the Edhil e-Dor Rodyn. He eyed them suspiciously.

"Why do you ask, stranger? What concern is it to you?"

Sador shrugged and smiled, not at all put out by the other elf’s belligerent tone. "Just wondering, friend. Nothing more."

The other elf relented somewhat at Sador’s non-threatening and unassuming tone, though he still looked suspiciously at Netilmírë. "It’s Haldir. He’s up his favorite tree again," he said, quite forgetting that such an explanation might mean nothing to these two strangers.

Netilmírë looked bemused, not understanding more than a few words and phrases, for Sador had taught her a few common phrases as they traveled to Tol Eressëa. Sador only smiled knowingly. "What set him off this time?"

The Tol Eressëan elf gave Sador an appraising look and then his eyes widened. "You will have to ask Gwilwileth, his wife."

Sador nodded his thanks, then gave Netilmírë a look before approaching the still pleading elleth. Gwilwileth gave a gasp when he touched her lightly on the arm to get her attention and she turned to see a strangely dressed ellon wearing Doriathrin warrior braids, though he looked like no warrior she had ever known. Sador smiled at her.

"Do you know why he’s upset?" he asked her gently.

She shook her head in bemusement. "I was just talking about how I wished to take my blackberry tarts to next week’s fair to be judged and..."

"Ah, yes. That might do it." He gave her a sad smile. "How long has he been released from Lórien?"

"Two weeks." The elleth looked at him with some uncertainty. "Did I do something wrong?"

Sador shook his head. "No, my lady, you’ve done nothing wrong. Something you said apparently triggered a memory and it upset him, that’s all."

She sighed. "He’s been up there for hours and I can’t get him to come down."

"And there’s never a Maia around when you need one, is there?" Sador said with a light laugh. Gwilwileth smiled tremulously and several of the onlookers chuckled. "Perhaps I can help, if you would like."

"You?" one of the onlookers, a Noldo this time, asked. "Why would you bother to help? Indeed, what can you possibly do that we haven’t already done?"

"But you haven’t done anything, except stand around and amuse yourselves at this poor ellon’s expense," Sador retorted with some anger. "At least I’ve some experience in dealing with stubborn Reborn ellyn who like to hide in trees."

Several of the elves there looked suitably embarrassed by Sador’s reprimand. Netilmírë, in the meantime, had been standing there listening to the rapid Sindarin all around her, feeling frustrated at not understanding the words. One of the Noldorin elleth standing nearby noticed and with a smile quietly translated for her. Thus, at Sador’s words about dealing with stubborn Reborn ellyn, Netilmírë looked at her great-grandson with some amusement. Sador saw it and gave her a brilliant smile, then shocked everyone by speaking to her in Quenya.

"Just don’t tell my brothers I said that."

"Don’t worry, Inyo," she said with a laugh. "I wouldn’t dream of it."

Sador turned back to Gwilwileth, who merely stared at him in shock, then he looked up into the tree where he could see Haldir sitting about two-thirds of the way up. By his features, it was obvious that he was a Noldo. Sador looked back at Gwilwileth.

"Was your husband born in Aman, lady?"

Gwilwileth nodded. "Yes. He was born a century or so before the Darkening, I believe. He belonged to Turgon’s retinue and was a member of the House of the Golden Flower."

Sador nodded. "Did he die at Gondolin’s fall?"

The elleth nodded.

"Ah, that would explain it then."

"Explain what?" she asked in frustration, but Sador was not paying any attention to her. He was trying to remember everything Glorfindel had told him about his own Judgment.

He looked back up at the ellon who had completely ignored the conversation occurring right below him and began speaking in a diffident tone. "I have two gwedyr who endured Judgment within the Rind e-Baudh. One of them died in Gondolin, as you did. Glorfindel told me that..."

The mention of Glorfindel’s name set off a spark of reaction from everyone, including Haldir, who suddenly came down from the tree, his eyes bright with shock and surprise. Netilmírë saw the others around her gasp and stare at her aninyo in wonder. Haldir grabbed Sador by the shoulders and stared hard at him.

"I do not recognize you," he said harshly. "How can you say that you are Lord Glorfindel’s gwador when I know you never lived in Gondolin?"

Sador, for his part, remained calm. "I never said I lived in Gondolin. My name is Sador. I am originally from Doriath, but I died at the Havens. Glorfindel and I became gwedyr after we were both Reborn."

Haldir stepped back, looking uncertain. "Then... then you too stood within the Ring of Doom..."

Sador shook his head. "Nay, I did not. Only the Noldorin Rebels have ever been brought before all the Valar for Judgment, or so Lord Námo told me, when I stood before him for my own Judgment. That is what you were remembering, wasn’t it? Your Judgment."

Haldir nodded, his eyes suddenly looking haunted. "It... it was as if I were back there again... and... and..." He tried to back away, but Sador reached for him and drew him into his embrace.

"Hush now, best beloved," he said in a soft tone and Haldir gasped at the familiar words coming from this strange looking Sinda. "All judgments have been rendered, all debts paid. Did not Lord Námo speak these words to you?"

Haldir could only nod, overwhelmed by the emotions roiling within him.

Sador continued holding him, rubbing his back and willing calmness. "Then, you need not fear the memories of that Judgment, for they are of the past and refer to a life that is no longer yours to claim. You have passed beyond Judgment and can now live your life as Eru originally intended for you to do."

Gwilwileth had been listening to this with growing wonder. "Haldir was Judged before all the Valar?"

When Sador nodded, she paled visibly. "W-was he... chained as Morgoth was?" she asked hesitantly.

Haldir pulled himself out of Sador’s embrace to face his wife, his own expression one of shock. "No, Gwilwileth. It was nothing like that." He hugged her fiercely. "I did not know it then, but they treated me with utmost kindness and mercy, though they did not flinch from rendering Judgment upon me for what I had done in defying their Authority."

"But you, Sinda, you did not suffer within the Rind e-Baudh." Sador turned to see one of the Noldorin onlookers glaring at him.

"And why should I have, my lord?" Sador replied calmly. "I never denied the Authority of the Belain nor did I swear terrible oaths that should never have been uttered. That does not mean I did not suffer Judgment, though. Before Lord Námo was I brought and that was as terrifying an experience as any I have ever had."

Haldir looked at Sador in curiosity, trying to figure him out, with his Doriathrin warrior braids and his Amanian-styled clothes. "What happened at your Judgment?"

Netilmírë, when she heard the question translated stepped forward to face Sador. "You do not have to answer that, Sador. I would think that even among these somewhat uncouth Tol Eressëans, such a question borders on rude."

The onlookers, once Netilmírë’s words were translated for those not understanding Quenya, bristled somewhat at her words, but recognized the truth of them nonetheless.

Sador merely smiled and shook his head. "I am not offended, Anammë. You little appreciate what I mean when I say that I have gone beyond all that. Do not worry on my account. I am well." He gave her a quick kiss and then turned his attention back to Haldir. "Are you truly interested in knowing?"

Haldir nodded. "Yes. P-perhaps in the telling of your... story I will find the c-courage to tell my own."

"Very well," Sador finally said. "I was sixty-eight years old when the Kinslayers came upon us in the Havens and I was killed when I tried to stop one of them from killing my little sister." He paused for a moment and looked down, obviously distressed. Then he looked back up at his audience. No one spoke or moved, already caught in his spell of words.

"My next conscious thought was finding myself staring at a beautiful jewel...."

****

Aninyo: (Quenya) Great-grandson. When addressing Sador, Netilmírë chooses to use the more common inyo, which has the meaning of "grandchild, descendant" as well as "grandson".

Belain: (Sindarin) Plural of Balan: Vala.

63: Echoes of Judgment

Sador found himself staring out into space, or at least that seemed to be the perspective. He stood in the threshold of a large wooden door with nothing but the night sky before him and a single bright jewel of a star shining above him.

Or perhaps it was below him. He wasn’t sure.

It did not matter. It was beautiful. More beautiful than anything he had ever seen before and it called to him, though he did not know why it should.

"Close the door, Sador," came a voice from behind him. It was as kind as summer, yet there was the trace of winter’s ice in it that Sador recognized as a command. "Close the door, child," the voice said again. "There is nothing for you there now. Time to come in."

Sador hesitated for a moment or two, unwilling to let go of the sight of the star. Its beauty smote him and left an ache deep inside that he feared would never be assuaged and he could almost feel tears running down his cheeks. Then, with a stifled sob, he stepped back and pushed the door closed, almost slamming it. Only then did he realize that there was no handle on this side of it and now he would never be able to open it again and look at the star. He leaned against the door lost in grief.

"Turn around Sador and face me," the voice said. It was still gentle and even welcoming but it would not brook any dissent and so Sador reluctantly turned around...

His mind froze and it took some time for him to understand what he was seeing and why.

He was in a small chamber, perhaps only fifteen paces on either side. The walls were whitewashed and the floor tiled but there was no ornamentation. Across the room from him was a short dais upon which there was a throne and on the throne...

He was tall, his blue-black hair elf-braided, his eyes a dark grey. He wore a knee-length grey nubbed wool tunic over an indigo-dyed lawn shirt with tight sleeves. His breeches were of light wool dyed grey and his feet were covered with knee-high leather boots. He had a sleeveless overrobe of figured black silk trimmed with black opals and moonstones. On his head he wore a diadem of intricately wrought mithril in the shape of flames in the middle of which was set a single blood-red ruby.

"Hello, Sador," the figure said and beckoned with the fingers of his left hand for the elf to approach.

Sador screamed, suddenly remembering all the stories his daernana had told him about the Doomsman and his terrible Curse. He turned back to the door seeking escape but there wasn’t any and he found himself huddled against the portal that was forever closed pounding on it futilely as he wept. He felt, rather than saw, the Lord of Mandos stand behind him and place a comforting hand on his head. Sador tried to cringe away, but there wasn’t anywhere else to go.

"That’s all right, child," Námo said gently. "Take your time. There’s no rush." Then he began singing an ancient lullaby as he stroked the ellon’s head. In spite of himself, Sador fell asleep.

****

When he woke up he was lying on a low couch and Lord Námo was again sitting on his throne, his expression grave but not unkind or cold. He actually smiled when Sador’s eyes fell on him.

"Feeling calmer?"

Sador nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was remembering all that his daernana and the other Noldor had told him about the Dread One and the terrible fate that no doubt awaited all those of Beleriand, Noldorin Rebels and Sindarin Refusers alike, and he felt himself beginning to panic at the thought. Námo frowned slightly and gestured. "Come here, Sador. Let us get this over with."

When Sador hesitated, Námo shook his head and his face became stern. "Do not refuse me, child. It will be better for you if you come to me of your own free will."

With great reluctance Sador rose from the couch and stood rather shakily before the Lord of Mandos. When Námo waved him closer he took a couple of steps. Námo’s eyes were bright with amusement.

"A little closer, child. I don’t bite, truly."

Sador took a few more steps until he was standing directly in front of the dais and had to look up at the Vala.

"What did your daernana tell you about me?" Námo asked.

The ellon visibly gulped and spoke in a whisper, his voice trembling. He found he could not look away from the Vala’s eyes. "S-she said you... cursed us and... if we ever f-fell into your hands... we... we would..." Then he was on his knees weeping. "P-please... I didn’t do anything wrong... I didn’t... I didn’t...."

With a sigh Námo leaned over and pulled the ellon towards him. Sador’s weeping was now reduced to whimpers as he tried to escape the Vala’s arms, but to no avail. Námo placed Sador’s head in his lap and began gently rubbing the ellon’s back, saying nothing. Slowly, Sador found himself relaxing when nothing else happened and he felt himself calming, though not to the point of falling asleep. Instead, he felt more wide awake than he remembered ever being.

The Lord of Mandos began speaking. "Your daernana and the other Noldor who fled Aman had a jaundiced view of their relationship with us. They saw us as keeping them in Aman against their wills when in truth they were free to leave whenever they wanted."

"Th-then why did you curse them?" Sador asked without looking up.

"Child, I didn’t." There was a universe of sorrow in those words. "The Noldor call it the Curse of Mandos, but it can more correctly be called the Curse of Fëanor, for it was he who brought it down upon himself, his sons and all those who fled with him. All I did was to pronounce the doom that naturally followed from all the decisions that came from Fëanor refusing our request for the Silmarils."

"Daernana said because I had Noldorin blood that I was cursed too and... and if I... died, I would be punished."

"Hardly sounds fair, does it?"

Sador raised his head and shook it, then gave the Vala a hesitant look. "Am... am I going to be punished?"

Námo shook his head and smiled gently. "No, child, but you will be judged."

Sador pulled himself upright and began backing away. "But I didn’t do anything. I didn’t." He started to turn, thinking to escape, though there was nowhere to run. It didn’t matter. Námo was out of his throne in seconds and had wrapped his arms around the ellon and pulled him into his embrace.

"Shhh. It’s all right," the Vala whispered as Sador wept and tried to escape. "Hush now, best beloved. This has nothing to do with punishment. Look now. Look at the tapestry."

The Vala pointed to the wall where the door had been and Sador saw that a tapestry now hung there. He was not sure of the scene, being aware only of bright colors and figures that seemed to move across the storied web. At the moment his gaze fell on the arras his body stilled and he became quiescent in Námo’s arms.

"That’s it, child," Námo said, not letting the ellon go. "Look at the tapestry. Do not be afraid. I will stay right here beside you. You don’t have to face this alone, I promise you."

Afterwards, Sador never really remembered what happened except that every detail of his life came to the fore of his memory and Someone sifted those memories with a thoroughness that left the ellon exhausted. Most of it was not so bad but he remembered screaming at least once when a memory concerning the fall of Doriath arose, and then again when the last moments of his life surfaced and he saw the sword coming down....

"NINNIACH!" he screamed and began flailing at the Lord of Mandos, who simply picked him up as if he were an elfling of ten and sat down on his throne, holding Sador tightly to him, letting the ellon vent his rage and fear as he pleased. Eventually, the ellon tired and his movements slowed, even as his screams became whimpers and then stopped altogether until he was completely quiescent in Námo’s arms.

"Do not be afraid for your sister, child," Námo said quietly. "All will be well with her and with you. Now, I think it’s time for you to sleep and when you wake up everything will be different." He leaned down and gently kissed Sador on the brow. The ellon stiffened in the Vala’s arms for a moment and then relaxed completely. Námo rose and placed him on the couch, covering him with a light blanket and smoothing his brow with a hand. Sador struggled to keep awake but the Vala began singing a lullaby and soon the elf was fast asleep.

He woke once or twice to see either a Maia or Lord Námo standing watch over him before drifting back into sleep, feeling safe and loved. At least once that he remembered he woke screaming from a nightmare and there were two Maiar there to comfort him.

Sador slept for nearly five years and when he awoke completely, he had no memory of his life in Middle-earth....

****

Haldir stared at Sador, his surprise evident. "Your Judgment was nothing like mine."

"Yet it was a Judgment nonetheless. My memories and motives were examined, sifted for falsehoods and exposed to the light for the truth. It was no less painful to endure for me than it was for you. The difference is that I stood before only one of the Valar, and that one actually held me the entire time, offering me comfort and love. Of course, when it was happening, I appreciated neither the comfort nor the love." He grinned at the Noldo and Haldir grinned back.

"Is it true, though?" Gwilwileth asked anxiously. "There is no punishment? My Haldir wasn’t chained? They said he would be chained."

Both Haldir and Sador looked at the elleth in shock and confusion. Haldir took his wife into his arms as she started to weep softly. "Beloved, who said such a thing to you?"

Gwilwileth looked up at her husband. "Wh-when we first came here, after the War of Wrath, elves from... the mainland came. They told us we were here on sufferance and our loved ones who went to Mandos went chained to their judgments and..."

Several things happened at once. Netilmírë, when she understood what was being said, cried out in horror at the elleth’s words. Haldir’s expression went deadly as he saw confirmation in the eyes of many of the bystanders. Sador was wondering if he would be able to get his anammë away in safety, for Gwilwileth’s words had triggered long-held resentments by the Tol Eressëans against the Amaneldi. The mood of the Tol Eressëans was turning dark and ugly and Netilmirë was an easy target.

And then, Lord Námo appeared in their midst, along with two warrior Maiar, all three looking grim. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over all of them. Every elf in the courtyard froze, some with the most ridiculous expressions on their faces. Only Sador and Haldir seemed unaffected. Haldir pulled back from whatever dark place he had been heading for and stared at the Vala with easy respect; Sador merely gave Námo a cheeky grin.

Námo raised an eyebrow at that. "Sador. Have you been causing trouble?"

"No more than usual, my lord," the ellon said with a laugh.

Námo nodded, looking amused, then turned his attention to Haldir, who now had a protective arm around Gwilwileth. That elleth looked pale and ready to collapse. Námo gestured to her. "Á tulë sinomë, Wilwarindinya."

She gasped but did not dare disobey. Námo took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. "Your husband was not chained and those who told you otherwise must someday answer for their spite. Know that Haldir was treated with as much gentleness as he would allow us to show him."

"Why would anyone say such a cruel thing in the first place and why did you let them?" Haldir demanded angrily, glaring fearlessly at the Vala. Many there cringed at the ellon’s tone, half expecting the Lord of Mandos to come down rather hard on the insolent elf, but Námo simply gave Haldir a small shrug.

"I do not concern myself with the petty doings of the Eldar, my son. None of us do. Your problems are your own and you must work them out as best you can. I neither allowed nor prohibited those Amaneldi from speaking such cruel words to your wife. I regret that she was left to feel fear and sorrow at your supposed treatment, but you are here to tell her otherwise, are you not?"

Haldir scowled. "They had no right."

"No, they did not," Námo agreed. "Just as none of you have the right to vent your anger on an innocent stranger." Here, he looked pointedly at Netilmírë, who, for her part, merely gave the Vala a brief curtsey and a small smile. Námo returned the smile with one of his own.

"You say you do not concern yourself with our... petty affairs, lord," one of the other elves said with a scowl. "May we ask then why you are here?"

Námo looked appraisingly at the elf who had the grace to blush and turned to share a smile and a raised eyebrow with his two Maiar attendants before returning his attention to the elves. "I was in the neighborhood and decided to drop by."

Sador snorted at that; everyone else stared at the Vala in disbelief. "O-our neighborhood?" Haldir asked.

"No, mine."

They all turned to see Lord Ulmo striding towards them, his robe glittering like fish scales. He was dripping seawater and his beard and hair trailed seaweed. He took in the scene at a glance and gave his brother Vala a searching look.

"Trouble?"

Námo shook his head. "Not any more."

Ulmo nodded. "Well, if you’re finished playing, we have some work to do. I want to take another look at those temporal equations and see if we can detect a recognizable pattern. I was thinking..."

The elves stared in bemused wonder as the two Valar with their Maiar guards began walking away, fading into the fabric of the courtyard as they stepped away from one Reality towards another, the Eldar seemingly forgotten. For a long moment no one moved or spoke, then Gwilwileth turned to Sador and gave him a small curtsey.

"Would you and your... anammë care to join us for the evening meal?"

Sador looked at Netilmírë who merely raised an eyebrow, allowing him to make the decision for them both. He nodded and gave the elleth a smile. "We would be honored, thank you."

"No, my lord," Gwilwileth said, "the honor is mine. It’s the least I can do for you after rescuing my husband... er... from the tree."

Haldir had the grace to blush as everyone in the courtyard laughed lightly.

****

Daernana: (Sindarin) Grandmama.

Á tulë sinomë, Wilwarindinya: (Quenya) "Come here, my Butterfly". Wilwarin is the Quenya equivalent of Gwilwileth.

Ruby: Considered to be the most powerful gem in the universe, it gives the wearer the ability to see things in a true and correct manner. It is also a symbol of royalty.

64: Chains of Hate

Haldir and Gwilwileth led their guests to their modest home situated one courtyard away from where they had met and in a short while, Gwilwileth, with Netilmírë insisting on helping, had put together a simple repast and they were all enjoying themselves. At first, they kept the conversation light and spoke of minor things, such as the drier than usual summer and the hope for a wetter than usual winter to offset the dry season. Finally, though, Haldir broached the subject that they had all been avoiding.

"How is it that one who sports Doriathrin warrior braids is dressed as an elf of Aman and speaks Quenya?"

Sador shrugged. "I learned Quenya in Lórien and I have been living in Tirion since my Release."

"But why?" Gwilwileth asked. "Why did you not come to Tol Eressëa to live as all the other Sindar have, unless they choose to remove to Alqualondë?"

Now Sador smiled. "I was released into the custody of King Arafinwë, who has taken me into his household as his Ward. I’m being trained to be a diplomatic aide to Prince Findaráto, who is also my otorno."

Haldir and Gwilwileth stared at him in wonder. "The King of Nargothrond is your otorno?" Haldir asked.

Sador nodded. "As is Lord Glorfindel. They... they’re the ones who initiated me." He lifted one of his braids in explanation and both elves nodded in understanding. "King Arafinwë saw that I also had a talent for making pottery and apprenticed me to Mistress Netilmírë. We only just realized after all these weeks that her daughter is my grandmother."

The two Tol Eressëan elves stared at Netilmírë, who gave them a shrug. "I’m afraid I would not have accepted a great-grandson I had never met had I been told of it earlier. The Valar apparently thought it best for us to learn of our relationship on our own. We only put all the pieces together last night."

"So what brought you to Tol Eressëa, then?" Haldir asked and Sador explained about the guildmasters’ meeting and about his own investigations.

"We’re going to Tavrobel tomorrow with Gilvagor," the ellon said as he finished his tale. Haldir and Gwilwileth nodded at Gilvagor’s name, the ellon being well-known among the islanders. "I’m hoping to find out if what has been told me is true. Anammë wants to see if anyone there remembers my parents or grandparents, for I had no luck here in Kortirion."

Haldir frowned. "I have only been here for two weeks myself, so I cannot say if what you have heard is true or not." He looked sorrowfully at his wife. "I did not realize how deep the resentment for the Amaneldi is here until today. I cannot believe anyone could be that cruel."

Netilmírë shook her head. "I had no idea any of our people had done such a thing. While I admit I never really gave any of you a thought, neither did I wish you ill. I apologize on behalf of those of us who may have caused you deliberate pain. It was unconscionable."

Gwilwileth smiled. "I am glad not all Amaneldi hate us."

"I don’t think it’s a question of hate," Sador said wryly, "as much as it’s a question of not thinking you’re worthy of their attention. Their real focus of late has been on the Reborn in their midst. The Noldor of Tirion have been less welcoming of us than the Tol Eressëans or the Teleri have been."

"But why?" Gwilwileth asked in confusion. It was Haldir, though, who answered.

"Can you not guess, beloved?" his voice was tinged with bitterness. "They hate us for betraying them and the Valar. As far as they’re concerned, dying is too good for us. Even my own family refused to meet me at the Gates of Reunion. You had to come and fetch me."

Gwilwileth looked down at her feet, her face pale. "I almost didn’t come."

Haldir looked puzzled. "Why not?"

His wife looked up and her expression was so grim it tore at their hearts. "All I knew was what I’d been told. All I saw in my mind was you being chained and I didn’t want to see that in reality. I didn’t want to see you... humiliated."

"What changed your mind?" Netilmírë asked gently.

Gwilwileth looked at her husband whose own expression was almost too painful to endure. "I... loved you too much not to come. Then, when we finally met you were so..."

"Lost?" Haldir suggested.

"Shy," Gwilwileth corrected him. "You didn’t really know me. I was so afraid the... Valar had broken you. I didn’t understand. I’m sorry." She started weeping and he took her into his arms.

"You know differently, now, don’t you, Gwilwileth?" Sador asked with compassion. "While Judgment is terrifying, especially for the Noldor who must endure all the Valar, not just one, it is meant to heal, not destroy; to bring about reconciliation, not separation from Eru. Those who told you your husband went to judgment in chains spoke either out of ignorance or wishful thinking."

"Why didn’t the Valar..."

Haldir answered her. "Lord Námo is correct in saying that our problems are our own to solve, though Eru knows he seems to interfere often enough where any of the Reborn are involved."

Sador grinned wickedly. "That’s because he has a vested interest in our well-being."

"How do you mean, Inyo?" Netilmírë asked.

"If we’re ever stupid enough to end up on his doorstep again, Anammë," her great-grandson replied with a laugh, "the Lord of Mandos will be mightily vexed."

"To say the least," Haldir joined Sador in laughter. "He actually told me point blank that he never wanted to see me inside his Halls again. ‘You will not enjoy the consequences if you do, best beloved’ were his exact words."

Sador sniggered at that and shared a smirk with Haldir that left the two ellith looking bemused. "You don’t seem terribly impressed by Lord Námo’s threat, my love," Gwilwileth said.

"Oh no, on the contrary," Haldir protested, "I’m very impressed. One doesn’t spend centuries in the Halls of Mandos without learning to be impressed by Lord Námo. He means precisely what he says at all times."

"But we also know how much he loves us," Sador added, "and that makes the difference."

Gwilwileth shook her head. "I can’t imagine the Lord of Mandos loving anyone. He seems so... forbidding."

Haldir put an arm around his wife’s shoulders and gave her a hug. "Well, like I said, you don’t spend centuries in the Halls of Mandos without learning a few things about its lord."

Sador nodded. Both Gwilwileth and Netilmírë looked thoughtful.

Later, as they were taking their leave of the Tol Eressëan couple, Haldir took Sador aside. "Be careful, mellon nîn. There are dangerous undercurrents here on this island. Do not seek for news of your family. I will do it for you. It will be safer. Take your anammë back to Tirion instead."

Sador shook his head. "I want to check out Tavrobel, at any rate. My Atar still needs the information."

Haldir gave the younger Sinda an odd look, brushing his hand along Sador’s braids. "Strange to think of the Noldóran having a Sinda for a son."

Sador smiled. "Not to mention one Balrog-slayer and the former King of Nargothrond. Makes life rather interesting for him, to say the least."

Haldir gave a light laugh. "Thank you, youngster. You’ve made my problems seem petty."

"If you hear anything about my family, send me word."

****

Tavrobel was a busy seaport and quite confusing to Netilmírë, though she noticed that Sador seemed to have no difficulty navigating his way through the twisting streets and alleys. He grinned at her.

"The Havens of Sirion weren’t nearly as large as Tavrobel, but it was a port nonetheless. I spent many a day with my friends watching the ships being built and the fish being sold. I often sat on the beach while my sister and her friends played in the waves. Lady Elwing would bring her little ones down to play as well."

He smiled at a memory and Netilmírë and Gilvagor remained quiet, not wishing to disturb him. They both knew how painful thoughts of his sister’s fate were for him. That he was able to recall a pleasant memory of her was heartening to them both, for Gilvagor had come to admire the younger ellon and appreciate his quiet strength and compassion. The lad might never wield a sword again, and indeed showed no inclination of ever wanting to, but Gilvagor considered Sador to be no less a warrior than he and was proud to call the younger elf ‘gwador’.

Gilvagor led them to an inn that was a favorite of his and located not far from the docks. "Though far enough away that you’re not disturbed by drunken sailors or the smell of rotting fish," he told them with a grin. Sador laughed, and Netilmirë just looked bemused, but took the Noldo’s word for it.

Netilmírë agreed to meet the ellyn in the common room for lunch after freshening up and soon they were all seated, enjoying glasses of wine and waiting for the stew they had ordered. Gilvagor looked at Sador with a questioning expression on his face.

"What happened yesterday?"

"What do you mean?" Sador responded.

"I heard talk about you helping to convince some ellon to come out of a tree."

Sador shrugged. "And so? He didn’t want to come down and his wife was beside herself with worry and embarrassment. No one else standing about was helping, so I decided to."

"And what’s this about being chained? Who was chained?"

Now Sador grimaced. "No one, as far as I know. Apparently, when the elves of Endórë arrived here they were greeted by some of the elves of Aman."

"Yes, I know," Gilvagor nodded. "I did not come until some centuries later myself."

"Well, from what I’ve been told," Sador continued, "the Amaneldi greeted the Noldor and Sindar by telling them that they were living on Tol Eressëa on sufferance and that their loved ones who died in Endórë went to their judgment before the Valar in chains."

Gilvagor went absolutely white. "They said what?" he whispered. Both Sador and Netilmírë winced, for they realized that those words would have been screamed in other circumstances.

"I do not know if it was a case of deliberate cruelty or just wishful thinking on their part," Sador opined but Gilvagor shook his head.

"It was deliberate, of that I am sure." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to center himself. "Well that certainly explains a lot of things."

"Like what?" Netilmírë asked.

Gilvagor shook his head. "Too numerous to mention, but Lord Laurendil noticed right off that there was a great deal of tension and even downright hostility whenever anyone from Aman came to the island, even the Teleri. We put it down to lack of leadership, but now...."

"Now, it’s something deeper, more insidious and more dangerous to the welfare of all of Aman," Sador said. "I wonder if Atar is aware of what was told the Tol Eressëans who first arrived?"

"If the rumors of higher prices are also true," Netilmírë said, "that will just add fuel to the fire that’s already smoldering and has for centuries."

All three looked grim. After a moment Netilmírë sighed, rubbing a hand over her eyes. "I still cannot believe the Valar allowed this to go on for so long," she said with a sigh.

"They remember what happened the last time they tried to interfere in our lives, Anammë," Sador said. "Perhaps they knew that it would take the Reborn themselves to counteract the lies of the Amaneldi. They may have decided it was best for people like Haldir and myself to speak up and tell everyone what actually happens during Judgment. That’s why I did not mind telling everyone in that courtyard about my own Judgment."

Gilvagor looked at the younger ellon appraisingly. "I often wondered what happened. I looked at Prince Findaráto and... he was one of the best of us... a natural leader and well-beloved by everyone. The thought that he would be dragged to the Máhanaxar in chains...."

"But he wasn’t," Sador said quietly. "None of them were. The Valar are not that cruel."

"Yet Melkor was chained," Netilmírë said quietly, a pensive look on her face. She thought of her daughter and the horror stories about the wrath of the Valar she apparently had told her grandchildren, for Sador had later told her all the stories he had heard about what would happen to them if they died. She fervently hoped that Ezelmiril had not suffered too much from her own judgment. Sador must have divined her thoughts, for he put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"Daernana has since learned the truth about Judgment, Anammë. It was probably very terrifying but also very healing and now she remembers none of that in Mandos. She knows only joy and sorrows touch her not. Whatever pain she suffered in judgment, take comfort in the knowledge that she is free from it now and that Lord Námo loves her and his Maiar servants care for her as a mother cares for her child."

Netilmírë nodded, feeling oddly comforted. In some ways, Sador seemed so much older than she, for all that she had been born only a century after her parents arrived in Aman from Beleriand. Perhaps dying matures a person in ways that cannot be fathomed by those of us who have yet to experience death, she thought to herself.

Gilvagor was now steering the conversation towards their original purpose for coming to Tavrobel. "Where do you intend to look first?" he asked Sador.

"At the docks. I wish to interview the harbormaster and customs officer. They will be in charge of seeing that all goods from the mainland are properly placed in the warehouses until they are to be distributed."

"Is there any mutual trade between Aman and Tol Eressëa?" Netilmírë asked. "I don’t recall if I ever saw anything in the markets of Tirion that was said to come from Tol Eressëa."

Gilvagor shook his head. "No. As far as I know, trade is only one way. Not even the Teleri trade with us all that much. Apparently, the Amaneldi have decided our goods are either not needed or not good enough for them. Plus the Teleri remember the Kinslaying and are reluctant to have anything to do with us."

Netilmírë sighed. "That will explain the attitude of the guildmasters. I wish now I had never agreed to the Noldóran’s plans. We were doomed to failure from the very beginning."

"Perhaps, Anammë," Sador said with a nod, "but one thing has come out of all this that no one can take away."

"Us?" Netilmírë asked with a small smile.

Sador smiled and nodded, leaning over to give her a kiss. "Us."

65: Attack...

"Well?"

"They’ve gone to Tavrobel with Lord Gilvagor."

"So they’ve taken ship?"

"No. They are staying at the Blue Dolphin. The Sinda’s been seen walking the docks and speaking to the harbormaster and others."

Pause.

"That will be the best place to take him then."

"And the guildmistress?"

"She isn’t important except to act as our messenger. We need someone to relay our demands to Arafinwë."

"Do you think it will work?"

Shrug. "We’ll find out soon enough."

"How many ellyn will we need for this?"

"Not many. He’s a potter, not a warrior."

"He wears the braids..."

"So do you."

Another pause.

"Where do we bring him?"

"Here. Bring him here. There’s a room in the back of the shop with no windows we can use. No one’s going to think to look for him in a weaver’s shop."

****

The docks of Tavrobel were similar to other docks he had seen, especially at the Havens. The smell of salt water, rotting fish, and bleached wood mingled with the sounds of sea gulls screeching and sailors singing. Sador breathed in the redolent air and smiled.

He had been wandering the docks for the last two days, speaking to the harbormaster and the customs officer and anyone else who would bother with a curious Sinda. So far he had learned nothing of import. The harbormaster and customs officer had little to say about higher prices, for they did not concern themselves with such. The merchants whose shops were ranged around the docks were not forthcoming either. They looked upon the Sinda with suspicion, even though Sador had traded his Amanian garb for the less flashy clothes worn by the Tol Eressëans. Gilvagor was wrong about the warrior braids, Sador reflected ruefully to himself as he made his way through an alley. So far, they hadn’t helped. He had detected no outright hostility towards him, but neither had he seen any evidence of respect. Perhaps the merchants and sailors of Tavrobel were less impressed by warrior braids than the other Tol Eressëans. He wondered how Gilvagor had fared.

It had been decided that Netilmírë would remain at the inn and out of sight while Sador and Gilvagor did any investigating that needed doing. She little liked it, but understood its necessity. The revelation of what her own people had done still left her shaken and she had much to think about. Gilvagor had agreed to make discreet enquiries about Sador’s family.

"It will be easier for me than for you," Gilvagor had said, "as I am known here and it will not be the first time I have asked after someone’s family. Many people were separated from their kin by war and death and all seek for news about them."

After two days, however, neither ellon had had any luck in finding the information they were looking for.

"No one remembers them," Gilvagor said as the three sat in the common room eating dinner on the second evening. "Of course, that really means nothing. There was so much confusion in the end and so much destruction. I doubt we will ever know the full extent of the damage done and the lives lost."

"And I have had no luck either," Sador admitted with a sigh. "Either no one is talking or there is nothing to the allegations. I just wish I knew for certain which it is."

"Do you have any idea what you want to do next?" Netilmírë asked. She had been feeling left out and bored these past two days and was ready to return to Tirion. She had had enough of Tol Eressëa and just wanted to go home.

Sador shrugged. "I want to check out the warehouse district itself. Perhaps I will find someone there who will talk to me. Something is going on. I just wish I knew what." He sighed in frustration.

Gilvagor nodded. "I think it best that you leave for Tirion soon. If you wish, I will check for available ships. I would not linger more than another day or two here. You will be safer on the mainland and I will feel easier in my mind about you."

Sador and Netilmírë agreed. "Whether or not I find anything tomorrow, we will leave on the next available ship," Sador said.

"I’ll make the arrangements," Gilvagor replied.

****

Sador was navigating a narrow alley between the docks and the warehouses that surrounded the harbor, when the attack came. At first he was not sure what was happening. He had been alone as he traversed the alley and then suddenly there were others there, both before and behind him. Some instinct or warning made him back into the wall to prevent the ellyn from taking him completely unawares. He was acutely aware that he wore no weapons. But then, he thought grimly, I hadn’t had any in Doriath either.

He smiled ferally and took stock of his surroundings. The alley itself was relatively clean of refuse and such but next to him stood a barrel with a lid. He wasn’t sure what help that might be to him but he kept it in mind. Next he took stock of his opponents. There were three of them, all taller and obviously stronger than he. Two wore warrior braids and that surprised him, but on reflection, he decided it shouldn’t. Not all warriors would be as honorable as Gilvagor or Haldir. The ellon without warrior braids beckoned to him.

"Come with us quietly and you will not be harmed," he said.

"And if I choose not to come, quietly or otherwise?" Sador was amazed at how steady his voice sounded, for he felt his knees shaking and he feared he might be sick.

The ellon without any braids smiled and it was not pleasant. His fellows each pulled out a long knife from beneath their cloaks and he was sure they knew well how to use them. "We know you are unarmed," said the braidless elf. "It would be foolish to defy us. Let us not have any unpleasantness."

"It is already unpleasant," Sador retorted. He then reached over and lifted the lid from the barrel and with a swift flick of his wrists sent it flying towards two of the ellyn. The move surprised them and before they could react the lid hit them both with enough force to cause them to fly back into the opposite wall. The ellon without braids banged his head and collapsed to the ground while the other ellon dropped his knife with a curse though he was not as badly stunned. He did, however, hold his knife hand in such a way that Sador suspected it was either broken or very badly bruised. Either way, the ellon wouldn’t be wielding a weapon any time soon.

Sador did not stop there, but took the barrel and tipped it so that its contents, a thick oily substance, poured out in front of him. The third ellon had started to advance on him and when the oil sloshed upon the pavement, he lost his balance on the slippery substance. That gave Sador enough time to pick up the now empty barrel and throw it at the ellon before sidling away from his attackers. Avoiding the oil seeping across the alley he ran towards the docks. There was a shout and the sound of pursuit but Sador did not look back to see how many were after him. If he could reach the docks themselves he would be safe.

He was almost at the end of the alley when he crashed into someone who stepped into his path. There was a confused moment of arms grabbing him and then something hit him on the head and he blacked out.

****

"Any sign?" Netilmírë asked anxiously. She and Gilvagor were sitting in the common room of the Blue Dolphin. Gilvagor had just returned from searching for Sador. It was mid-afternoon by then and they were the only patrons.

Gilvagor shook his head as he sat down next to Netilmírë. "I looked between here and the docks and then on to the warehouse district, but no one claims to have seen him."

"What could have happened?"

"I don’t know," Gilvagor admitted in frustration. "I should not have let him go alone."

"You weren’t to know, Gilvagor, so don’t berate yourself so," Netilmírë admonished the ellon. "Let’s concentrate on finding my great-grandson and then getting away from this wretched island."

Gilvagor sighed, and looked chagrined. "It’s really not a bad place to live you know. I thought I might resent not being allowed to live in Aman proper, but I find I like it here and have no regrets."

"I’m sorry," Netilmírë said. "I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I just want my great-grandson back safe. I’ve only just found him and now I’ve lost him again."

"I don’t know where else to look," Gilvagor said with a sigh.

"You might try looking in Kortirion."

The two elves looked up to see a Maia standing before them, one they did not recognize. He wore a white robe and a forest green surcoat with a golden oak embroidered on it. They stood up hastily to give him their obeisance but he waved them back to their seats. "Peace, my children. Please be seated."

"Do you know where Sador is?" Netilmírë asked, ignoring the Maia’s request. "Please. If you know..."

"I would not tell you, child. That is for you to discover. I will only tell you that you should look in Kortirion."

"It’s a large city," Gilvagor said in a conversational tone. "Care to be more specific?"

The Maia gave the ellon an appraising look. "I have told you all that I’m allowed to tell you."

"Which is little enough and therefore next to useless." Gilvagor’s tone bordered on the belligerent and rude and Netilmírë cringed mentally. The Maia did not seem offended by Gilvagor’s words.

"But it is a start and we thank you," Netilmírë rejoined, not wanting to be on the bad side of the Powers or their servants.

The Maia bowed before giving Gilvagor a hard stare. "I regret I cannot tell you more, but my orders were specific. Look in Kortirion for your missing friend. And I will give you one more message. Wait for reinforcements."

With that, the Maia was gone. Netilmírë and Gilvagor stared at one another in bemusement. "What reinforcements?" Gilvagor finally asked.

"And how long do we wait?" Netilmírë added.

They received no answers to their questions.

****

In the end, it was decided that Gilvagor would return to Kortirion while Netilmírë remained in Tavrobel to keep an eye out for whatever ‘reinforcements’ might show up.

"I don’t understand how reinforcements would come anyway," Netilmírë said as Gilvagor was packing. "I mean, no one even knows about Sador being missing."

Gilvagor shrugged. "I don’t think I want to question anything a Maia says to me. If he says reinforcements are on the way, then they are. I don’t think you will have to wait for very long. The Maia would not say it if it weren’t about to happen, I think. Did you recognize the surcoat?"

Netilmírë nodded abstractedly. "Hmm. It was Lord Oromë’s emblem."

"Lord Oromë?" Gilvagor echoed in surprise. "What would the Master of the Wood be doing concerning himself with Sador... or us, for that matter?"

Netilmírë shrugged. "I do not know, but that was the emblem on the surcoat. Perhaps it’s because Sador is a Sinda."

"You will be all right?" Gilvagor asked Netilmírë as he was preparing to leave. The elleth nodded.

"I will be fine. The people here at the Blue Dolphin have been ever courteous and solicitous and I have no fear for my safety with them. Young Margil says he will go to the docks every day for me. I have the feeling that if there are reinforcements, they will come from Tirion."

Gilvagor nodded. "Nai le tiruvar Valar. I will send word as soon as I know anything."

"Find Haldir and Gwilwileth," Netilmírë said at the last minute. "They will help." She gave him directions for their home and he nodded his thanks before riding off.

Netilmírë stood at the door of the inn watching Gilvagor disappear down the street, turning to go inside only after she lost sight of the ellon completely. She sighed, wondering if she would ever see her great-grandson again.

Later that evening, as she was idly picking at her dinner Margil came and placed a small thin box on the table.

"An ellon left this for you," said the young son of the innkeeper. "He didn’t leave a name and I’ve never seen him before."

Netilmírë thanked the young elf and, opening the box, found a piece of parchment lying on top of a scrap of woven cloth in a pattern that seemed vaguely familiar, though she could not immediately place it. Picking up the parchment she read the words written in Quenya with growing dread.

"We have your friend. If you wish to see him alive, do nothing until you hear from us again. Disobey us and next time we will cut off a more vital part of his body."

Netilmírë unfolded the piece of cloth with trembling fingers. She sat there in white-faced shock staring at one of her great-grandson’s braids, the gemstones and beads glittering in the lamplight.

"Valar help us," she whispered, then proceeded to throw up right then and there.

****

Nai le tiruvar Valar: (Quenya) "May the Valar guard you."

66: ...and Counterattack

Reinforcements came with the morning tide. Not having slept, Netilmírë was at the docks before dawn, unwilling to sit meekly by while her great-grandson was in danger. Margil accompanied her. Thus, they were both on hand to see a Telerin swan ship float gracefully into the harbor just as Anar rose from behind the island to cast her golden light upon the white sails. The ship, Netilmírë noticed, carried not only the swan flag of Alqualondë but the personal flags of both Olwë and Arafinwë. She recognized Lord Laurendil leaning on the rail surrounded by several ellyn, all grim-faced and armed as the ship pulled up to the wharf.

Laurendil was off the ship before she was completely moored, giving Netilmírë his greetings. His smile fled at the look on her face. "Where’s Sador?" he asked quietly. For an answer Netilmírë handed him the box with its contents.

It took only a minute for him to understand what had happened. He looked up at Netilmírë, his expression grim. "Have you any idea who has done this?"

"We were told to look in Kortirion."

"Told?"

She nodded, quickly explaining the events of the previous day. Laurendil looked thoughtful. "So, Findaráto was right. The Hunt is up."

"Wh-what do you mean?" Netilmírë asked in confusion. "What do you know that I don’t?"

Laurendil did not answer her immediately, for by now the others had disembarked and were ranged around the Noldorin lord. He turned to one of them. "Calandil, Lord Sador has been kidnapped and taken to Kortirion. Lord Gilvagor from the embassy is even now looking for him there. We will go to Kortirion to join in the hunt. Stay with the ship."

"Should we not join you, lord?" Calandil asked.

"I will take no more than three others with me. More than that and we may endanger Lord Sador even more. If there are any who have been to Kortirion before I would prefer to take them with me. If you would see to the Lady Netilmírë..."

"Nay, Lord Laurendil," Netilmírë protested. "I am going back to Kortirion with you. I have had all night to think about what has happened and I may have an idea about who is behind this, but I will not speak my thoughts until we reach Kortirion and find Gilvagor."

Laurendil looked as if he wanted to argue but from the expression on Netilmírë’s face he decided it would be a waste of time and finally nodded in agreement, little though he liked it. He turned back to Calandil. "Make sure the ship is ready to sail at a moment’s notice."

It turned out that there were two among Calandil’s troops who had traveled to Kortirion before and Laurendil decided to take only them. One was a Teler named Elennen, the other a Noldo named Urundil. In short order all was in readiness and Netilmírë found herself riding beside Laurendil towards Kortirion.

"May I ask what brings you here, my lord?" Netilmírë asked. "I thought you were going to Lórien?"

"And I was, my lady," Laurendil answered. "In fact, it was there that Lord Findaráto received disturbing news and sent me here to find Sador. I was to bring him to Findaráto who awaits us at Valmar."

"Valmar! Why, what has happened?"

Laurendil however was reluctant to speak openly about Glorfindel and changed the subject, asking for Netilmírë’s suspicions about Sador’s kidnappers.

"There has been a great deal of hostility directed towards us since we arrived here," Netilmírë said. She went on to explain the failure of the Noldorin guildmasters to effect an agreement with their Tol Eressëan counterparts. "Looking back, I think there was a deliberate attempt on the part of some of them to disrupt any plans for the two groups to cooperate. Most of the dissent came from three individuals, the master of the Weaver’s Guild being the foremost of them."

Laurendil gave Netilmírë a searching look. "You think this weaver might be involved in Sador’s kidnapping?"

"Possibly. Certainly the box is our first clue."

"How so?"

"The cloth..." Netilmírë had to visibly swallow down the bile threatening to come up at the thought of what lay inside the box wrapped in cloth. "I’ve seen that cloth before. Mistress Menelgileth was wearing a dress in that material the last time I saw her."

Laurendil raised an eyebrow. "Their second mistake."

Netilmirë gave the Noldo a questioning look and Laurendil returned it with a grim smile.

"Their first mistake was taking Sador."

The expressions on all three ellyn riding with her hardened into something implacable and she shivered in spite of herself.

****

They reached Kortirion around noon and Netilmírë led them to the home of Haldir and Gwilwileth, where they were readily welcomed by the elleth.

"Haldir and Lord Gilvagor are even now scouring the city for news," she said as they entered the home.

The elleth was somewhat in awe of Laurendil, whom the Tol Eressëans respected as a warrior and natural leader. Laurendil, for his part, treated her with utmost kindness, thanking her for her hospitality, putting her at ease with his warm smile. It was decided to wait for the return of the two ellyn. In the meantime, Laurendil asked Gwilwileth for information concerning Mistress Menelgileth’s shop.

"I have not been inside myself, lord," Gwilwileth admitted, "but I know someone who has been. Let me bring her here. Do not worry, Berethiel is my best friend and very discreet. She will say nothing if you command it."

Laurendil finally agreed and in a short time Gwilwileth returned with her friend, who, it turned out, Laurendil knew slightly. "We met once at a ball given by my king for Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel. You were a lady-in-waiting to my king’s sister."

Berethiel nodded. "What you say is true, lord. And now that you mention it, I do recall our meeting. Please tell me how I may be of service."

"We would like some information concerning the layout of Mistress Menelgileth’s shop," Laurendil told her.

Berethiel thought for a moment. "Do you have something for me to draw on?"

In minutes a rough sketch of the shop and its surroundings was made. Berethiel looked it over for another moment before handing it to Laurendil. "You do not say why you need this information, lord, so I do not know what you might be looking for. I hope I have not left out a detail that you might consider more important than others."

"A friend of ours is missing and we think the weaver might be involved, but other than that, Berethiel, there is very little any of us can tell you," Laurendil answered her as he scanned the sketch. "What’s this room here?" He pointed to an inner chamber.

"A store room, I think, where delicate cloths are placed away from light which would damage the fabric. It has no windows, as you can see."

Laurendil looked at Netilmírë and the other two ellyn. Urundil’s nod was imperceptible. "He’s there then," the ellon said and it was not a question. Laurendil nodded.

"Do we go after him now, lord?" Elennen asked.

Laurendil shook his head. "No, we do what the Maia told Lady Netilmírë to do. We wait for reinforcements."

****

Sador woke to complete darkness and pain. His head hurt abominably and he feared he might be blind until he noticed a thin crack of light near the floor and realized he was in a windowless room. The air was stuffy and there was the smell of fabric all around, though a careful sweep of his hands revealed that the room was empty save for himself, a bowl of bread and dried fruit, a pitcher of tepid water and another basin that was obviously meant to be used for personal needs.

He wondered how long he had been out and where exactly he might be. Speculation, of course, was futile, for he did not have enough information. He sat against a wall fingering a braid. He had quickly discovered that the left braid was missing and the thought of what his captors had done while he was out sickened him, left him feeling violated. He wondered if they would start removing other parts of his body soon and that thought left him gagging, though thankfully nothing came up.

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew the door of his prison was opening and the light streaming in was enough to blind him. He felt rather than saw two ellyn enter and grab him before he had a chance to move. They pushed him up against the wall while a third person entered.

"Your lady friend is very stupid," the third ellon said, and Sador recognized the voice as belonging to the elf in the alley who did not have warrior braids. "She was warned to do nothing and she has ignored that warning. I’m afraid I’ll have to send her another message. Perhaps she’ll be more willing to cooperate if I send her one of your fingers or an ear."

The ellyn holding him tightened their grips when he tried to struggle out of their grasps. By now his eyes had adjusted to the brighter light and he saw that the third ellon carried a thin carving knife and several rolls of cloth. The look on his face was all the more terrifying for Sador was suddenly reminded of the looks on the faces of the elves who had invaded Doriath. Here, he suspected, was one who may have been there or even at the Havens and had somehow survived the War of Wrath, though why he did not wear warrior braids, Sador did not know.

As the ellon started towards him several things happened at once. The door closed suddenly, leaving them all in darkness. Sador heard all three ellyn start cursing, though the grip on his arms did not loosen enough for him to escape. He heard the third ellon move cautiously to the door and then try to open it, but to no avail. The ellon banged on the door and yelled, but no one came. At the same time, Sador felt a brush of air against his forehead and heard a whisper in his mind.

*Keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them. Be prepared to run.*

Sador wasn’t sure if he was imagining the words or not but decided to obey them nonetheless. He made himself go limp and slowed his breathing as much as possible, waiting for the signal he hoped would come.

Meanwhile, the third ellon was still banging on the door and pulling on the knob. All of a sudden the door swung open and the force of it drove the ellon into the wall, the door smashing into his face. He screamed as blood poured from his nose. The other two ellyn yelled and flinched involuntarily at the bright light and both released their grips on Sador who didn’t wait for any voice but sprang towards the light, his eyes opened just wide enough for him to see where the door was. In seconds he was out of the room and running down a short corridor. He felt an invisible tug on his right arm.

*This way, child, quickly!* came the command and he obeyed it instantly, veering to the right down another corridor. It led to a set of stairs and he climbed them, finding himself shortly thereafter on the roof. He did not pause but ran to the parapet on the other side from the stairs and looked about. Another roof was only a few steps away and without thinking about it he climbed onto the top of the parapet and leapt across the space separating the two roofs. Then he was running across that roof to yet another. He never looked back, remembering something Finrod had told him about not wasting time looking back when being pursued. He could hear the sound of pursuit well enough to know he could not afford to stop to look back.

He was at a fourth roof trying to find a way down to the street level when he realized he was in trouble. There were no other roofs near enough to leap to. He found himself looking down on a small courtyard. He frantically searched for a ladder or stairs that would take him to the street but there weren’t any and the way down into the building was locked. He ran back to look down into the courtyard, thinking that he might be able to leap down anyway. He looked back to see the two ellyn who had held him making the leap onto the roof and advance. Their expressions were not at all friendly and both were now armed with knives. He kept hoping the mysterious voice would tell him what to do but it was maddeningly silent.

Well, they weren’t going to take him. He would jump first. He might break something, even his neck, but that was preferable to what they would do to him if he let them catch him. He was looking down into the courtyard to see where he should fall when he saw five elves enter from one side. Two were unknown to him and carried bows. The other three, however, were well known to him and one of them shouldn’t have been there at all.

"LAURENDIL!"

Laurendil looked up in surprise to see Sador on the roof of a building, the look on the younger ellon’s face enough to spur him into action. Without conscious thought he ran towards the wall, his arms outstretched.

"JUMP!"

Sador climbed the parapet and was about to fling himself off when he was grabbed from behind. Laurendil saw him struggling to free himself and then someone fell off the roof with a scream. Before anyone could react a body hit the pavement. For a sick moment Laurendil thought it might be Sador but a quick glance proved that it was not. Laurendil looked up to see Sador struggling with a second elf. Making a quick decision he turned to Urundil.

"Give me your bow."

Urundil obeyed without question, handing Laurendil the bow and an arrow. Laurendil nocked the arrow and took careful aim.

"Sador! Let go and drop!" he shouted and was pleased to see the younger elf obey without hesitation. For a second the other ellon stood there in surprise at suddenly not having a hold on Sador, then he was screaming as an arrow pierced his shoulder.

By now the shouting and screaming had brought others to the courtyard and several stood around with their mouths gaping. Two of them were kneeling beside the prone body that had fallen off the roof.

"His neck is broken," one of them said, looking up at Laurendil accusingly.

Laurendil glanced at the body dispassionately. "Then he is no longer our concern, but Lord Námo’s. Gilvagor, you, Haldir and Elennen keep these bystanders away. Urundil, find a way up."

"At once, lord," the Noldo said and quickly went into the building, which turned out to be a residence, its owners temporarily absent. The stairs to the roof were found and Laurendil followed Urundil up to where they discovered Sador bending over the other ellon attempting to remove the arrow and staunch the flow of blood. Laurendil nodded in approval.

"Are you well, youngling?" he said as he knelt beside the Sinda to give him a hand. The kidnapper was already unconscious. Sador looked up with a smile.

"Well enough now that you are here. What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be in Lórien giving Lord Irmo grief?"

Laurendil laughed. "He decided he needed a respite from my presence and sent me to check up on you."

Sador gave him a jaundiced look. "I think there’s more to it than that, but I am content to wait to hear the entire story later. What happened to the other?"

"He’s dead."

Sador nodded. "Lord Námo’s problem now."

"Let’s get this one fixed up and then we need to find the weaver’s shop."

"Is that where I was held?" Sador asked.

In moments, with Urundil’s help, they brought the ellon down to the courtyard. Several elves were there sporting warrior braids who recognized Laurendil and gladly took over the task of removing the body and transporting the other ellon to the healers.

"I want two guards on him at all times," Laurendil ordered and no one questioned his right to do so. He then requested some of the other ellyn to accompany him to the weaver’s shop.

"If they’re smart they will have fled by now, but they may think they still have everything under control," he told Sador as they made their way along the street. As they approached they saw that the shop was still open. Laurendil gave a few soft commands and soon several of the elves had melted away to find the back door and prevent any escape that way.

"Let’s hope our quarry hasn’t fled, but even if they have, there’s no real escape. We know who they are." With those words he entered the shop with Sador, Gilvagor, Haldir, Urundil and Elennen following him.

What they found was almost ludicrous and anti-climactic. The ellon who had threatened to maim Sador was lying on a table in the front of the shop, clearly unconscious, while Mistress Menelgileth and another elleth were tending to him. Mistress Menelgileth was weeping. Apparently, the ellon was dear to her, though whether a son or a husband Sador did not know. Laurendil sighed and signaled for the others to take over.

A quick examination showed that the ellon was badly bruised with a broken nose but otherwise not seriously harmed. Laurendil ordered him removed to the healers and Mistress Menelgileth was taken into custody. The other elleth, it turned out, was her sister who only knew that her brother-in-law had suffered a fall. Brief questioning on Laurendil’s part convinced him that the sister knew nothing about the kidnapping and indeed she had looked appalled when she was told.

"I knew she had a hatred of the Amaneldi, but I never knew it was so deep and abiding," she confessed before Laurendil allowed her to return to her home.

Soon, all was in order and Laurendil was escorting Sador back to Haldir’s home where he was happily reunited with Netilmírë. Then, and only then, did Sador allow himself to break down and weep in his anammë’s arms. No one thought the less of him for doing so and at one point Laurendil took him into his embrace and held him until he fell asleep.

67: Return to Tirion

Laurendil wasted no time in questioning Menelgileth and discovering who else was involved in the kidnapping. Within hours three other people, including the Master of the Smith’s Guild, were taken into custody by a contingent of guards sent by Calandil on Laurendil’s orders. It turned out that the ellon who had died had been the smith’s son and the elf was devastated when he learned what had happened. Laurendil delayed leaving Kortirion to allow the ellon to attend his son’s funeral.

All who were arrested, it turned out, were Sindar who had come to Tol Eressëa with the first wave of returnees. Netilmírë, when she heard that, thought it significant. When Laurendil questioned her, she told him what Gwilwileth had said. Laurendil and the other Amaneldi were shocked at the revelation.

"Whoever these elves from Aman were, they were intent on fomenting distrust between the Tol Eressëans and the Valar," Netilmírë concluded.

Laurendil nodded. "I noticed when I came here that there was a sense of unease whenever the Valar were mentioned, but I’m afraid my own distrust of them did not allow me to probe further into its cause."

Sador quickly recovered from his ordeal and was more upset over the loss of his braid than anything else. "I ought to just cut off the other one," he said to Laurendil and Netilmírë. "I look ridiculous with just one."

Laurendil, however, disagreed. "Your hair will grow back on that side eventually. In the meantime, you should consider it a badge of honor."

"I’m sure I can weave the braid back into your hair, inyo," Netilmírë said with a smile. "It won’t be quite the same but you won’t look so lopsided while your hair is growing back."

In the end, though, Sador decided not to bother. Netilmírë trimmed the area where the braid had been so it didn’t look so ragged and everyone agreed that the single braid made the ellon look quite dashing.

"You might start a new fashion trend among the warriors, youngling," Laurendil quipped. Haldir and Gilvagor sniggered. Sador muttered a single word in Sindarin that set the older elves laughing.

They left Kortirion two days after the rescue and were sailing within hours of arriving in Tavrobel. Besides the prisoners, Haldir and Gwilwileth decided to come as well.

"For there is a complaint against the Amaneldi I would have addressed," Haldir had said in explanation and Laurendil did not dispute him.

When Sador asked, Laurendil explained that upon arriving in Tirion he had found Olwë visiting Arafinwë. Once apprised of the situation the two kings combined their forces and Olwë offered his personal ship to transport Laurendil to Tol Eressëa.

Thus, it was not long before Sador was back in Tirion. Arafinwë took one look at his ward and hugged him tightly, refusing to let him go until he was assured that the ellon had suffered no real harm save for having one of his braids cut off. Arafinwë ordered a trial to be held in three days’ time.

"That will give me time to cool down so I can judge more fairly," he told Sador and Laurendil.

"But what about Glorfindel, Atar?" Sador asked, for Laurendil had told him the reason for his coming to fetch the younger ellon. "I have to go to Valmar. Finrod is waiting for me."

"I will send a message to your brother letting him know what has happened. As soon as the trial is over you and Laurendil will leave for Valmar. You cannot leave before that, yonya, as you are a key witness."

Sador reluctantly agreed, chafing at the delay as he worried about Glorfindel’s safety. No one had seen him or heard from whoever had taken him. The ellon fingered his remaining braid, hoping his gwador had not suffered maiming as he almost had.

In the meantime, Sador and Netilmírë confided to Arafinwë, Eärwen and Olwë their news about being related and the three royals rejoiced. "I am so glad you have found your anammë, yonya," Arafinwë said with a smile as he gave Sador a hug, "but I hope you will continue thinking of us as your family as well."

"Anammë and I talked it over and well...," Sador felt suddenly shy, and found he couldn’t continue. Netilmírë gave her great-grandson a fond smile.

"I think it best if our true relationship remains private for now, my lord," she told Arafinwë. "Sador will remain my apprentice, but otherwise, he should continue being your ward. He loves you too much, you see, and does not want to have to give you up."

"You cannot lose us, yonya," Arafinwë told Sador. "We, too, love you too much to let you go that easily. Rest assured that you will always be a part of this family. I doubt if Findaráto will have it any other way."

****

The trial was both impressive and very public. Olwë decided to delay his return to Alqualondë to attend. "The offenses were committed by my brother’s people," the Telerin king said, "and against one whom I consider family."

Thus, when the prisoners were brought forth, they were made to kneel before the Noldóran and the King of Alqualondë in all their terrible splendour. Gwilwileth looked upon the proceedings with interest. She had seen how Sador had been welcomed by the royal couple and by Arafinwë’s court. The Lady Amarië especially expressed shock and anger at Sador’s treatment and fussed over him, much to his embarrassment and everyone else’s amusement. She also saw how the prisoners were treated. She had feared that being Sindar the Noldor might be tempted to ill-use them, but she saw that they were treated with respect at all times, especially Menelgileth.

The testimony and questioning went on for some time and were most thorough. Netilmírë spoke of the failed mission of the guildmasters and Sador told of his own investigations. The attack on Sador and the events that followed were carefully examined. When Sador described the voice warning him to be ready to flee, all looked upon the Sinda with wonder.

"Clearly, the Valar are watching over you, yonya," Olwë said, his expression one of surprise. "Though I wonder that they did not stop the initial kidnapping to begin with."

Sador shook his head. "Lord Námo said that our affairs are our own to deal with, but I suspect that it is as I told Haldir and Gwilwileth. Lord Námo has a vested interest in his... er... charges. He doesn’t ever want to see us darken his doorstep again."

"We are thankful that the Valar saw fit to have one of their servants watch over you," Arafinwë said. "I do not wish to contemplate what might have happened to you otherwise."

The revelation that certain elves of Aman had spread vicious lies about the Valar and how the Dead were treated was also a shock to many and Arafinwë was most grieved by this. "I regret that any suffered for these lies. The Valar have never shown any vindictiveness towards those who fled. My own son stood before them in the Máhanaxar and he has told me what occurred there. It is probably not possible to find who among us spread such lies. The best we can do is speak the truth and let all know that no one has ever come to judgment chained."

"Certainly the testimony of the Reborn would go a long way towards dispelling such lies among the Tol Eressëans," Olwë commented.

Haldir stepped forward then. "But in fact, that has not happened, lord King, for as my Gwilwileth admitted to me just recently she was too afraid to ask me about my judgment, fearing what she might learn. I suspect many have felt reluctant to ask the Reborn such questions for that very reason. As one who has recently been Reborn, I did find it puzzling that whenever I mentioned any of the Valar, especially Lord Námo, those around me stiffened and looked wary."

Laurendil spoke up. "Then perhaps it is time for the questions to be asked and the stories of the Reborn to be told, so that all may learn the truth about the Valar and those whom they judged."

There was a thoughtful silence all around and then Arafinwë turned his attention to the prisoners and the question of higher prices. The prisoners attempted defiance, especially Mistress Menelgileth, but in spite of it, they all found themselves answering the kings’ questions. Arafinwë and Olwë were implacable in their interrogations. Both kings assured everyone that they had decreed that there would be no inflation of prices for goods sold to the Tol Eressëans.

"I have made it a point," Arafinwë said, "to ensure that my directives in this are being carried out. The people of Tol Eressëa are our kin and we should treat them as such."

Careful interrogation of the weaver and the smith revealed that they and other guildmasters had been responsible for setting higher prices within their own guilds and passing them on to the merchants who had no choice but to pay the price demanded. Arafinwë looked weary at this revelation.

"It seems that the initial lies of some of our own people led to great bitterness on the part of some of those living on Tol Eressëa, which led you to prey upon your own people’s resentments in the hope of... what?"

"In the hope that there would be a second rebellion," Olwë answered his son-in-law, his voice and expression cold and implacable as he stared at the prisoners. "Perhaps even another Kinslaying."

Sador shivered visibly at those words and Netilmírë put a comforting arm around his shoulders. "What would that accomplish?" he asked.

"The displeasure of the Valar if nothing else," Arafinwë answered, his eyes flashing darkly with suppressed fury.

Eventually it was determined that the weaver and the smith were the ringleaders of the plot and were thus held the most culpable. Appropriate punishment would be meted out at a future date.

"Though I cannot imagine a greater punishment than to lose your own son to your folly," Arafinwë told the smith, who wept at these words. "I should send you all to Valmar to be tried before the Valar, but I think we will not bother them with such trivialities as these. Instead, I will consult with my fellow rulers about how best to handle this, for never have we had such happenings in Aman in all the centuries I have held the crown of the Noldor. And, unfortunately, yours is not the only conspiracy that has been uncovered of late."

So the trial ended inconclusively, but no one really minded, for all understood the gravity of what had happened and praised Arafinwë for wanting to go carefully and make no hasty judgments.

****

The prisoners were finally removed to a lone tower and kept under constant guard until such time as Arafinwë was ready to proclaim his judgment upon them. Haldir and Gwilwileth, much to their surprise, were invited to stay at the palace and speak with Arafinwë and his court about conditions on Tol Eressëa.

"I understand your own family refuses to see you," Arafinwë said to Haldir, who acknowledged the truth of the king’s words. "I regret that you have suffered so. I know my own son feared for his welcome among us, to the point that he was willing never to leave Lórien but to take up service to Lord Irmo if his amillë and I refused him. I wonder how many of the Reborn have found themselves in similar straits?"

"I do not know, my lord," Haldir said. "But I suspect more than we suppose."

Arafinwë sighed. "Something else for us to think on."

****

Sador was packing within an hour of the trial, ready to leave as soon as possible. Arafinwë little liked it, but knew he could not stop his ward from riding off for Valmar. Instead, he decided to accompany Sador and Laurendil to the city of the Valar.

"I wish to consult with Ingwë and Valmar is on the way to Vanyamar," he told Sador. "Also, Glorfindel is my son as much as Findaráto or you are. I would like to be there when he is found."

Thus, the King of the Noldor was seen riding out of Tirion along the Eastern Road towards Valmar with a retinue that included his ward and Lord Laurendil and many marveled at the sight, for few had any memory of their king riding out in full battle dress with a fell light about him.

68: The Hunt

Sador paid little attention to where they were going as they made their way past the mansions of the Valar and headed towards Eldamas, intent only on being reunited with his gwador. Arafinwë had to physically rein him in, grabbing his horse’s headstall at one point.

"We must leave the horses here, yonya," the King said when they came into a particular courtyard. "Come. Dismount and take a moment’s ease while I determine where Findaráto is."

"He said he would be at Lord Oromë’s mansion," Sador said as he reluctantly dismounted. "Laurendil told me."

"And that was some days ago, youngling," Laurendil said as he dismounted as well. "He and Prince Ingwion may well be somewhere else by now. It will not take long to find out."

Thus it was that the patrons of the Laughing Vala were awarded with the sight of the Noldóran entering the establishment with a full retinue of warriors. Even Sador had been given appropriate battle dress, though Laurendil had politely refused it when offered.

"My allegiance is to Lord Irmo now," he had told Arafinwë. "I am a healer and will not take up arms again save in defense. Yet, your son has my life and so I will stand by him and do whatever he requires of me."

Arafinwë had not been sure what Laurendil had meant, though he remembered the words this ellon had spoken to Findaráto upon their reunion. When Sador had explained the significance of his friend’s words, Arafinwë had looked upon the Noldo in wonder.

"You gave my son such an oath?"

Laurendil had nodded. "As has my wife only recently, though Findaráto wanted to refuse her. Only with the intervention of the Valar did he accept her life into his keeping."

Now, Laurendil stood by Arafinwë, the only person in his party not in battle dress, yet those looking on noticed the strange front braids and the fell light in the ellon’s eyes and did not doubt that perhaps this one was more dangerous than all the other warriors combined.

The innkeeper was solicitous towards Arafinwë and, when asked, acknowledged that Lord Findaráto and Prince Ingwion had taken rooms at the inn.

"But they have not been seen for two days now, my lord," the innkeeper told them. "I was given a message to be delivered to a Lord Laurendil from Lord Findaráto, though." The innkeeper produced a scrap of parchment which he handed to Laurendil when the ellon identified himself.

Laurendil read the contents of the note. "We are to meet them at the Máhanaxar an hour before sunset on the day we arrive," he told Arafinwë.

"That’s a good three hours from now," protested Sador. "What kind of game are they playing?"

"Hush, yonya," Arafinwë said, taking Sador into his embrace and giving him a quick hug. "If Lord Oromë has declared a Hunt, we must follow the directives precisely. We will take rooms here or elsewhere and refresh ourselves before going to the Ring of Doom."

So it was that the innkeeper of the Laughing Vala found himself with a full house. Rooms were found for them all, though several of the guards ended up taking rooms in another inn nearby, for the Laughing Vala was not overly large and Arafinwë refused to evict the other patrons.

"I will not force others to leave on my account," he told the innkeeper firmly. "I would sooner sleep in a hayloft than see others thrown out for no other reason than that I might need their room."

Sador chafed at the seeming delay and Laurendil had to make him sit down and eat something. "A warrior never passes up the opportunity to eat a hot meal and to rest, youngling," the older elf said with a smile so as to remove the sting from his reprimand. "I do not understand what this Hunt is, but I do know that your gwador takes it very seriously. Never have I seen such a fell look upon him, not even in the midst of the Dagor Bragollach."

"I just hope Glorfindel is well," Sador admitted as he took a sip of meat broth. "Why has there been no word from his kidnappers?"

No one had any answer to that.

****

This time, as they made their way through Valmar, Sador paid more attention to their route and found himself suitably impressed by the city, though he did not permit himself to dawdle as their party made their way down the Landamallë, intent as he was on reaching the Máhanaxar. He did, however, slow down enough to look into the courtyard fronting Lord Námo’s mansion when Arafinwë pointed it out to him. He gazed at the mansion with interest and, Arafinwë noted in surprise, with longing. He had to pull the younger elf away.

"Come, child, we must not be late," he admonished Sador and the ellon nodded and followed the King through the west gate.

Soon they were approaching the Ezellohar and everyone stood for a moment in awe. Arafinwë bowed to the Trees and the others followed suit. Then they were passing into the Ring of Doom.

"Finrod!" Sador cried and raced across the intervening space into his gwador’s arms, paying little heed to anyone or anything else.

"Sador, gwador nîn," Finrod said as he looked upon his brother and noticed the missing braid, "what has happened to you?"

"Nothing of import," Sador said with an impish grin. "I decided to start a new fashion trend."

Finrod gave the younger ellon a strange look and then glanced up to see his atar approaching with Laurendil by his side and a contingent of well-armed guards behind them. "Atar! What are you doing here?"

Ararfinwë gave his firstborn an appraising look. "Am I to sit idly by when one of my children is missing? I lost the children of my body to my half-brother’s madness, I will not lose the children of my heart to the madness of others. Yours is not the only conspiracy afoot, my son."

Finrod blushed and gave his atar a bow. "Forgive me, lord. I was just surprised to see you."

"Welcome, Cousin," Ingwion said, moving to embrace Arafinwë and giving him a kinsman’s kiss. "I am glad you have decided to join in the Hunt. The more the merrier."

"It has been long and long since last I joined in the Hunt, Ingwion, but I would not miss this for anything. Glorfindel is precious to me, no less than Findaráto or even you. How is your atar?"

"Well enough, I suppose. I’m afraid he’s not very happy with the Valar right now, but there is no time to explain."

Arafinwë gave his older cousin a searching look but nodded his head in acquiescence. "Then we will postpone your explanation until later. I must needs consult with my uncle on a grave matter anyway."

Finrod introduced Sador to Ingwion and the older ellon gave the younger elf a warm greeting. "If you are my cousin’s otorno, then you are mine as well," Ingwion said and gave Sador a kinsman’s kiss, which Sador returned shyly.

Then, and only then, did Sador realize that two of the Valar and several Maiar were there as well. One of the Valar was Lord Námo who looked at him with a strange expression that left the ellon feeling nervous.

"You handled yourself well, child," the Lord of Mandos finally said, speaking quietly. "I am well pleased with you."

Sador positively glowed with the Vala’s praise. Námo turned to Oromë. "I will leave you now, my brother. Happy hunting." Then he was gone. Oromë looked upon the elves standing before him and smiled.

"Our quarry is not one of the fell creatures of my Fallen Brother that range in the wastes of Valinor or in Endórë, but other elves who would disrupt the Sérë Valaron."

"But what about Glorfindel?" Sador demanded. "Why aren’t we looking for him?"

"Hush, child," Arafinwë admonished him gently. "Do not interrupt Lord Oromë."

"Nay, Pityahuan," Oromë countered with an indulgent smile. "Let the child ask his questions. It is how he will learn. Come here, Sador." The Vala gestured and Sador came to stand before him. Oromë placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Listen to me very carefully, child," Oromë said quietly. "I do not call a Hunt on a whim, and when I do there are grave consequences for all involved, Hunter and Hunted alike. Glorfindel is not the Hunted, but the bait. Yet, I assure you he is well and will return to you when the time is proper for him to do so. In the meantime, you will remain at my side while your other brother and his cousin lead the Hunt."

"I do have one question of my own, my lord," Arafinwë said with a respectful bow.

"Ask your question then," Oromë commanded with a nod.

"Why was I not informed of any of this immediately?"

It was Ingwion who answered. "Lord Manwë refused to allow me to leave Valmar or to send a message to either Atar or you. He made me wait an entire day before he allowed me to send a message but warned me I could only send one and it had to be to the right person." Ingwion paused and grimaced at the memory. "I was at a loss to whom to send my message but Elessairon, who was there when we learned of the Hunt, suggested Findaráto was the right person, remembering that he and Glorfindel were otornor. Thus it was that I sent the message to your son rather than to you."

Arafinwë nodded. "You did well, as did Elessairon. He is an intelligent ellon and I have high hopes for him." He then turned to Oromë with another bow. "Thank you, my lord, for indulging me."

"It was not an indulgence, Pityahuan," Oromë said with a smile. "Now, let us begin the Hunt."

"Wait!" Sador exclaimed. "Where is Elessairon? Will he not join us?"

Ingwion shook his head. "Lord Manwë would not allow it, for he is not yet of age and my atar is not here to give his permission. He and the others who accompanied Glorfindel and me to Valmar are guests of Lord Manwë for the moment, which is why you did not see them at the inn."

"I imagine that did not sit well with young Elessairon," Arafinwë said with a grin.

"Nor with our cousin, Alassiel, believe it or not," Ingwion said with a laugh, "for she, too, wished to join us but Lady Varda would not hear of it and so she sits by the Elentári’s side and stews."

"She is a fierce warrior-maid," Oromë said with a small smile, "but now is not the time for her. That time will come soon enough. Now let us begin. Ingwion, you will speak of all you know of the events leading up to Glorfindel’s disappearance. Begin with the Song."

Ingwion took a deep breath and then proceeded to tell what had happened in Vanyamar when the Valar sang an ancient lullaby. Anar sank into the West and the stars blazed forth in the night sky before he finished his tale, showing them Glorfindel’s knife and pointing to where it had been found.

"There was blood on it, though I do not know whose," he concluded. "I took the knife to Lord Manwë and threw it at his feet."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow at that and Ingwion blushed, though it was hard to see it in the dark with only the stars illuminating them. "I was... upset," the ellon explained lamely and Arafinwë snorted.

"The last time anyone was that upset with Lord Manwë, I spent two months in solitude contemplating my actions."

"Solitude! You?" Finrod asked, his eyes wide with surprise. The other elves looked equally stunned by Arafinwë’s words.

Arafinwë nodded, casting a wry glance at Oromë. "It was very... restful."

The Vala laughed outright at that. "Indeed. Nienna said as much."

"Was there no trail you could find?" Laurendil asked Ingwion, steering the conversation back to the original subject.

The Vanyarin prince shook his head. "There was a storm and all traces were lost. I think they headed north, but I cannot be sure and..." here he cast a glance at the Vala who stood beside him smiling serenely, "and the Valar are not forthcoming with clues."

Oromë shook his head. "This is your Hunt, young Ingwion. You must find such clues as there may be. I only provide the means for you to do so. The rest is up to you and your companions."

"Who benefits from Glorfindel’s disappearance?" Sador asked. "They kidnapped him for a reason. Why has there been no word?"

No one could answer that and the conclusions they drew were troubling. Ingwion especially did not like where his thoughts led him and he muttered a particularly vicious oath under his breath. "There is one possibility, though I hate to think on it," he said.

"What is it, Cousin?" Arafinwë asked.

Ingwion looked up at the Noldóran, his expression bleak. "Ingoldo."

"Even now?" Arafinwë queried, then sighed. "Tinwetariel was very hostile towards Glorfindel right from the beginning."

"If either is involved in this..." Ingwion stopped with a grimace. "There would be no ransom demand. Glorfindel would be taken for the sole purpose of removing him from the scene... permanently."

"You mean... kill him?" Sador whispered, appalled.

Ingwion shook his head. "They would not dare go that far, I don’t think."

"Ingoldo is many things but a Kinslayer is not one of them," Arafinwë replied firmly. "So now the question is, do we look for Glorfindel or do we go after Ingoldo?"

"Are we sure that he is involved?" Finrod asked. "I remember him, of course, but I do not recall him being a troublemaker."

"He has been a thorn in my atar’s side for some time now," Ingwion said, though he did not bother to elaborate.

"He fears you," Arafinwë said. "That can be used to our advantage. If he is not involved it will be easy enough to ascertain."

"So do we go to Vanyamar?" Finrod asked, but Ingwion shook his head.

"He will not be there. Every year at this time he goes to the royal hunting lodge."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow. "How appropriate." Then he cast a glance at Lord Oromë. "And how coincidental."

Oromë shrugged. "If you believe in coincidence, Pityahuan."

Arafinwë stared at the Vala for a moment, then nodded, turning to his guards and dismissing them. "For I shall join the Hunt with my son and will be under Lord Oromë’s protection." The guards were reluctant to depart but knew better than to argue and soon they were gone.

Oromë looked upon the five remaining elves with satisfaction. "Let us ride then." As he spoke he led them all to where several horses were waiting for them outside the Ring. The elves and Maiar mounted. Oromë leapt upon his steed Nahar, shining silver in the night.

"Where do we go?" Sador asked.

"North," Ingwion replied.

Then Oromë raised the Valaróma to his lips and sounded it. All who heard its notes felt their blood burn as if with fire and they were caught up in the thrill of the chase. They rode north across the plains of Valinor, moving like a swift mist under starlight.

The Hunt had begun.

****

Sérë Valaron: The Peace of the Valar; similar in concept to the Pax Romana. However, it is not imposed upon the people of Aman by military might but is a natural consequence of the divine nature of the Valar themselves.

Pityahuan: Little Hound; an epessë or nickname given to Arafinwë by Manwë during his apprenticeship with the Elder King after Arafinwë turned away from the Rebellion to take up the kingship of the Noldor.

69: Glorfindel on Taniquetil

Glorfindel woke to bright sunlight and pain. He nearly screamed when he inadvertently moved, trying to shield his eyes from the snow glare that surrounded him. His memory was slow to return and he had difficulty putting the pieces together, though eventually he was able to recall the chain of events that had led him to where he was... wherever that was. He leaned against the wall, his eyes closed, waiting for the pain to subside, and tried to ascertain his condition. He was soaked through to the skin from the snow seeping into his clothes. His ribs hurt and he had trouble breathing. He was dizzy and his eyes refused to focus for more than a few seconds at a time. Eventually, the realization that he was even leaning against a wall registered in his mind. If there was a wall, there had to be an entrance.

He began to move, arbitrarily choosing a direction, crawling on his hands and knees, his left shoulder touching the wall for guidance, for he had to keep his eyes slitted because of the intense glare and could see little. It was slow going, not the least because the pain in his body was more than he could manage at times and he had to make frequent stops to catch his breath and convince himself that moving was better than standing (or in this case, lying) still. Also, the snowdrifts here by the wall were deep in places and he sometimes had to make swimming motions as he crawled through them, thereby aggravating his injuries even more. Eventually, though, he reached a corner and turned left.

His head was pounding and his limbs trembled with fatigue. He thought he slept for a bit, for he found himself waking up. He started moving again and came to another corner. Now the glare was less intense with the bulk of the building blocking some of the sunlight and he found the shade a blessed relief. Then the wall ceased altogether and he fell on his left shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain that became a whimper as waves of nausea swept through him. He feared he would be sick and indeed he was, adding misery upon misery. Still, afterwards his head no longer hurt and he could think more clearly. He struggled up to a sitting position and took in his surroundings.

He was at an entrance, tall and imposing, with carved figures of eagles on either side gracing the top of the huge mithril gates which stood open, their wings outspread and touching to form an arch. Crystal globes stood on pillars of ice before the entrance, illuminating the area with a rainbow of light that shimmered above him. Beyond the gates was a flagged courtyard with a fountain that burbled even at this great height amidst the snows, the water dancing around a statue of Varda, her hands outstretched above her, a single living star suspended between them, glowing and pulsating gently. And beyond that....

With growing horror Glorfindel realized that he was where he had been forbidden to come. He was sitting before the gates of Ilmarin, the mansion of Manwë and Varda, on Taniquetil.

Panic set in. It did not matter that he had been brought here against his will. He was not supposed to be here. For a brief moment he considered making his way into the courtyard to seek aid for his injuries but he dismissed the idea almost at once. Injured or not, he had no business being there. He tried to stand but another wave of dizziness brought him back down to his knees and with a muffled sob he began crawling away from the gates. His only thought was to get down the mountain before the Valar or their servants discovered him there. He had an idea that punishment would be swift and highly unpleasant if he were caught anywhere on the mountain.

He crawled, collapsing at times when the pain became too overwhelming or his strength failed him. Somehow he managed to find the road that led between Ilmarin and Vanyamar and the going was somewhat easier, but his relief did not last. Suddenly, as out of nowhere, a fierce wind arose and the light was blocked out by squalls of snow that blew around him. He could no longer see where he was going. Still, he continued crawling, the need to get down the mountain his only thought.

It was too much, though, and finally he sprawled upon the ground weeping in despair until he fell into unconsciousness.

He was never aware of the three Maiar who had followed him and now stood guard over him. Nor was he aware of the cloaked figure who appeared out of the storm, gathering him into his arms and carrying him away.

****

Warmth and the absence of pain greeted him upon his waking. That and darkness. He was lying on something soft, and a fur rug covered him. As his eyes became more focused he realized that there was the flickering light of a fire nearby so he was relieved to know he was not blind. He tried to sit up but someone loomed over him and pressed him back down with a gentle yet firm hand.

"Stay still," the figure said. In the flickering of light and shadows cast by the fire Glorfindel could not see who it was. The voice was soft and he could not decide if it were male or female and decided he didn’t care.

"Wh-where?" was all he had the strength to say.

"You are safe," the figure said. "Go back to sleep. You are still recovering from your injuries."

Glorfindel felt a cool hand on his forehead and before he could utter a protest he felt himself spinning back down into unconsciousness and sleep overtook him once again.

****

He was feeling hot and then cold and he had a terrible thirst and nightmares assailed him. He woke at one point screaming and felt himself being cradled and a lullaby crooned over him until he fell asleep again. He was bathed in cool cloths or additional blankets were piled over him when the fever or chills became too much. He woke two or three times to the sound of his own weeping. Then someone would gather him into their arms and rock him back and forth in an attempt to offer comfort. There was none to be had, but he would eventually fall asleep again, his tears spent.

Finally, he woke feeling clearheaded. He lay there for a moment or two enjoying the luxury of not being in pain. He felt weak, but not terribly so and slowly he sat up and looked around. He was in a cave, rough-hewn but warm and dry. He was lying on a shelf of rock with several thick piles of fur under him and another covering him. A small fire danced merrily nearby, its smoke drawn towards a slit in the rock above it. He did not see any opening leading to the outside and concluded he must be in an inner chamber. He found a small flagon of water sitting on the floor next to him and eagerly drank from it. Hunger awoke in him then and he wondered how long it had been since he had last eaten. He was about to rise from his bed in search of food when he heard someone approaching the chamber. Realizing he was naked Glorfindel hastily returned to the bed and covered himself up.

The person entered and he found himself looking upon one who appeared to be an elf, and by his beard, one of the oldest. The ellon was dark-haired and grey-eyed, his beard long and flowing. He wore a shapeless brown robe cinched at the waist by a length of rope. He was carrying a tray and smiled when he saw that Glorfindel was awake.

"Ah, awake at last, are you? Good. Good. I’ve brought you some broth to sip on." He sat on the edge of the shelf and laid the tray on the floor beside him, picking up the bowl and a spoon. Glorfindel found himself feeling weak all of a sudden as the smell of the broth assailed him. He had been without food for longer than he thought. With trembling fingers he reached out for the bowl but found it difficult to hold it.

"Here, let me hold it for you," the stranger said and handed him the spoon. Glorfindel leaned over and ladled some of the broth onto the spoon and with his first sip felt as if the world had righted itself and all was now well. He concentrated on finishing the broth, content to wait until later to demand answers to the questions roiling within him. Soon the broth was gone and then he was chewing slowly on a piece of soft bread while the stranger refilled his water flagon.

Finally, having had his fill of food, Glorfindel leaned back against the wall of the cave, wrapping the fur rug around him and gave the strange elf a nod. "Thank you."

"You’re most welcome youngling," the elf said with a smile.

"My name is Glor..."

"Glorfindel, yes I know. You may call me Yáravinyon."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at hearing the elf name himself, but decided to concentrate on more pressing matters. "Where am I?"

"My home," Yáravinyon said simply and gave a small chuckle at Glorfindel’s expression. "Oh, it’s not as terrible as all that, child. These caves are quite warm and offer good protection. My needs are simple and my wants few. I am content. Now, I have made an attempt to repair and clean your clothes but I will admit I’m somewhat lacking in skill in that area, so you will have to make do with one of my own robes. Not as fine as what you are used to wearing, no doubt, but adequate to your needs at the moment."

Glorfindel shook his head. "I am grateful for whatever you choose to give me for my comfort."

Yáravinyon gave him a searching look. "Polite, if nothing else," he finally said as he stood up. "There is a place nearby where you can bathe and no doubt you would like to use the privy."

Glorfindel nodded, suddenly aware of his body’s demands and with some help from Yáravinyon, stood up, the rug still wrapped around him. Yáravinyon led him to another chamber lit by several candles. There was a pool of hot water, the water flowing out at one end and disappearing into the wall. He saw a square of rough cloth on the edge of the pool along with some cleansing sand and a neatly folded robe. The older elf pointed to another opening along one side. "You’ll find the privy that way. Take care in getting into the pool for the water is quite hot, but not scalding. Take your time. When you are finished follow the passage back to the sleeping chamber. I will wait for you there." So saying he gave Glorfindel another smile and left him to his own devices.

Returning from the privy, Glorfindel took some time to undo his braids so he could wash his hair and was glad to see that a comb and a small bowl had been included with the other bathing paraphernalia. He put the beads and gems in the bowl, removing as well the velvet bag around his neck which held the beryl Olórin had gifted him. It was only then that he realized that his peridot ring was missing. He wondered at that but was not sure where he might have lost it. Indeed, it never occurred to him to think that someone might have taken it. He regretted the loss but knew there was nothing he could do about it now. Sighing, he stepped into the pool.

The water was indeed hot, but pleasantly so, and Glorfindel felt his muscles easing and he almost fell asleep. He washed himself and finally, almost reluctantly, he got out, shivering in the colder air as he dried himself off and put the robe on. He picked up the bowl and comb and took them with him back to the sleeping chamber, intending to rebraid his hair later when it was drier.

"Feeling better?" the older elf asked when he entered the chamber to find that the other elf had brought more food for him.

"Yes, thank you." Glorfindel sat on the shelf and looked at the tray of food with interest. He did not think he could be hungry again so soon, but the sight and smell of the thick stew made him salivate and without any encouragement he fell to eating it. Yáravinyon looked on with an indulgent smile. Soon the bowl was empty and Glorfindel felt stronger than he had, but now he was also feeling sleepy again and attempted to suppress a yawn.

"Why don’t you lie down for a bit?" Yáravinyon said. "You are still recovering and will no doubt require much sleep. I know you have many questions, but they will wait. You won’t be going anywhere soon I’m afraid, as there is quite a storm raging outside."

Glorfindel went still at those words. He vaguely remembered being caught in a storm as he tried to get off the mountain. "Am I still on the mountain?"

"Hmm, yes."

"Then I cannot stay, I must get off." Glorfindel started to rise, but Yáravinyon pushed him back down.

"Not so fast, youngling. As I said, no one is going anywhere. A storm rages across the whole mountain range and you would be lost within a minute if you were to step outside. You are safe enough here."

"No, you don’t understand," Glorfindel was beginning to feel panic and anger spurred him. "I cannot stay here. I’ve been forbidden..."

"Ah, so that’s the way of it," the older elf said, the light of understanding in his eyes. "Rest assured, child, that the Valar are neither vindictive nor unreasonable. I have no doubt that they are quite aware of where you are and why. Have you no trust in their mercy?"

Glorfindel subsided then and shook his head. "Lord Námo told me if I disobeyed I would not enjoy the consequences."

"But have you disobeyed them, child?" Yáravinyon asked gently. "Did you deliberately climb the mountain?"

Glorfindel shook his head again. "It doesn’t matter. I’m on the mountain. I’m not supposed to be on the mountain. I have to get off. Please, I have to leave." He was panicking again and weeping in frustration. Suddenly, Yáravinyon took him into his embrace and held him, letting him cry himself out.

"It does matter, child," the elf said soothingly. "The Valar are not tyrants. You need not fear them. You’ve done nothing wrong. Others have wronged you. Now, lie down and sleep. As soon as the storm ends I will lead you to Vanyamar. Sleep now, child... sleep... and do not fear. All will be well."

With that, he laid Glorfindel back down onto the bed and covered him up, stroking his forehead and crooning a lullaby until the younger elf fell asleep.

****

How long he was there, Glorfindel never knew. He slept much of the time, and ate when he awoke. He remembered taking another bath at one point. Mostly he and Yáravinyon sat on the sleeping shelf while Glorfindel told him about his life, both before and after his death. Yáravinyon proved a good listener and encouraged the younger elf to speak. When he came to describing the events leading to his coming to Valmar, though, Glorfindel found himself shaking for no particular reason and could not speak for some time.

"You suffered a grave shock to your fëa, child," Yáravinyon said, laying a comforting arm around the ellon’s shoulders. "It was a frightening experience for you and I do not believe you have recovered completely from the trauma."

"I was back in Gondolin," Glorfindel said, a haunted look upon his face. "It was so dead. Every time I thought of Gondolin I remembered how alive it was, but this was a dead city and its very... deadness frightened me. I didn’t belong there any more and that frightened me even more."

"As well it should, child," the other elf said. "As well it should. The Past is a dangerous place to be, for it is full of regrets and ‘should-have-beens’. It does no good to dwell there overlong. The present moment is all any of us are ever offered, even we who will live until all the ages of Arda are spent. Take joy in the Present and leave the Past where it belongs."

The older elf’s words brought comfort to Glorfindel and he was able to continue his narrative, bringing the tale up to the point of his attack.

"It grieves me, though it does not surprise me, that Vorondil was involved," Glorfindel commented when he was finished. "Ever did he despise me, though I took little account of it, thinking it was only spite."

"That any elf would offer violence to another elf is even more disturbing," Yáravinyon replied with a troubled look.

Glorfindel merely shrugged and that one gesture grieved the older elf even more at the thought of such innocence lost that this child would accept the idea of violence against another elf as all too common an event to comment on.

"I wish this storm would end," Glorfindel said at the last.

"Do you tire of my company so soon, youngling?" Yáravinyon asked with a wry grin and Glorfindel blushed.

"Nay, I do not," he answered, "but I chafe at the enforced inactivity. My friends will be worrying for me and wondering if I am well. And the... silence of the Valar is... deafening."

Yáravinyon raised an eyebrow at that. "An interesting turn of phrase, but I think you are rather missing the point."

"What do you mean?" Glorfindel asked in puzzlement.

Yáravinyon gave the younger elf a piercing glance. "Who do you think told me where to find you?"

Glorfindel stared at the older elf in shock. Yáravinyon merely nodded and took his leave, wishing the younger elf a good night. It was a long time though before Glorfindel could fall asleep.

And the storm raged for three more days.

70: Hunter and Hunted

The ride north through the night was both glorious and frightening. As promised, Finrod and Ingwion took the lead with Arafinwë and Laurendil directly behind them. The Maiar ranged about them on either side and behind while Sador rode next to Oromë in the middle of the cavalcade. Sador felt both sick and feral and he could not get the image of blood — the flowing warmth, the salty taste — out of his mind. He leaned over his horse, urging it to greater speeds, losing himself to the bloodlust. Oromë reached over and with a single hand plucked the ellon from his horse and settled the elf before him, wrapping a protective arm around Sador’s middle.

"No!" Sador screamed in embarrassment, struggling against the Vala.

He saw Finrod turn around and give him a fierce smile that caused the ellon to moan as a wave of darkness swept through him. He could not understand what was happening to him as ecstasy took him. Oromë held him close.

"Did I not warn you that there were grave consequences for both Hunter and Hunted, child?" the Vala asked. "You feel the bloodlust, don’t you?"

At Sador’s nod, the Vala began singing. It was a wild song of the chase yet, oddly, it did not evoke any further emotions of a dark nature. Instead, Sador found himself growing calmer and more focused, the blood images receding and other images of green forests and open glades under starlight taking their place. He felt one with the Vala’s song of fresh earth and green smells, which banished the tangy iron smell of freshly flowing blood from his nostrils. The Maiar picked up the song and the sound of it was both joyous and terrible and Sador wept cleansing tears of release as the dark wave receded, though the ecstasy remained. He must have fallen asleep for he suddenly came to when the rush of hooves slowed and Sador saw they had come to a road heading north.

Finrod reined his steed and waited until Oromë came up beside him, casting a concerned look at Sador who was eyeing him with some embarrassment. "Are you well, gwador?"

It was Oromë who answered, though. "Do not fear, Findaráto. Your brother was merely overcome with the call of the chase. He is well. I will see that he does not suffer unduly from the Hunt."

Finrod nodded, then leaned over and, taking Sador by the back of his head, gave him a brief kiss on the brow before releasing him. Then without a word he joined Ingwion at the front and the cavalcade continued along the road. The stars wheeled across the heavens as the night slipped towards dawn. Sador was now wide awake.

"Look! What’s that?" he pointed towards the east where the sky was beginning to lighten. Far in the distance he could see a mountain rising above the plain, its peaks wreathed in eternal snows. Much of the lower part of the mountain was covered with clouds, though the highest peaks rose clear above them.

"That is Oiolossë," Oromë explained.

Finrod called out. "There is a storm on the mountain."

"Yes. My brother Manwë’s work is quite spectacular, is it not?" the Vala replied.

"But what does it mean?" Sador asked, wondering if the storm had anything to do with Glorfindel being missing.

Oromë looked down at the ellon sitting before him and smiled, though Sador could not see it. "It means there’s a storm on the mountain, child, nothing more."

Sador nodded and settled back into Oromë’s embrace, content to be carried to their destination. The road they were on veered towards the east. Now the sun, rising above the horizon, was in their eyes. Another, narrower road led towards the northwest. Finrod called a halt, leading them to a copse some small distance from the roads.

"We will rest here for a few hours, I think," Finrod said to Oromë. "Valar and Maiar can go without rest but I would not want to weary these fine horses and I for one am ready to drop."

"Then we will rest," Oromë said, handing Sador down to the ground before dismounting himself. "My people will see to the horses and we will have a fire and something hot to eat before you sleep."

By this time the other elves had dismounted and joined Finrod and Sador. Arafinwë glanced at the young Sinda. "You are well, yonya?"

"Yes, Atar," Sador said. "I...I’m just not used to all this."

"Nor am I," Laurendil said. "I almost feared being swept away by my emotions, but somehow managed to pull myself back."

Oromë gave the Noldo a wry grin. "You have been on the Hunt before in Endórë, my son, though you did not recognize it as such. Sador, on the other hand, has never experienced the Hunt and so was more susceptible to the lure of the bloodlust. He will do better now, I think." The Vala gave the young Sinda a warm smile and Sador smiled shyly back.

In a short time the elves were fed and all but Arafinwë were fast asleep. The Noldóran sat by the fire speaking softly to Oromë, describing the trial and what came of it.

"So much hate," Arafinwë said, shaking his head. "Melkor did his work too well, I fear."

"But Eru will not be denied," Oromë said, "and the Marring will someday be transmuted into Healing for us all."

"I don’t even know what would be an appropriate punishment," Arafinwë confessed. "I am almost tempted to ask my son what he would have done as king if the situation had arisen in Nargothrond."

"Why don’t you?" the Vala asked gently.

Arafinwë grimaced. "I do not wish to appear... naive before my firstborn. Stupid, I know..."

"Not stupid at all, Atar."

Arafinwë and Oromë looked up to see Finrod sitting up.

"Forgive us, yonya, we did not mean to disturb you."

"You were not disturbing me, Atar." Finrod stood up and came and sat down beside him. "I am grieved that you have been put in such an untenable position." He sighed as he looked into the fire. "Eru knows I had more than my share of trials while king thanks to Fëanáro’s legacy of hatred and mistrust." He glanced at Arafinwë. "I do not think the less of you because you do not know how to handle this situation and I will gladly give you my thoughts if you ask for them."

"Thank you, yonya," Arafinwë said with all sincerity. "Your words of encouragement mean more to me than you will ever know. I think in the long run it will be I who will learn the meaning of kingship from you rather than the other way around."

"Nay," Finrod countered with a shake of his head. "I think we will learn from each other, Atar, as is only meet."

Arafinwë gave his son a hug and then at Oromë’s suggestion they both lay down to sleep, leaving only the Lord of the Forest and his Maiar servants awake and on guard.

****

The sun was two-thirds down the western sky before they set off again. This time, Sador rode his own horse and did not succumb to wild emotions. They moved along the northwest road. Oromë explained to Sador where they were going as they rode.

"This is the Mall’ Etelerroron, which leads eventually to Formenos. Long has that place of exile stood empty, but I fear that soon it will not be. The royal hunting lodge of Ingwë lies nearly halfway to Formenos from Vanyamar, deep in a forest to the west of the road. We will arrive at the lodge an hour or so after sunset."

"And what will we find there when we arrive?" Sador asked.

"Answers," Arafinwë called out from ahead, his voice cold and implacable. "Answers to questions I never thought to have to ask."

The rest of the journey was done in silence. At some point Ingwion veered west off the road along a track that was barely perceptible to Sador. Then, they were slowing down and finally Ingwion called a halt.

"The lodge lies less than a quarter mile from here," he explained. "I would take them by surprise if I can, so we will leave the horses here."

Oromë nodded. "We will be here when you return."

"You do not come with us?" Sador asked in surprise, for he simply assumed that the Vala and Maiar would accompany them all the way.

Oromë shook his head. "This Hunt is yours, my children."

Laurendil turned to Finrod. "You have my life, aranya. Tell me what you wish from me."

Finrod nodded. "I would ask that you stay close to Sador. This will be a new experience for him and he might be overwhelmed by what happens. No, gwador," Finrod turned to Sador who was looking rebellious, "I do not disparage your bravery, but Laurendil has had greater experience in these matters and you can learn much from him. Also, though you go armed, you have little skill in fighting."

"Actually, yonya," Arafinwë said with a wry smile, "that could hold true for myself and Ingwion as well. Only you and Laurendil have had any real experience in bearing weapons of war."

"True, but you and Ingwion know well the weapons of the hunt and so I do not have any fear for either of you. Sador, on the other hand, has not had such experiences."

Sador still looked rebellious at Finrod’s words but allowed himself to be led by Laurendil into the woods and soon the seriousness of their mission imposed itself upon his consciousness and his resentment abated. They moved noiselessly through the woods, following Ingwion, who alone knew the way with any degree of certainty. Soon they found themselves looking at a turreted lodge made from stone set in a small clearing. Lights flickered through the windows. Ingwion drew them together and whispered a description of the lodge’s layout.

"There is one large room on the ground floor with a kitchen in the back. Stairs to the left of the main door lead to a sleeping loft. There is a back entrance through the kitchen."

"Laurendil, Sador and I will take the back entrance," Arafinwë said, "while you and Findaráto go through the front."

Ingwion and Finrod nodded. "What are you going to do, exactly?" Sador asked them. "Ring the bell?"

Finrod grinned. "The idea has its merits, especially as the door may be bolted now that it is after dark. We will need to get inside somehow."

So it was decided and Arafinwë led the way for the other two ellyn as they moved towards the back of the lodge. The door, when they tried it, was bolted from inside, so they hid themselves in the darkness and waited.

****

Vorondil was sipping some mulled wine before the fireplace when there was a banging at the front door. The sound of it startled him and he jumped, spilling some of the wine on him. He muttered an oath. Ingoldo, on the other hand, merely looked up from his book in disgust.

"It had better be important whoever it is," he said. "I come here each year to get away from the court."

"Is that what it is then?" Vorondil asked somewhat nervously. "Some messenger from Vanyamar?"

"We’ll see soon enough," the Vanya said as he nodded to Tulcaner who was acting as Ingoldo’s body servant tonight. There were about a half dozen guards at the lodge, and they took turns seeing to their lord’s needs. Tulcaner went to the door and unbarred it, opening it and stepping back in surprise when he saw Ingwion standing there with another elf he did not know.

Ingwion did not wait for the guard to let him in but entered in an imperious manner. "Ah, Uncle. I trust your hunting has been fruitful this time? And Vorondil, is it?"

Vorondil just sat there staring at Ingwion and Finrod stupidly, trying to understand why they would be there. Ingoldo looked at his nephew warily, suddenly afraid. Finrod noticed immediately that Vorondil had taken to wearing warrior braids, though they were sloppily done and looked somewhat ludicrous on the ellon. At the sight of the braids, his expression darkened to wrath. At the same time, Ingwion noticed the peridot ring on Vorondil’s left ring finger. In two strides he was upon the younger ellon with a long knife against Vorondil’s throat.

"You have something that does not belong to you, child," the Vanyarin prince said in a whisper that was terrible to hear, for it was ice cold and a fell light shone from his eyes. Vorondil quailed at the feel of steel against his flesh but he kicked out at Ingwion’s legs and the move surprised the prince enough to force him to step back. Vorondil took advantage of this and ran towards the back of the lodge. There was a confused noise behind him but he paid little heed as he raced through the kitchen to unbolt the back door. He was through and running towards the nearby woods when something tackled him from behind and he fell. In minutes he was being trussed up and upon being brought to his feet, discovered that his attacker had been the Sinda potter and that surprised him all the more, for he had dismissed Sador as unimportant.

Arafinwë and Laurendil, meantime, had rushed into the lodge to help Ingwion and Finrod. Most of the guards had retired and were found in the sleeping loft. Ingwion relieved them of all weapons and marched them down the stairs where Laurendil began tying them up even as Sador brought Vorondil inside. Ingoldo tried to brave it out, but Ingwion’s presence unnerved him as nothing else could and he was soon confessing to his nephew his role in the conspiracy. Tulcaner managed to escape in the confusion, though Ingwion did not doubt that he would be found soon enough.

Vorondil received the brunt of Ingwion and Finrod’s questioning. Finrod, still furious, cut Vorondil’s braids off and threw them into the fire. Ingwion ripped the ring from the ellon’s finger, holding it up for all to see.

"This ring belongs to Glorfindel, given to him by Lord Manwë himself. What did you do with him, Vorondil?"

"I did nothing," the ellon cried, white-faced with his own fury at what Finrod had just done to him. "I never touched him."

"How did you come by the ring, child?" Arafinwë asked but Vorondil refused to answer and short of beating it out of him (Laurendil’s suggestion) there was little they could do at the moment.

Ingoldo was tied up as well and soon they were all marching through the woods towards where Oromë awaited them. When those from the lodge saw the Vala, many quailed, Ingoldo and Vorondil especially. Oromë took one look at them all then pointed to three of the guards.

"These three are innocent of any wrongdoing. They may be released and their weapons returned to them. As for these others..."

The Vala looked at the remaining guards as well as Ingoldo and Vorondil and his anger was terrible to behold. One of the guards was violently ill and another fainted outright. Ingoldo paled and Vorondil screamed. One of the Maiar had to grab him and hold him down, for he tried to flee, bound though he was.

"There is one other who escaped," Arafinwë said.

"He will not get far," Oromë said, his expression softening as he looked upon the King of the Noldor. "You have done well, my children. I am pleased with the outcome of this Hunt."

"But we haven’t found Glorfindel, lord," Sador said, his expression one of confusion.

"That was not the purpose of the Hunt, otorno," Ingwion said, laying a hand on the younger ellon’s shoulder. "It was never about finding Glorfindel. He was the bait and has served his purpose. This was always about finding those responsible for breaking the Sérë Valaron and bringing them to justice."

"Glorfindel will return when it is proper for him to do so," Oromë said with a gentle smile for the Sinda who still looked doubtful. "Now, come to me, child."

Sador moved to stand before the Vala. With a swift motion Oromë grabbed Vorondil by the hair and forced him to kneel before him. Vorondil looked as if he would faint at any moment, his face white with shock. The Vala’s expression was dark and forbidding, yet his tone, when he spoke, was almost mild, which only made it worse for all who heard it.

"You play a dangerous game, Vorondil Aldundilion, a game you know little about. You will be judged by those whom you have wronged and if you are lucky you will not be brought to stand before the Valar in the Máhanaxar. For now, though, you will serve another purpose."

Oromë took a knife and, grabbing the ellon’s arm, slit the tunic and shirt underneath and made a shallow cut. Vorondil cried out but otherwise did not seek to escape from Oromë’s grip. The Vala allowed the blood to well up before dipping his fingers in it and then smearing it on Sador’s forehead and cheeks.

"Our quarry was no fell creature of the dark but elves who have known nothing but the light of the Valar’s benevolence. Yet, they would seek to disturb the peace which this land enjoys out of spite and malice and even just for the fun of it." Here the Vala cast his gaze on Ingoldo who reeled slightly at the force of Oromë’s regard but otherwise stood his ground. "You have participated in your first Hunt, Sador Bronwegion. You have done well and I am pleased with you. Remember the blood of this one that I have smeared upon your brow and cheeks. Remember the cost to you and to your brother for this one’s folly."

"What cost to me, lord?" Sador asked. "Vorondil has done nothing to me personally."

"Has he not?" Oromë countered. "His folly brought you to the Hunt and the lust for blood that is a consequence of it. Few among the Eldar do I invite to participate in the Hunt, for the cost in innocence can be terrible indeed."

"But I am no innocent, lord," Sador replied. "I have taken lives and all of them elves. I am as guilty of Kinslaying as any who attacked Alqualondë or the Havens."

"Had you truly been guilty of Kinslaying, child," Oromë said, "you would not have been as disturbed by the feelings of bloodlust as you were. No, you were ever innocent and now it has been lost to the evil these others would do."

Oromë then pressed his hand upon the cut on Vorondil’s arm and soon the blood stopped flowing and the cut was healed as if it had never been. "My people will take these to Vanyamar," the Vala said. "You, my children, have yet another task."

"Is the Hunt still on then?" Finrod asked wearily, for now that the excitement of the chase was over he was feeling exhausted.

For the first time that night, Oromë smiled and it was as if the sun had risen. "Nay, child. The Hunt is over. This is something else entirely. For now, return to the lodge and rest. What else needs doing can wait until morning. Sleep well, my children, and fear not. I will set my people to guard you."

With that, Oromë issued orders and soon several of the Maiar were riding swiftly away, each with a prisoner before them. The three guards whom the Vala had declared innocent also left with the Maiar. Arafinwë gave Oromë a bow and the others echoed him before they returned to the lodge. In a short while all five elves were fast asleep. The Maiar ringed the lodge, swords of light drawn. Oromë stood at the edge of the clearing where the lodge was situated and danced under the stars to music only he could hear.

****

Note: The concept of Oromë’s Hunt is based very loosely on the Wild Hunt, which is a popular mythological motif throughout Europe (known as wilde Jagd in Germany), though I have taken my cue from the myths of the British Isles where the hunt is led by either Herne the Hunter (British) or Gwynn ap Nudd, King of Annwfn (Welsh). Annwfn is the Welsh Overworld.

71: Formenos

Sador woke to full daylight and realized that he was alone in the sleeping loft. He went through his ablutions in record time and was soon joining the others in breaking his fast, feeling somewhat embarrassed at sleeping so late.

Finrod smiled at him. "Do not fret so, brother. You are quite young and the Hunt is very exhausting to those of us who are not Maiar or Valar. You have done quite well. I remember the first time Lord Oromë invited me to the Hunt. I slept for days afterwards and I was several centuries older than you are now."

Sador was mollified by Finrod’s words and soon forgot his embarrassment. "Where are we going now, do you know?" he asked the other elves but none of them had an answer.

When they had finished eating and had put the lodge in order, Ingwion locked the doors with the key he had found on his uncle and they made their way back along the track to where the horses were picketed. There they found Lord Oromë standing beside Nahar, now glowing white in the sun. Of the Maiar there was no sign.

Oromë smiled at them and gestured to Sador to approach him, taking the younger ellon by the shoulders and gazing into his eyes. Sador felt himself falling into an Abyss that was not cold and empty but warm and fecund with potentiality. He felt his mind opening to the Vala’s touch. He did not flinch nor did he feel fear, though he wondered briefly if he should, for the Vala’s gaze was on one level quite frightening. Yet, there was a sense of serenity to it that Sador welcomed and so he allowed himself to fall, trusting that the Vala would catch him in the end. He did not know how long it lasted and he seemed to come to himself only when he felt Oromë kiss him on the brow. He blinked, feeling slightly disoriented and saw the Vala nod in satisfaction, though he said nothing and Sador found he was disinclined to speak himself.

Without a word, Oromë released his hold on Sador and turned to mount his steed. Finrod had to take Sador’s arm and lead him to his horse and help him mount before going to his own steed. Then the elves were following the still silent Vala back to the Mall’ Etelerroron. Sador was surprised when Oromë led them, not south towards Vanyamar, but north.

"Why do you lead us to Formenos, lord?" Arafinwë asked and the sound of his voice, though softly spoken, rang harshly in the silence that had enveloped them until then.

"Is that where I lead you, Pityahuan?" Oromë countered mildly.

"There is nothing else that lies in this direction, lord," Arafinwë said, not to be put off.

Oromë stopped and the others followed suit. He gazed at the King of the Noldor with something like amusement, though his eyes were dark and the elves, except Arafinwë, found it difficult to look at the Vala directly. "My brothers taught you well, young Arafinwë. You were ever an apt pupil."

"I do not desire to visit the site of my atar’s death," Arafinwë said coldly. "I will not sully myself by going to a place touched by Melkor’s evil."

"Then you are already lost, child," Oromë said, his voice going cold. "For the very ground you ride upon has been touched by my Fallen Brother’s hand and evil is all around."

Arafinwë went white at the Vala’s words and swayed slightly. Finrod reached out to take his atar’s arm and steady him. For a long moment no one spoke or moved, then with a stifled sob Arafinwë dismounted and began walking away from them. Finrod started to follow but Oromë stayed him with a look.

"Let him be, child," the Vala said. "This is a battle only he can fight."

So they waited in silence, watching as Arafinwë walked towards a stand of trees and, entering the woods, was soon lost to sight, but not to hearing, for after a few minutes they heard him scream in rage. Ingwion went white at the sound. Finrod and Laurendil both sat looking grim, their eyes dark with their own memories of battles fought within themselves. Sador closed his eyes and leaned against his horse’s neck, his fingers wrapped tightly in the beast’s mane. Oromë never moved and his expression was unreadable.

Then there was absolute silence, which seemed even worse than the screaming. It was nearly an hour later before they saw Arafinwë come out of the woods. The others had dismounted in the meantime, standing by their horses and waiting. Arafinwë’s hair was in disarray, twigs and leaves caught in his locks. His expression was bleak and he did not speak nor would he look any in the eye, merely mounting his horse. Oromë gazed upon him placidly then nodded.

"Let us ride," he said quietly and without another word mounted his horse and set Nahar to a gallop. The others followed. Finrod cast a worried glance at his atar but Arafinwë kept his eyes on Oromë and would not acknowledge anyone else’s presence.

For several hours they rode thus, stopping only once to allow the horses to drink from a stream and to see to their own needs. Arafinwë refused to speak and the other elves left him alone, much as it grieved them to do so. Sador seemed the most affected by Arafinwë’s silence and Oromë took a moment to quietly reassure the young ellon, rubbing his back and stroking his hair until the elf was calmer.

"Arafinwë is fighting a battle with himself, child," the Vala told him. "One that all must fight at some point in their lives, even you."

"I don’t understand," Sador said, his voice full of confusion. "What battle?"

"Whether or not to let go of the Past... all of it. Not just this part or that, but everything and everyone. Your atar has yet to let go of that part that concerns his own atar."

"B-but if I... if I let go of it, will I not lose it?" Sador tried to understand the Vala’s words but failed. "How can I lose my family all over again?"

"You will not, child," Oromë assured him. "Letting go is not the same as abandoning or forgetting. Letting go is allowing the Past to be the Past and not some adjunct of the Present. Letting go allows one to live in the Present in hope for the Future, not in regret for what was or what might have been. Arafinwë needs to let go of his atar’s memory. Only when he has done so will he be able to do what is necessary as Noldóran."

Sador gave the Vala a quizzical look and then his expression cleared somewhat. "You mean... the judgment against the people who... kidnapped me."

Oromë nodded and gave the ellon a hug, pleased that this Child was learning his lessons so well. The Valar had high hopes for this one and Námo’s decision to release him from Mandos earlier than would have been proper was ably justified by Sador’s actions to date.

They resumed their ride and sunset found them approaching the vale where Formenos stood. By mutual consent they slowed to a halt and spent a few moments gazing at the fortress that Fëanor and his sons had built in their exile from Tirion. It was a grim looking place and Sador had in his mind the sense that it was more a prison than a home.

"Yes, this will do," Arafinwë whispered and the other elves started at his words, so used had they become to his silence.

Without another word, Arafinwë spurred his horse forward and soon they were all at the front doors of the fortress. They hung open, one door half off its hinges. Inside, centuries of dust and debris covered the floors and there was the musty smell of decay. They walked warily through the rooms until they came upon an inner room where no windows were. Finrod and Laurendil hastily made torches from rags and they saw an iron vault, its door open. Inside were three golden frames on pieces of moldering velvet. All of them stood there in awe, realizing what had once lain there.

"He should have given them up," Arafinwë said, staring at the frames, his expression as bleak as they had ever seen it. "They weren’t worth the price we all paid for them, the price some of us are still paying."

"Perhaps not," Oromë said. "That is neither here nor there, now. The question before you Pityahuan is this: what price are you still willing to pay for clinging as fiercely to these as your half-brother did?" He pointed to the empty frames where once three Silmarils had sat, their light hidden away by more than just an iron door.

Arafinwë did not answer immediately, but finally he turned away from the vault and looked at Oromë directly, then fell to his knees. "Forgive me, lord. I have been a fool and worse than a fool."

"Nonsense, my child," Oromë said kindly. "You have been a faithful son who did not wish to give up his memories of one who could not be the atar he should have been to you. Your loyalty does you credit. Your willingness to put the Past aside does you even more. I am proud of you Arafinwë and am pleased that you are finally ready to let go. Now tell me your thoughts."

Oromë raised Arafinwë to his feet and gave him a smile which the Noldóran returned somewhat shakily.

"I think Formenos will be inhabited again."

Oromë nodded. "I think so, too."

****

They spent the next three days cleaning the place up as best they could, removing as much of the dust and debris as they were able. Maiar came and helped them fix the front doors and to remove the vault. Arafinwë gave orders to have it and its contents melted down.

"Let Lord Aulë do with it as he wishes. Perhaps a better use will be found for this metal than the one my brother put it to."

Finally, Arafinwë was satisfied that they had done what they could. "I will have others sent up to finish cleaning and getting the place ready for those who will live here for a time."

"How will you ensure that they will not just leave?" Sador asked, but it was Oromë who answered, looking grave.

"We will ensure it, my son. My brother Námo will speak the doom before all."

The elves looked at the Vala with surprise, even Arafinwë. "Must it really come to that, lord?" he asked sorrowfully, well remembering the last time the Lord of Mandos had spoken a similar doom upon his half-brother.

"The Sérë Valaron has been seriously disrupted, Arafinwë," Oromë said somewhat coldly, the fire of anger in his eyes causing them all to flinch. "We will not permit those who are guilty to go unpunished, even if you are willing to let them go."

"But isn’t that our decision to make, lord?" Ingwion asked. "Lord Ulmo told me that the Valar will not interfere with the internal problems of the Eldar."

Oromë nodded. "Nor will we, but are we not also of Aman, more so than even the Eldar? Our Peace has been broken as has not happened since before the Darkening when Fëanáro threatened Ñolofinwë. Those sent here will learn the meaning of justice at our hands, justice as well as mercy."

No one dared dispute the Vala’s words. Soon they were ready to leave, though Oromë declined to accompany them.

"I feel the need to hunt, my children, far to the north where fell beasts still roam. I will leave you now. You have all done well, and I am pleased with you, as is my brother, Manwë. Return now to Vanyamar. Glorfindel waits for you there with much impatience." He smiled then and gave each of them a kiss on the forehead, lingering somewhat when he came to Sador, as if he was loath to let him go. Then he mounted Nahar and the Maiar who were there joined him on their own horses. As Oromë rode away they heard him raise his voice in song and for a moment they were caught up in the thrill of the chase that the music evoked within them, then the Vala and his Maiar attendants melted into the fabric of the landscape and the elves found themselves alone.

Arafinwë was the first to stir. "Let us go. Your brother is waiting for us."

72: Return to Vanyamar

Long before the storm blew itself out Glorfindel was ready to scream. Only the fact that he was still recovering from his beating prevented him from running out of the cave to brave the blizzard, that and the fact that Yáravinyon had calmly taken away his robe and the fur rugs that made up his bed when Glorfindel tried to leave anyway late on the second day.

"When you are ready to see reason and not act like a petulant elfling, I will return these to you," the older elf said to the ellon raging before him, his face burning with humiliation at how easily Yáravinyon had stripped him of his robe.

Yáravinyon left Glorfindel to himself for a time. At first the younger ellon stood screaming his frustration, pounding his fists on the rock face of the chamber, but finally he wore himself out and collapsed in a huddle upon the cold floor. Thus, it was, when Yáravinyon returned some hours later with a tray of hot food he found Glorfindel lying in a fetal position rocking himself. The older elf sighed and put the tray down. He removed his own robe then reached down and picked the younger elf up as if he were no more than an elfling of ten summers. Glorfindel did not resist as Yáravinyon carried him to the bathing chamber and stepped into the hot pool, lowering the younger elf into the bubbling water.

The ellon gave an involuntary sigh and closed his eyes. Yáravinyon held him in his arms until he felt the ellon begin to relax and then let him go, keeping a steadying hand on his back so Glorfindel’s head remained above water.

"I know how frustrated you’re feeling, my son," the older elf said quietly, "but you cannot go out in the storm. You would be lost and I suspect that Lord Námo would be less than pleased to see your sorry fëa once more in his care."

Glorfindel opened his eyes at that and gave Yáravinyon a tremulous smile that soon turned into tears. "I’m sorry... I’m sorry."

The older elf took him into his embrace and rocked him gently. "I know you are, child. I’m not angry. If anything, you’ve been rather amusing. I’d forgotten how amusing elflings were."

"N-not an elfling," Glorfindel protested with a slight hiccup.

"No? Well you could have fooled me, my young elf," Yáravinyon said with a smile and Glorfindel found himself returning the smile with one of his own.

Yáravinyon released the younger ellon from his embrace. "When you are ready, I will have your robe waiting for you along with your dinner." Then he stepped out of the pool and, without bothering to dry himself off, walked out of the bathing chamber, leaving Glorfindel alone.

Glorfindel remained in the pool for some time reveling in the warmth of the water and the sense of serenity it evoked within him. Eventually, though, he did get out, hunger driving him. He returned to the sleeping chamber to find that the fur rugs had been returned along with his robe, which he donned gratefully, feeling somewhat shy now that his tantrum was over. Yáravinyon said nothing but handed him the tray with his dinner on it and with a soft ‘thank you’ Glorfindel sat down on the bed shelf and ate.

"I suspect the storm will be over by tomorrow night," the older elf said in the ensuing silence. "We can leave the next morning."

Glorfindel just nodded, now content to stay where he was. Yáravinyon smiled knowingly and when Glorfindel finished his meal, took the tray from him and wished him a good night. In minutes Glorfindel was fast asleep.

****

"If I didn’t know better, I’d swear this storm exists for the sole purpose of keeping me here with you," Glorfindel said sourly to Yáravinyon sometime during the following morning as he stared out of the cave entrance into a wall of white.

Yáravinyon only chuckled, watching the younger elf with amusement. "Rather full of yourself aren’t you?"

"What do you mean?" Glorfindel turned from the entrance to face the older elf. "I know this storm isn’t for my benefit, at least I hope it isn’t."

"Why?"

"Because it would mean that I’ve been manipulated all along," Glorfindel grimaced at the thought. "This prohibition against climbing Taniquetil, for instance. Everyone knew about it, including my enemies, it seems. I can only imagine that I was dumped on the Valar’s doorstep for the sole purpose of invoking their ire."

"If that was their intent, they have failed miserably, of that you may be assured," Yáravinyon said firmly.

"How can you be so sure of that, meldonya?" Glorfindel asked, looking perplexed. "I am sure of nothing anymore."

Yáravinyon came and placed his hands on the younger elf’s shoulders. "I am sure," he said quietly but with such authority that Glorfindel had no choice but to believe him.

"Who are you Yáravinyon?" Glorfindel finally asked, stepping back out of Yáravinyon’s hold. "Why do you haunt these caves?"

For a long moment the older elf merely stared at him and Glorfindel began to squirm under his regard. Then Yáravinyon smiled. "As to that, best beloved, I do not, as you say, haunt these caves."

Glorfindel gasped at the ellon’s words and started trembling, fear and awe warring within him as Yáravinyon slowly began to change. The dark hair lightened to a rich brown and the beard disappeared altogether. The rough robe turned into an ankle-length tunic of midnight blue velvet cinched at the waist by a belt of red-gold chain. A circlet of red-gold with a single large garnet graced his brow. Glorfindel found himself facing the Elder King of Arda.

Manwë reached him before he fell senseless to the floor.

****

Glorfindel woke to silence and thought he had somehow gone deaf, but then realized that he was no longer hearing the storm raging outside. He sat up, finding himself lying on his bed of furs. Manwë was sitting on a chair that had not been there before, gazing placidly at him. Glorfindel involuntarily shrank against the rock wall, unsure of what was happening.

Manwë raised a hand. "Peace, child, you are safe and all is well."

"I’m on the mountain," Glorfindel said flatly.

Manwë nodded. "Yes, you are, and I’ve enjoyed our time alone together... tantrums and all."

Glorfindel blushed at that and cast his eyes down in embarrassment. "So what now, lord?" he muttered without looking up.

Manwë stood up and gazed down at the ellon with great tenderness. "Now, you return to Vanyamar as I promised, but not until the morrow. Do I make myself clear?" This last was spoken with a ring of authority that caused Glorfindel to look up and nod with great sincerity.

"Yes, lord. I will not depart from here until you give me leave."

"That is well, my son. Rest now. In the morning your clothes will be returned to you and one of my people will escort you off the mountain. We will speak again soon." With that, Manwë bent down and took Glorfindel by the shoulders and gave him a kiss on the brow, then released him. Glorfindel found himself feeling inexplicably drowsy all of a sudden and was falling into a deep and dreamless sleep before Manwë disappeared, leaving the chair behind.

****

Morning came with brilliant blue skies and Anar rising merrily from the sea. Glorfindel woke to find himself feeling more refreshed than he had since his awakening in the garden of the Reborn. A tray of food sat next to his bed and across the chair were his clothes, freshly cleaned and neatly mended.

"Probably had Lady Vairë do the mending," the elf muttered, allowing himself a chuckle at the Elder King’s expense, then looked guiltily around in case he’d been overheard. When nothing untoward happened he rose from his bed and went in search of the privy and his bath before returning to don his clothes and break his fast. Only then did he make his way to the entrance to look out onto a field of white and sighed, wondering when he would be allowed to leave.

"You may leave at any time, youngling."

Glorfindel turned to see Olórin standing there smiling, his arms outstretched to receive the ellon, giving him a fierce hug.

"Oh, Olórin! Everything is so confusing. Lord Manwë pretending to be a... a... I’m not sure what he was supposed to be... and I was with him for all that time and never knew... and I’m on the mountain where I’m not supposed to be, but no one’s angry and I just don’t understand."

He was practically wailing at the last and Olórin simply laughed, hugging the ellon closer to him and giving him comfort.

"Now, tush, my elfling. It’s not as bad as all that. You should feel honored that Lord Manwë looked after you himself instead of having one of us do it. And you must not read too much into the prohibition against being on the mountain. That is for your own sake. You are not ready for what will be demanded of you when at last you are permitted to come before the Elder King on Taniquetil. Be patient, child. There is much for you to do here in Aman. Now, if you’re ready, let us leave this place and return to Vanyamar. Many are worried for you and will be glad to see you safe and sound."

Glorfindel nodded and without another word elf and Maia left the cave, walking easily upon the pristine snow. Glorfindel had no idea where they were in relation to Vanyamar but Olórin knew the way and the elf was content to follow his friend. An hour later saw them reaching the north gate of the city and the guards there gave glad cries to see the ellon returning safely. One of the guards ran towards the palace to give the news.

"This is where I leave you," Olórin said, giving Glorfindel a hug. "I have other duties and you are back where you belong."

"Thank you," Glorfindel said simply and then he was alone with the guards. Giving himself a shake he set off for the palace and before he was even halfway there Ingwë came running down the street to greet the younger elf, throwing his arms around Glorfindel.

"Yonya, you are alive," Ingwë said with great feeling.

"Last time I looked," Glorfindel replied with a cheeky grin. "I’m not that easy to get rid of, my lord. It’ll take another Balrog for that."

Ingwë laughed in relief. "Indeed. Come, let us return to the palace and you may tell me all about it."

"Where are Ingwion and the others, lord? Are they all right?"

Ingwë nodded as they made their way back up the wide avenue to the palace. "Yes, all are well. My daughter, Findis and the other ellith as well as Elessairon and Lómion have since returned from Valmar. Ingwion, I understand, is with Findaráto. Lord Oromë declared a Hunt and invited them to it."

"A Hunt?" Glorfindel asked with a confused look on his face. "What does that mean?"

"Ah, yes, of course. You might not remember from before as you were quite young when you left Aman. Lord Oromë will sometimes call a Hunt against the fell creatures left behind by Melkor. Few of the Eldar participate for it holds great danger for those who do. When you went missing Oromë declared a Hunt."

Glorfindel cast a wry glance at the High King. "Well, if so, lord, they failed miserably in finding me."

"Ah, but you weren’t the object of the Hunt, yonya. You were the bait."

Glorfindel stopped and stared at Ingwë in shock. "B-bait? I was the bait?"

Ingwë gave the ellon a solemn nod. "Yes. Come, I will explain it all to you when we are inside. I know it is confusing for you but I assure you that all is well now. Ingwion and Findaráto will return soon, I do not doubt, and they will tell you everything."

Glorfindel allowed the High King to lead him inside and soon they were alone in Ingwë’s study sipping on mulled wine as they sat before a cheery fire. Glorfindel told Ingwë everything that had happened in Valmar and afterwards when he found himself on the mountain. Ingwë did not interrupt but he looked upon the ellon with surprise and wonder, especially when Glorfindel described how Yáravinyon transformed into Lord Manwë.

"You are very fortunate in your friends, child," Ingwë said softly and he stared pensively into the flames of the fire crackling merrily in front of them.

"I was never so shocked in my life," Glorfindel commented with some feeling. "In fact, I actually fainted."

"I don’t wonder," Ingwë replied with a smile. "When my son returns with Findaráto, we will have a feast to celebrate. Meanwhile, why don’t you go look up Alassiel and the others. They are anxious to see you again."

"I’m surprised they were not here to greet me," Glorfindel said.

"My fault, actually," Ingwë admitted. "I thought you might be too overwhelmed if everyone greeted you at once and I wished to hear your story first."

"Thank you, lord," Glorfindel replied with a short bow as he stood up. "I appreciate your concern for my well-being. With your leave, I will seek out my friends and assure them I am well."

Ingwë nodded and Glorfindel left. For a long time afterward, the High King sat before the fire, deep in thought. Then he stood up and walked out into the garden, wandering aimlessly, still thinking. He came upon a particular fountain where he was unsurprised to see the object of his thoughts sitting calmly on its edge. He approached and fell to his knees before the Elder King, who looked upon him with a benign smile.

"Forgive me, Sire," Ingwë said quietly, tears in his eyes. "I’ve been very foolish in my anger towards you."

"My son, it is I who ask for your forgiveness," Manwë replied with great tenderness, placing a hand on Ingwë’s head in benediction. "Nai maruvar sérë ar nilmë imbë met tennoio." Then Manwë reached down and raised the elf to his feet, giving Ingwë the kiss of peace, which the High King returned.

The two of them sat by the fountain and spoke for a long time of many things.

****

Garnet: There are many myths and legends surrounding the garnet. One Biblical legend is that Noah hung this gem on the ark to light his way through the dark and stormy nights of God's wrath. The garnet continues to be the protective gem of journeyers.

Nai maruvar sérë ar nilmë imbë met tennoio: "May peace and friendship abide between us (dual) forever."

Note: Yáravinyon is the Quenya version of the Sindarin Iarwain, which, according to the most recent linguistic studies among Tolkien scholars means "ancient-new" [iar "ancient" + gwain (with zero lenition) "new"]. Think "ever ancient, ever new" and you get the sense of the name’s meaning. An appropriate title for the Elder King of Arda. I do not, however, claim that Tom Bombadil and Manwë are one and the same. I’m sure that the Elder King, in a fit of humor, "borrowed" the name for his own purposes. I am equally sure that when, some several millennia later, Glorfindel actually met Tom Bombadil, that venerable personage enjoyed the joke as much as the elf did.

73: Reunion

Glorfindel found his friends easily enough and they greeted him with much enthusiasm and relief. Alassiel, especially, was pleased to see him and gave him a kiss that was more passionate than propriety would normally allow, but no one minded, least of all Glorfindel. It took some time for everyone to tell their stories. The others grimaced when Glorfindel told them about the attack and Vorondil’s role in it.

"I find it hard to believe that he would be a party to something like this," Elessairon said, "but I can’t say I’m surprised. He has ever considered the Reborn as beneath the rest of us."

When Glorfindel told them about the Elder King they looked at him in awe.

"That Lord Manwë would humble himself so far..." Alassiel began, but Glorfindel shook his head.

"Nay, it was not an act of humility, at least not in the way you mean, but it was an act of love and I will be forever grateful."

Elessairon told him about the finding of his knife and how Ingwion confronted the Valar. "He practically accused Lord Manwë of kidnapping you," the younger elf said, growing pale at the memory. "I thought for sure Ingwion would be skewered on the spot. It was terrible to behold."

Glorfindel put his arms around the ellon’s shoulders in sympathy. "I’m sorry I’ve been the cause of so much grief for you all."

Elessairon gave a snort of disbelief. "Nonsense, meldonya. You’ve enjoyed every minute of it, and frankly, when all is said and done, so have we."

Everyone laughed at that.

****

Arafinwë’s party returned the following day and the inhabitants of the city were nonplused to see the King of the Noldor riding in without an escort, still dressed as if for battle, as were all but one of his companions. They rejoiced to see their prince riding alongside the Noldóran, and there were many who recognized Finrod and stared at him in wonder, for they knew he had died and was now Reborn. Some muttered darkly, reminded that their own Dead had yet to be released from Mandos. Laurendil and Sador were ignored, much to Laurendil’s amusement and Sador’s relief.

Ingwë and Glorfindel met them before the front gates of the palace. All five elves gathered around the Noldo, Arafinwë reaching him first and giving him a fierce hug. Ingwë merely smiled indulgently, standing to one side while even his son ignored him as Ingwion gave Glorfindel his own hug and the two kissed as brothers. Only when they were all assured that Glorfindel was indeed well did they turn to Ingwë to give him their greetings.

"Forgive us, Uncle, for not greeting you immediately," Arafinwë said with a short bow before accepting Ingwë’s embrace. "I’m afraid all we could think of on our way here was seeing Glorfindel again."

"Frankly, Nephew," Ingwë rejoined with a laugh, "I would have been disappointed in all of you had you done otherwise. I am glad you are all well. Welcome, Findaráto. I rejoice that you have been reunited once again with your atar. Now, why don’t you introduce me to your companions."

Finrod introduced Laurendil and Sador to the High King, who greeted them graciously and warmly. "Glorfindel has told me much about you, Sador," he said when the Sinda was made known to him. "And I see that there is more than one tale here," he added, eyeing Sador’s single braid. "Come. I have ordered a feast for tonight. In the meantime, you should all refresh yourselves and later we will trade stories."

Thus, an hour later the five who had been a part of the Hunt were bathed and dressed (all but Ingwion in borrowed clothes) and sitting comfortably in Ingwë’s study along with Glorfindel and his friends, taking turns telling each other their stories. At one point Ingwion reached into an inner pocket of his outer robe and pulled out Glorfindel’s ring.

"My ring!" Glorfindel exclaimed. "I thought I lost it on the mountain."

Ingwion shook his head with a grimace. "I found this on Vorondil. He was wearing it when we took him prisoner."

Glorfindel stared at Ingwion in shock for a moment, then slowly took the ring and put it on, feeling immeasurably better as soon as he did.

Ingwë shook his head in sorrow. "So we must add thievery to the list of crimes this ellon has committed."

"As well as blasphemy," Finrod added coldly. Everyone except Glorfindel, Laurendil and Sador, gave the Noldorin prince a puzzled look. Finrod shrugged. "Perhaps the Amaneldi will not see it as such but every elf on Tol Eressëa will say the same. When Vorondil dared to give himself warrior braids..." He found he couldn’t finish the thought for the anger it brought forth.

Laurendil offered an explanation when it was obvious Finrod could not continue. "Too many of us paid the ultimate price for these braids," he said as he fingered his own. Sador, everyone noticed, was doing the same with his single braid. "Too many of us still pay for them in ways none of the Amaneldi can imagine. That one such as Vorondil would dare dishonor the warriors who fought and died so he might know only peace and safety..." He shook his head. "Call it what you will; we call it blasphemy."

Glorfindel nodded, looking grim. "And he will pay for it, I promise you. I did not fight one of Morgoth’s balrogs just so he could feel self-important."

Ingwë looked troubled at their expressions and sighed. "I will postpone judgment until I have heard all parties in this matter. Even more disturbing than young Vorondil’s role is my brother’s in helping with your kidnapping, Glorfindel, for which I apologize."

Glorfindel nodded in acknowledgment of the High King’s apology but did not otherwise speak. Ingwë then turned to Ingwion, "But tell me, my son, where have you been? The Maiar came with the prisoners some days ago and I looked for your coming soon after, but you did not follow."

It was Arafinwë who answered. "Lord Oromë took us to Formenos, Uncle. There was a task that needed doing."

Ingwë looked at Arafinwë in surprise. "Formenos! You went to Formenos? But why?"

"I have decided it will be inhabited again for a time and Lord Oromë has approved my plan in the name of the other Valar."

Ingwë sat in silence for a time and none dared interrupt his musings. Finally, he sighed and, with a nod, said, "You will have to tell me your thoughts on this later, Nephew. I had hoped never to see that drear and haunted place inhabited again."

"So did I, Uncle," Arafinwë replied, sorrow etched on his fair face.

The uneasy silence that followed was broken when Glorfindel suddenly stood up and reached over and pulled hard on Sador’s braid, eliciting a surprised shriek from the Sinda. "New fashion trend indeed! I think it just looks ridiculous." He stuck his tongue out and then deftly moved out of Sador’s reach as the Sinda stood up and ran after him out into the garden.

The others all started laughing as they watched the two ellyn chasing each other with Glorfindel taunting Sador and Sador shouting imprecations in a mixture of Sindarin and Quenya. Finrod and Laurendil, especially, were laughing hysterically, with Finrod translating the Sindarin for the benefit of the others.

It was some time before they were able to get themselves under control and by then everyone’s mood had brightened and all thoughts of a darker nature had flown.

****

In spite of the fact that his clothes were borrowed, as was the circlet of gold upon his head, Arafinwë looked every inch the Noldóran when he joined the others for the feast.

"I packed very lightly for this trip," he quipped to Ingwë and the High King laughed.

Finrod, Laurendil and Sador were also suitably attired in borrowed finery and many remarked over the ellyn’s braids, for not everyone understood their significance and wondered why the firstborn son of the Noldóran would sport such a barbaric look in the High King’s presence.

Glorfindel found that the bags he had left behind in Valmar had been returned to him in his absence so he was able to don the formal robes that he had worn to his meeting with Manwë, including the chaplet of leaves that Ingwion and Indil had given him as their Begetting Day gift. When Arafinwë saw it his eyes widened in surprise.

"I wondered what had happened to it," he said. "I did not think to look for it here in Vanyamar. I simply assumed Amillë took it with her when she fled to Lórien after Atar’s death."

"She may have, but I cannot say for sure," Ingwë replied. "At any rate, my son and daughter gifted it to Glorfindel on his Begetting Day. I have no objections."

"Nor do I," Arafinwë said, casting a smile at Glorfindel.

The feast began on a joyous note but was marred by an unexpected intrusion when Vorondil’s parents arrived in Vanyamar, having been apprised of their son’s arrest by a messenger sent by Ingwë. Aldundil refused to wait until morning to request an audience with the High King and strode into the feasting hall, full of wrath. Vorondil’s mother, Calalindalë, followed behind her husband, clearly embarrassed and fearful.

"What have you done with my son, Ingwë?" Aldundil demanded. "Why have you imprisoned him who is still a child?"

"A child who plays a dangerous game, Aldundil," Arafinwë answered before Ingwë could speak, his voice cold and unbending. "And I suggest you show proper respect to the High King in his own hall."

Aldundil scowled, his features dark with fury. Calalindalë looked as if she would start weeping at any moment. "I want to see my son," Aldundil said.

Ingwë shook his head. "No, Aldundil. Not before the trial."

Calalindalë went absolutely white and Findis ran to her and led her away to compose herself, murmuring softly in the other elleth’s ear. Aldundil never noticed.

"Of what is he accused? Surely he is too young to have caused that much trouble?"

"This is neither the time nor the place..." Ingwë began but Aldundil interrupted him.

"Make it the time and the place, Ingwë," he shouted heedlessly in his anger. "This is my son you are talking about and I want to know what he has done."

Laurendil suddenly stood up. "Peace Aldundil. All will be explained at the proper time. Go to your wife and give her what comfort she will allow you to give."

Everyone stared at the Noldo with the strange braids and Aldundil started, for he had not paid attention to anyone but Ingwë. He recognized the voice, though it had been in another time and place when last he had heard it. He stared at the ellon who had addressed him and slowly recognition came.

"Glorendil?"

Laurendil nodded. "It is good to see you again, mellon nîn. I was not aware that Vorondil was your son. I am sorry that we must meet again under these circumstances."

"You know one another?" Finrod asked in surprise.

Laurendil smiled at his liege lord. "Yes, aranya. We met during the War of Wrath."

"Ah, I believe I was still in Mandos at the time trying to convince Glorfindel that calling Lord Námo a... a ninny wasn’t the smartest thing an ellon could do."

"You called the Lord of Mandos a ninny?" Sador asked, laughing.

Glorfindel shrugged. "I was mad and he wouldn’t let me climb the fountain."

Everyone looked at the golden-haired Balrog-slayer with varying degrees of wonder and surprise. Arafinwë rolled his eyes and Ingwion grinned. "No wonder Lord Námo kicked you out of Mandos when he did," the Vanyarin prince said. "He probably did it out of self-preservation."

Glorfindel smirked and many of the elves laughed. Aldundil, however, was not amused and glowered at them all, but addressed himself to Laurendil. "I was not aware that you had returned to Aman, Lord Glorendil."

"Yes, I returned only recently. I am now an apprentice to Lord Irmo and hope to someday be accepted among the Lóriennildi."

Aldundil looked at Laurendil in surprise. "A healer! You were ever the consummate warrior. I cannot imagine you giving up your sword."

"I gave up my sword the day I failed my king, Aldundil, though I continued to fight against Morgoth’s minions until the end."

Aldundil glanced at Finrod sitting at the high table, then back at Laurendil. "And did you foreswear that oath you told me about?"

"No," Laurendil said flatly. "Findaráto still has my life and always will."

Ingwë looked puzzled at Laurendil’s words. "Whatever does that mean? I’ve never heard such an expression."

Laurendil stared at Finrod. "Aranya?"

Finrod gave the barest of nods and then in a single motion that was swifter than most eyes could follow he was up and standing behind Laurendil with a knife at the ellon’s throat. Laurendil never flinched. Nearly everyone gasped and most of those at the high table stood up in shock. Even Aldundil paled at the sight.

"Findaráto! What is the meaning of this?" Ingwë demanded, shock and anger warring in his expression. He waved away the guards who had advanced on the high table with swords drawn. Laurendil stared placidly at the High King.

"It means, my lord, that Findaráto has my life and may do with it as he pleases."

Finrod glanced at Ingwë with a sad smile on his face. "You see, Uncle, in Endórë life was... different than here in Aman. A ritual developed among the rulers of Beleriand in which we accepted the lives of our subjects into our keeping and they in turn gave us their absolute trust."

"But... why?" Ingwë asked. "Such an oath is too dangerous..."

Finrod nodded. "Yes, much too dangerous. I only accepted the oath from a handful of my people and some I did not accept at all. Laurendil was one of the first to take the oath and has ever been faithful to me."

"No, aranya," Laurendil said sadly. "Not always."

Finrod took the knife away from Laurendil’s neck but did not release him from his embrace. Instead, he leaned over and planted a kiss on the ellon’s cheek. "Yes, my son, always," he said softly. Laurendil closed his eyes as he leaned into Finrod’s embrace. "Do you not understand? I knew you would not follow me to death. I knew you had another destiny. Do not regret your decision. I would have refused you had you asked to come."

Laurendil gave a stifled sob and Finrod brushed his hand over the ellon’s hair. "Hush now, best beloved. All is well. Remember, I have your life still in my keeping and that is all that matters between us."

Laurendil nodded and Finrod finally released him, returning to his seat as calmly as if nothing untoward had happened. Laurendil collapsed into his chair and wept quietly while Sador leaned over and put a comforting arm around the Noldo’s shoulders. Ingwë slowly retook his own seat and everyone else did the same. For a long moment, the only sound was Laurendil’s quiet sobs, then Ingwë glanced at Aldundil still standing defiantly before him and sighed.

"Tomorrow, Aldundil, I will let you see your son for a brief time. Go now, and see to your wife."

It was a dismissal that Aldundil did not dare ignore. With a stiff bow he turned and walked away. Laurendil suddenly stood up, no longer weeping. "Aldundil, what did you tell your son about the War?"

Aldundil stopped and turned to stare at Laurendil. "Little enough and much of it was severely curtailed in detail. Why?"

Laurendil nodded. "It is as I thought. I’m afraid Vorondil has romanticized your stories, wishing to be as great a warrior as you. What you say explains much about his behavior."

"And does that knowledge help mitigate his actions?" Aldundil asked hopefully.

Laurendil shook his head. "No, mellon nîn. It only makes it worse for your son. I’m sorry."

Aldundil stared at Laurendil for a moment before shifting his attention to Ingwë. "When is the trial?"

"In two days’ time."

Aldundil nodded, gave the High King another stiff bow and left. No one was in the mood to continue the festivities after that.

74: Trial’s Beginning

The sight of the High King’s brother being brought back to Vanyamar in the presence of warrior Maiar and bound shocked many and not a few wondered what had transpired to bring such a thing about. Tinwetariel, when she learned about her husband, flew into a rage, which proved her undoing, for in her fury she revealed more than she had intended to Ingwë who looked upon her with cold dispassion.

"I think, my dear, you have said quite enough." Ingwë spoke mildly, though his eyes glowed with a dangerous light. "You had best retire to your apartments until such time as I summon you. I will have guards placed before your doors to deter unwelcome visitors."

Tinwetariel paled at that, for she understood what Ingwë was actually saying. "I had nothing to do with any of this, sire," she said as contritely as she knew how, though it failed to move her brother-in-law.

"Indeed? Well, I’m sure it will all be straightened out at the trial," was Ingwë’s only comment. Tinwetariel paled even further and soon was being escorted back to her apartments.

As promised, Aldundil and Calalindalë were allowed to see their son. The visit lasted five minutes. Aldundil was mollified to see that Vorondil was not incarcerated in some dark and dank hole, though in truth, he reflected, it would have been nearly impossible to find such a place in Vanyamar. Instead, his son was being kept, along with the other prisoners, in a separate tower of the palace where they were accorded every luxury except their freedom. By necessity, each was housed in a separate room with a guard before each door. There was no communication between the prisoners but otherwise there was little for any to complain about.

Vorondil, of course, had plenty to complain about and spent most of the five minutes allowed for the visit weeping and wailing about the unfairness of it all and how he never touched the damn Reborn so why was he being punished and anyway it wasn’t as if he were guilty of Kinslaying or anything and....

By the end of the five minutes Aldundil was disgusted, disgusted with his son and disgusted with himself. Calalindalë merely wept and had to be physically pulled away from her son by Aldundil and the guard who stood outside Vorondil’s room.

Ingwë secluded himself for the next two days, refusing to speak to anyone who might be involved in the trial. He had those versed in the laws of the Eldar record the testimonies of those who had taken part in the Hunt as well as Glorfindel’s own story. The prisoners all refused to cooperate, though Vorondil still insisted that it was all a mistake and why wouldn’t anyone listen to him?

Unbeknown to Glorfindel, he was under constant guard, both by elves and Maiar. Ingwë did not wish the ellon to be accosted by Vanyar who might resent him and Manwë was concerned that the recent events might trigger another psychic break. Glorfindel was seen fingering his peridot ring rather frequently and acting somewhat nervous, starting at the slightest noise. The Maiar reported that the ellon refused to sleep without a candle burning through the night and more than once had woken yelling from a nightmare. Finrod and Sador had taken turns sleeping in the same room with him but their presence did not seem to bring him much comfort.

Tulcaner was captured the day after the Hunt and brought to Vanyamar by two of Oromë’s people. Ingwë deemed him the most dangerous of the prisoners and reluctantly ordered that he be chained by one ankle and no sharp implements be allowed in his presence. Thus, he was forced to eat with his fingers and was not allowed to use the privy but was given a chamber pot for his needs instead.

The day of the trial came and it was as if all of Aman wept at the necessity of it, for the sky was dark with rain clouds and thunder rolled ominously across the landscape, though there was no lightning. The trial was set for noon, but it could have been the middle of the night, so dark had it become outside. Thus, the throne room where the trial would take place was aglow with lights from crystal lamps. Rain spattered on the roof as the trial commenced.

If the trial for Sador’s kidnappers had been impressive, this one was more so. Ingwë and Arafinwë were clothed in regal splendour, their expressions solemn and grim. All looking upon the two kings had no doubt that they were indeed the lawful rulers of Eldamar and they would brook no dissent to their authority. Although, technically speaking, Arafinwë was a witness, Ingwë decided that the gravity of the situation demanded that he also be one of the judges.

"I fear that I am incapable of judging this alone... or perhaps I am too much the coward," Ingwë had confided to his nephew. Arafinwë had shaken his head.

"No, Uncle. You are no coward and having had Olwë by my side during the trial for Sador’s kidnappers helped immensely. I will be honored to assist you in this."

So, the two kings sat together and the grim majesty of their presence caused all to wonder. Besides the two kings, two others acted as Questioners for the Crown, sitting at a table before the thrones. One was Ingwë’s Steward, an elleth named Lindórië, the other was Lord Valandur, Findis’ husband. Rather than being dull and slow, as Vorondil had dismissively considered him, Valandur was regarded as one of Ingwë’s most astute loremasters and was highly respected among the Vanyar for his sagacity. Both were obviously well versed in the Laws and Customs of the Eldar.

The prisoners were brought in and allowed to sit. All were bound. Only Vorondil was gagged, for he refused to keep silent, his constant complaints annoying even his fellow prisoners. Aldundil refused to look at his son. Tulcaner was the only prisoner brought in in chains and he was set apart from the rest.

The Steward declared the trial open and read the charges against the prisoners collectively and individually for all to hear. Afterwards, she called for Glorfindel to give his testimony.

Glorfindel had dressed carefully for the trial in a severely plain tunic of green-grey worsted wool with only the simplest of embroidery along the hem, placket and sleeves in muted colors, mostly greens and browns with the occasional deep yellow or dark red for highlight. The plain linen shirt underneath was dyed a dark grey. His breeches were of leather, also dyed grey. Only the gemstones in his braids, glittering in the light of the crystal lamps, lent any brilliance to his attire.

As Glorfindel stood before the thrones waiting for the first question, there was a shimmer of light all around and then Lord Námo was there. All went to their knees, save for Ingwë and Arafinwë, who stood, giving the Vala their bows. Surprisingly, Glorfindel, Finrod and Sador also remained standing and bowed as well. Námo acknowledged their bows with a nod of his head and bade the others to rise.

All looked upon the Lord of Mandos in awe, many also in fear. He was dressed in an ankle-length velvet tunic of unrelieved black. Black fur trimmed the hem and three-quarter sleeves, as well as the high neck. The shirt underneath was black watered silk with black thread embroidery on the cuffs. The tunic was belted with isilsardi and amber. His blue-black hair was braided in fire opals, marillar and obsidian along with mithril beads and his head was crowned with a diadem of mithril in the shape of flames with a single ruby in its center. Around his neck was a pendant in gold and silver showing the Sun-in-Eclipse suspended on a mithril chain. Námo’s expression was solemn, but not grim, though few there were capable of looking at him directly, especially the prisoners.

Ingwë addressed the Lord of Mandos with another bow. "My lord, we give you greetings."

Námo did not smile, but his mien lightened somewhat. "Thank you, Ingwë. I am here as a representative for my fellow Valar."

"Will you then act as Judge in this matter?" Ingwë asked.

Námo shook his head. "No, at least not unless necessary. I am here to bear witness to my Lord Manwë of the justice of the Eldar and to declare the doom upon those found guilty of disrupting the Sérë Valaron."

It was at these words that many began to understand the gravity of the charges against the prisoners. Even Vorondil went still and nearly fainted when Námo turned his implacable gaze upon the prisoners, eyeing them one at a time.

Ingwë bowed again. "Then with your permission, lord, we will begin."

Námo nodded and the High King and the Noldóran sat. After everyone else had settled down, Glorfindel’s statement was read aloud by Valandur while copies of the statement were given to the Steward and the two kings. When the statement had been read, the questioning began.

"Why did you go to the Máhanaxar the second time, my lord?" Lindórië asked respectfully. "What did you hope to gain by going to such a deserted place?"

"I cannot adequately answer your question, my lady," Glorfindel said. "I only knew that I was feeling restless and needed to be somewhere. Yet, as I wandered through Eldamas and then into Valmar I knew I was being followed. I decided to make my way to a more secluded spot so as to avoid having innocent people hurt if whoever was following me wanted to harm me."

"You had no fears for yourself, then?" Lindorië asked.

Glorfindel smiled. "I had my knife."

The Steward looked nonplused at that. Many of the onlookers noticed the Lord of Mandos almost smiling at Glorfindel’s words.

"But why the Máhanaxar?" Valandur asked. "Why not some other remote place?"

Glorfindel cast a quick glance at Námo before turning his attention back to Valandur. "I had some... unresolved issues I needed to address." Then he turned to Námo fully, ignoring everyone else. "I made another connection, did you know that? Just before they showed up." There was no doubt as to whom he was referring. "I remembered something."

"And what did you remember, my son?" the Vala asked gently.

"I remembered you holding me at the end, when Judgment was over. You called me your son then as well."

"Do you remember your Judgment?" Námo asked.

Glorfindel shook his head. "Just the end when you held me and comforted me." He gazed at the Vala for a moment. "Will I ever remember my Judgment?"

Námo shook his head. "I do not know, child. That you remember as much as you do is remarkable given the short time you’ve been Reborn. Findaráto will tell you that he has only just begun to remember all that occurred within the Máhanaxar. If you are meant to remember the rest, you will. Take comfort in the memories you do have. With Judgment comes Forgiveness and Reconciliation and that is what you have remembered. Hold to that and all will be well with you."

Glorfindel nodded then turned back to face the High King’s throne. All there had listened with rapt attention to the conversation between the Noldo and the Lord of Mandos and marveled at their words. Many of the Vanyar looked upon Glorfindel and even Findaráto with new eyes and were dimly beginning to perceive what dying had cost them.

Ingwë cleared his throat. "Do you know why you were attacked, child?"

Glorfindel gave the High King an appraising look and there was something in the ellon’s eyes that reminded Ingwë that, newly Reborn though he might be, Glorfindel was no elfling, but a proven warrior who remembered the Light of the Trees and who had died in terrible agony.

"I was attacked because I am a Reborn," the ellon answered levelly, "but worse, because I am an Etyangol whom Lord Námo released from Mandos before those Noldor and Vanyar who fought and died in the War of Wrath."

"What role did Vorondil play in all this?" Lindorië asked.

Glorfindel shrugged. "I do not know, lady. If he did anything to me beyond watching me being beaten it was after I lost consciousness. What happened afterwards is beyond my ken."

"But not beyond mine," came a booming voice from nowhere in particular followed by a laugh.

Suddenly the throne room became almost too small for all of them as the Presence of Tulkas Astaldo made itself known. The golden-haired Vala stood before the throne next to Glorfindel who took an involuntary step to the left. Without bothering to look, Tulkas casually grabbed the ellon’s arm and pulled him into a rib-cracking embrace.

"Carefully, brother," Námo said with an air of infinite patience. "Don’t forget how fragile these Children are."

"Huh? Oh, yes, sorry," Tulkas released Glorfindel who wheezed a bit trying to get his breath back.

"My lord?" Lindórië asked, swallowing nervously when the Vala looked at her.

"I was there when it happened, Little One. I watched as three held down the Balrog-slayer while two beat him senseless. I had to be very firm with my warriors who wanted to come to our favorite elfling’s rescue." Here he stopped long enough to laugh again and wrap his arms around Glorfindel to give him another bone-crushing hug. Námo actually stepped forward and gave his brother Vala an understanding smile.

"Why don’t I hold him for you, brother? You’re likely to do him serious damage before you finish your testimony."

It took Tulkas a few seconds to realize what Námo was talking about before he quickly released Glorfindel from his embrace with another apology. The ellon had meanwhile turned an interesting shade of purple. He looked almost grateful when the Lord of Mandos took him into his own arms. Many of the elves shuddered, wondering which was worse, falling into Tulkas’ embrace or Námo’s.

"You were saying, my lord," Valandur said quietly once he saw that Glorfindel was safe in Námo’s arms. And I never thought I would actually think that was a good thing, he thought wryly to himself.

"It was I who made them forget this one’s knife so the princeling could find it," Tulkas replied. "And I watched as that one," he pointed a finger unerringly at Vorondil without even bothering to look, "kicked Glorfindel in the ribs, spat on him and then stole the lad’s ring."

"Ring?" Lindórië asked for she did not recall any mention of a ring in the elf’s testimony.

Námo lifted Glorfindel’s left hand. "This ring, to be precise," the Lord of Mandos said. "A gift from the Valar."

There were murmurs all around at that. Rare it was that any of the Eldar were gifted by the Valar in token of services rendered and then it was usually one Vala or another, but not all. Námo continued speaking, looking directly at Vorondil as he did, his voice as cold as the Helcaraxë.

"My Lord Manwë was most displeased when he was told of the theft... as was I."

No one was surprised when the ellon fainted.

Tulkas laughed and spread his arms wide. "You Children have much to learn. I wish you joy in the lessoning." Then he was gone and it suddenly became easier to breathe.

For several minutes no one moved or said anything. Námo kissed the top of Glorfindel’s head and released him from his embrace with a small smile, which the ellon returned.

"Do you have any further questions for me, arani meletyaldar?" Glorfindel asked respectfully.

Ingwë looked at Arafinwë who shook his head, then turned back to Glorfindel. "Nay, child. We have no further questions for you." He glanced at the still unconscious Vorondil who was being looked after by a healer and sighed. "Let us have a fifteen minute recess."

The two kings rose and all bowed to them as they made their way out of the throne room. Glorfindel gave Námo a grin and went to join his friends.

"Well that went better than I thought," Glorfindel said with a sigh of relief.

Ingwion shook his head. "The trial is far from over, otornya. Your testimony was merely the first."

"I wonder who they will call next?" Alassiel asked curiously.

Glorfindel gave her a meaningful look. "I’m wondering which of the Valar will show up next."

They all shuddered at the implications of the ellon’s words. Glorfindel gave them his most winning grin and then laughed, twirling around so that his braids sparkled in the crystalline brilliance of the light globes. The onlookers watched the ellon spin about, mesmerized, lost in the interplay of light shimmering around the Reborn elf.

Fifteen minutes later, after Vorondil had finally been revived, Ingwë and Arafinwë returned and the trial resumed.

****

Isilsardi: (Quenya) Plural of isilsar: moonstone. A symbol of truth in self-reflection and showing what ‘is’ [isil ‘moon’ + sar ‘stone’].

Amber: Among other things, it signifies the presence of Eru Ilúvatar.

Opals: A symbol of faithfulness.

Marillar: (Quenya) Plural of marilla: pearl. A symbol of purity and innocence.

Obsidian: Associated in our world with Hades, Greek god of the Underworld, and thus an appropriate gemstone for the Lord of Mandos. It gives one strength to stand on one’s own convictions against any enemy (hidden or otherwise).

Ruby: Considered to be the most powerful gem in the universe. It is a symbol of royalty and it gives the wearer the ability to see things in a true and correct manner.

Arani meletyaldar: (Quenya) Your Majesties.

75: A Surprising Turn of Events

Ingwion was the next witness called. As with Glorfindel, his statement was read aloud before questions were put to him. Surprisingly, it was Námo who asked the first question, stepping forward from beside the dais where he had been standing. The question, to many, did not seem to have any relevance to the trial, but no one was foolish enough to point that out to the Ordainer of Fates.

"I’m curious to know, Ingwion," Lord Námo said mildly, "what you meant by accusing us of being responsible for Glorfindel’s disappearance."

Ingwion paled slightly at that and cast a quick glance at his atar, who merely raised an eyebrow in response. Ingwion bowed to the Vala. "I am sorry, my lord, I am afraid I allowed my emotions to overcome my reason. After all that has happened lately..."

"Do you understand now why Lord Manwë initially refused to see you?" Námo asked, his tone still mild.

Ingwion nodded, looking somewhat embarrassed. "Why did he change his mind?"

Námo raised an eyebrow and smiled thinly. "Well, as Varda told Glorfindel, my brother is rather fond of elflings."

Ingwion blushed at that and looked down at his feet.

"Also," Námo continued, "Oromë declared a Hunt just then and told us you would be called to participate along with Findaráto, Laurendil, Sador and the Noldóran."

Arafinwë started at that, for he had assumed his decision to accompany Sador and Laurendil to Valmar had to do with his desire to speak to Ingwë. Námo gave the king a knowing glance. "Incidentally, that is why Sador’s ... escape from his captors was... er... facilitated by one of my brother Oromë’s people. We needed Sador’s presence in Valmar."

Sador paled at the Vala’s words and Laurendil had to put a steadying hand on his back.

"That is what I don’t understand," Lindórië said. "Why the Hunt when Lord Glorfindel went missing but not when Lord... S-sador was kidnapped?" She stumbled slightly over the unfamiliar name.

Námo’s expression darkened. "For that you will have to ask my brother Vala. I do not dictate when or if a Hunt is called."

Valandur gave the Vala a wry smile. "Do we dare hope that Lord Oromë will make an appearance before this court?"

Ingwion quickly stepped to one side, looking alarmed. Glorfindel snickered and many smiled, including the two kings. Námo laughed outright and that laughter was echoed by another’s. Oromë appeared quietly before the thrones, giving Ingwion a grin.

"Come here, my princeling," Oromë said with a gesture and Ingwion complied, standing before the Lord of Forests. Oromë put a hand on the ellon’s shoulder and gazed intently into Ingwion’s eyes. Ingwion paled somewhat but did not look away and some wondered if he was even able to.

"Accusing the Elder King of complicity in Glorfindel’s kidnapping was both brave and foolish," Oromë said softly, almost conversationally. "I almost called off the Hunt, for I was unsure you were ready for it. I am glad I was proved wrong. I think, however, you might benefit from spending a few months with Lord Námo’s sister. She’s rather used to dealing with recalcitrant elflings." Here Oromë gave Arafinwë a brief glance and a smile. Arafinwë chuckled.

Ingwion swayed slightly and grew even paler. Námo took a few steps and stood behind the ellon, supporting him. "Nienna is already expecting you, my son," Námo said gently. "When this trial is over, my people will escort you to her house there by the Ekkaia." He bent down and kissed the top of the Vanya’s head, then released him. Oromë nodded once and bent down and whispered in the ellon’s ear but what he said, none heard. Ingwion, for his part, nodded once, still looking white, and then stumbled to where his friends were standing. Glorfindel caught him and gathered him into his arms.

Oromë, meanwhile, addressed the court. "The Hunt was not called on Sador’s account because as grievous as the assault was, those responsible did not invoke the ire of the Valar."

Sador looked nonplused at that and Oromë turned and gave him a warm smile. "Do not fret, my child. We take a dim view of what happened but leave it to the Noldóran to sort it all out." Then his expression darkened to something that made many who saw it quail. "On the other hand, those responsible for Glorfindel’s kidnapping intentionally flung the Sérë Valaron in our faces when they... dumped Glorfindel on Lord Manwë’s front doorstep, so to speak. It was a deliberate insult and we were not about to ignore it. Thus, I called the Hunt."

"Why us?" Arafinwë asked.

Oromë gave the King of the Noldor a smile. "You, Pityahuan, and Findaráto because Glorfindel is a member of your family. Laurendil, because he will not willingly leave Findaráto’s side for all that he has foresworn the taking of arms. Ingwion for his insolence." Ingwion blushed at that and his atar gave him a sympathetic smile. "And Sador..." Oromë paused and gave the young Sinda a warm smile. "Well, let’s just say I had my reasons for including him." Sador blanched at that and Finrod put a comforting arm around his shoulders.

"And so you called a Hunt," Ingwë said, "and the result was these." He looked pointedly at the prisoners, especially Ingoldo. "Does anyone have any more questions for my son?"

"There is the question of the ring, sire," Valandur said. "Where was the ring found and under what circumstances?"

Glorfindel stepped forth then and explained how the ring had been given to him by the Valar as a Begetting Day gift. Ingwion then related how he had found the ring on Vorondil’s finger when he entered the hunting lodge.

"You recognized the ring right away," Valandur said. It was not a question, though Ingwion took it as such, for he nodded.

"Yes. I was there when Lord Manwë gifted it to Glorfindel. It is a rather unique ring made by Lord Aulë at Lord Manwë’s behest for Glorfindel alone, or so I was told."

Valandur looked at the two Valar standing near him for confirmation and both nodded but otherwise did not comment.

"How did Vorondil’s hair get so ragged looking?" Valandur then asked.

Before Ingwion could answer, Finrod stepped forward with a bow. "I’m the one best able to answer that question, Uncle."

"Speak then, Findaráto," Ingwë said with a nod.

Finrod took a deep breath and kept his eyes on Oromë. "When Ingwion and I entered the hunting lodge, I noticed immediately that Vorondil was sporting warrior braids that he had not earned. His blasphemy was more than I could endure so I cut them off and threw them into the fire."

"Blasphemy?" Lindórië asked. "In what way could anyone commit blasphemy by wearing what to me are rather ridiculous looking front braids?"

Before anyone could respond, there was a stir among the crowd and Aldundil stepped forward, white-faced and in shock, as he stared first at his son, who sat there in mute misery though no longer gagged, and then at Finrod.

"Is it true?" he asked in a strangled whisper. "Did my son actually...." but he could not continue and when both Finrod and Laurendil nodded, he started to sway, then caught himself with a stifled sob and in two strides reached one of the armed guards standing near the prisoners and, expertly grabbing the unsuspecting guard so he would not be able to resist, pulled the ellon’s sword out of its sheath and then advanced on Finrod. There was instant pandemonium that was stilled only when Námo stepped forth and with a single gesture plunged the room into near darkness, save for a single shining crystal globe that cast an eerie glow upon the scene.

"Á PUSTA!" the Vala shouted and all movement ceased except for Aldundil who never stopped, oblivious to all but Finrod. Slowly the lights returned.

All watched as the elf advanced upon the Noldorin prince, who never moved, though Laurendil and Glorfindel quietly flanked him, with Sador on the other side of Laurendil and Ingwion on the other side of Glorfindel. Finrod kept his eyes on Aldundil who went to his knees before his prince and presented the sword to him.

"A-aran veleg lîn," he whispered, speaking in Sindarin to everyone’s amazement, "thou hast my life, in trade for the life of my son, for he has sinned against thee."

Laurendil’s eyes widened and Sador gasped. Glorfindel’s expression became instantly unreadable. Arafinwë rose in shock and consternation, understanding enough to know what Aldundil had just done. There were shocked murmurs all around, for some of the Vanyar understood what the Noldo had said, having learned something of Sindarin during their sojourn in Beleriand while fighting in the War of Wrath. They quietly translated Aldundil’s words for those who did not know the language. Ingwë demanded a translation which Arafinwë gave in a whisper and the High King stared at the still kneeling Noldo in wonder.

Finrod never moved and he never took his eyes off of Aldundil. When he finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper but everyone could hear his words. "Your son’s offense was not against me, Aldundil, but against Glorfindel. It is before him you should kneel."

"No, Finrod," Glorfindel replied flatly, "you are the highest ranking warrior among us. To you belongs the right of execution."

Murmurs all around at the elf’s words threatened to explode into shouts of denial but one look at the faces of the two Valar convinced everyone to remain silent. Vorondil looked ready to faint again.

Finrod glanced at Glorfindel and Laurendil, and both nodded. Then he looked again at Aldundil. "Your son is still an elfling, else I might well have demanded his death. Yet, if I send you to Mandos in his place, what good will that do?" He looked up at Námo who merely stood there, placidly waiting for whatever would come. The Vala would not interfere with Finrod’s decision.

Ingwë had no such compunction. Standing, he addressed his great-nephew coldly. "I will not permit you to execute anyone, Findaráto. I do not recognize your authority to do so."

Finrod looked at his uncle for a brief moment and then back down at Aldundil. Suddenly, and more quickly than even elvish eyes could follow, the sword was in his hand and the cold blade was lying against Aldundil’s neck. The Noldo never flinched, though he closed his eyes in anticipation of his death.

Arafinwë put a hand on Ingwë’s arm to still the High King’s protest, shaking his head. Ingwë stared at his nephew in surprise but finally acquiesced and remained silent. Finrod was no longer looking at Aldundil but at Vorondil.

"Do you understand, child, what is at stake here?" he asked quietly, yet all looking upon him shivered at his implacable expression and the fell light that seemed to surround him. "Do you comprehend the gravity of what you have done and what the price of your folly might be? Your atar kneels before me in your place, willing to give up his life for yours. He is a true warrior, where you but merely play-act as any elfling would."

Then he handed the sword to Glorfindel who took it, holding it by the hilt with the point planted on the floor. Finrod, meanwhile, knelt before Aldundil and placed his hands on either side of the ellon’s face. Aldundil opened his eyes in confusion when he sensed the pressure of the blade no longer on his neck and felt something like fear course through him as he tried to move out of Finrod’s hold. Finrod shook his head.

"No, my son, do not resist." Then Finrod leaned forward and their foreheads met. Aldundil stiffened suddenly and then collapsed into Finrod’s embrace with a sob. Laurendil, meanwhile whispered into Sador’s ear, who nodded and stepped away to speak softly to one of the younger pages of the court. The elleth ran off, her eyes wide with fear and wonder. Then the Sinda walked over to one of the guards standing nearby and removed the ellon’s knife from its sheath without a word before returning to stand beside Laurendil. The guard made to stop the Sinda but a look from Oromë quelled him.

There was no sound, save for Aldundil’s quiet sobs which became soft moans as the intimacy of the contact between him and Finrod deepened. Finally, Finrod moved and without a word Laurendil helped him to his feet, while Sador gave Aldundil a hand. The Noldo’s expression was blank and unseeing and he swayed slightly in Sador’s hold. The page returned just then with several strips of cloth. Finrod reached for the knife in Sador’s hold. He grabbed Aldundil’s hand and sliced the palm before doing the same to himself. Then he grasped the other’s bleeding hand, handing the knife to Laurendil, who calmly wiped the blade with one of the cloths that the page was holding. Meanwhile, Sador quietly spoke into Aldundil’s ears the words of the oath and Aldundil repeated them in a toneless manner, still in shock.

"By our blood mingled, our minds now one, I give thee my oath, aranya, that thou mayest have my life into thy keeping, tenn’ Ambar-metta. Valar valuvar."

Finrod spoke then and his words were implacable and irrevocable.

"By our blood mingled, our minds now one, I accept your oath, Aldundil, and take your life into my keeping, tenn’ Ambar-metta. Valar valuvar."

Then he released his hold on Aldundil and took one of the strips of linen, tying it around the elf’s hand before wrapping the last strip around his own. Aldundil simply stood there, never taking his eyes off Finrod. The former King of Nargothrond then took Aldundil fully into his embrace and kissed him on the forehead. "Your life is now in my keeping and I do not choose to take it from you."

He looked over Aldundil’s shoulder. "Come here, Vorondil," and the strength of his command was such that Vorondil involuntarily rose, though he was still bound to the chair. Ingwë nodded to the guard and the ropes were cut. Vorondil stumbled towards Finrod and his atar, his features white with fear. Finrod looked at him with dispassion as Laurendil came around and forced the ellon to his knees.

"I know you do not understand what has happened here, child," he said softly. "But I promise you that some day you will. Your atar has traded his life for yours and it is now in my keeping. You may both regret it before very long, but it cannot be helped. Know this, child. You are mine because your atar is mine and when I return to Lórien to complete my apprenticeship with Lord Irmo, you and your atar will accompany me."

Ingwë spoke up then, looking less than amused. "He has not even been tried yet, Findaráto. Don’t you think we should at least try him before passing sentence?"

Finrod shook his head. "No, Uncle. In this you have no say. Vorondil is mine. I claim him and will not be denied."

Ingwë started to protest when Námo stepped forward. "Nay, Ingwë," the Vala said solemnly. "Manwë decrees it so. Therefore this doom is now made: Vorondil will go with Findaráto as his bondsman and perform such service as Findaráto demands."

"For how long?" Ingwë asked.

Finrod shrugged and looked at Námo. "How many blows did Glorfindel receive?"

Oromë was the one who spoke. "My brother Tulkas says that between the two ellyn, thirty blows were administered, more than half after Glorfindel had already lapsed into unconsciousness."

All gasped at the viciousness of the attack and none disputed Oromë’s accounting. Finrod stole a glance at Glorfindel who stood stock still, his face etched with remembered pain, and nodded. "Then for thirty years you shall remain in Lórien, Vorondil, as a servant to the Reborn you so despise. Perhaps during your indenture you will learn something to your benefit."

Námo nodded. "For thirty years, then. In that time take counsel with thyself, child of Aldundil and Calalindalë, and remember who and what thou art. But after that time this matter shall be set in peace and held redressed, if Findaráto will release thee."

"As to that, we will see." Finrod replied with a nod. "Remember, child, I have your atar’s life in my keeping, to do with as I will." Vorondil’s eyes widened and Finrod smiled, though it was not a pleasant smile to see. "You think you fear me, child, but I promise you that before we are through with each other I will teach you the true meaning of the word."

He let his words sink in for a moment. Vorondil was now sobbing and Aldundil looked ready to collapse. Calalindalë had in the meantime come to stand by her husband and son, looking confused and bereft. Finrod took pity on her and spoke softly a few words of comfort to her before turning the the High King.

"I think, Uncle, these three are not necessary for the rest of this trial. Perhaps they may retire to their apartments for the nonce."

Ingwë nodded. "Let it be so." Within a short time Aldundil was leaving the throne room with his wife and son, his expression still blank with shock. At Finrod’s suggestion, Laurendil went with them.

Ingwë gave Arafinwë a glance, then shook his head. "I think we need another recess." He stood up and strode out of the room. "Findaráto, with me," he ordered without looking at his great-nephew. Finrod gave his friends a wry look before following the High King out, walking side-by-side with Arafinwë.

Those left behind noticed that the two Valar exchanged satisfied grins, and shuddered.

****

Aran veleg lîn: (Sindarin) Your Majesty, based on the Quenya construction with the same literal meaning of "king your mighty". For the curious, Aldundil’s words to Finrod in Sindarin were: Geril guil nîn, am mbangad cuil nîn ’nin guil en-ion nîn, dan agor úgarth dallen: literally, "Thou hast my life, for the purpose of trading my life for the life of my son, for he did wrongdoing against thee".

Note: Some of the wording of Námo’s doom against Vorondil is borrowed from the doom uttered against Fëanor when he was sent from Tirion into exile. See The Silmarillion, "Of the Silmarils".

76: An Interlude Among Kings

Finrod followed his atar and Ingwë into an antechamber set aside for the kings’ use during the trial to find, not his great-uncle glaring at him as he entered the room, but the High King of all the Elves and tried not to flinch.

"This is supposed to be a trial," Ingwë said without preamble, his voice dangerously cold, "not an exhibition of Heceldarin oath-taking rituals. That oath is far too dangerous..."

"Do you think I don’t know that?" Finrod practically shouted, his face suffused with barely suppressed fury. He turned suddenly and slammed a fist into the wall. "Damn Aldundil and his son for putting me in such a position."

The two kings stared at Finrod, nonplused, then Ingwë spoke, his voice going soft. "Why did you force the oath on Aldundil then?"

Finrod turned around, his expression still angry. "FORCE? I didn’t force Aldundil to do anything. I have never forced anyone to take that oath, Uncle, never! But when Aldundil spoke the words... and in Sindarin no less!... I had no choice."

"You could have refused his oath," Arafinwë reminded him. "You told us yourself that you did not always accept someone’s oath."

Finrod nodded. "Except for the small matter that he was offering his life in exchange for his son’s. In that, I had no choice."

"I do not understand," Ingwë said. "You still could have chosen..."

"No, Uncle!" Finrod interrupted, still furious. "As soon as Aldundil spoke he gave me no choice. It was either accept his oath or take that sword he held and remove Vorondil’s stupid head from his shoulders right then and there. And make no mistake, Uncle, if I had decided to refuse Aldundil’s oath, I would have done just that, and damn the consequences. Accepting Aldundil’s oath was the only way to save them both."

The utter sincerity of Finrod’s words shook both kings to the very core of their fëar and they looked upon him as if he were a stranger. Ingwë saw before him not his great-nephew, but a fellow king. He had a sudden vision of Findaráto sitting on a throne, dispensing justice with grave sagacity and stern majesty and he mourned for that delightful and innocent ellon who had played happily at his feet as an elfling.

"Do you think Aldundil knew what he was doing?" Arafinwë asked.

Finrod gave his atar a mirthless grin. "Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing, Atar. Laurendil told me that Aldundil was initiated into the Sindarin warriors’ society during the War of Wrath. By rights, he should be wearing warrior braids, but I understand that when the Amaneldi warriors returned home they undid their braids out of shame. It seems that the Amaneldi who had remained behind did not want to hear about the War of Wrath from the returnees. Not that I blame them. Well, that is going to change. Aldundil will wear the braids he earned and he will tell Vorondil what really happened in Beleriand. Perhaps then the ellon will begin to understand what being a warrior truly means."

Finrod sighed then, his anger dissipating. He flopped down into a chair, closing his eyes. "I just wish I knew what I’m supposed to do with him otherwise."

There was a shimmer in the air and suddenly all three elves were kneeling before the Elder King who looked upon them with mild amusement. "Now, my Children, none of that. We are all kings here and I come not as your lord but as a fellow ruler. Rise now and let us continue this most interesting conversation in comfort."

Manwë took a seat and the elves followed suit. For a long moment, no one spoke. Ingwë waited respectfully for Manwë to speak first. Arafinwë sat with an amused expression on his face. Finrod refused to look at anyone. Manwë gave the younger ellon a sympathetic smile but his tone when he did speak was less warm.

"You took Aldundil’s oath in anger, my son," he said without preamble. "That was unwisely done and there may be grave consequences for you both later. Aldundil deserved better from you. For all that his son is a foolish ellon, Aldundil has ever been an honorable and courageous elf."

Finrod nodded. "I know and I regret it, but it was as if I was being pushed into a corner by circumstances and...." He shook his head, not sure what he wanted to say.

"A situation that arises now and then when one is a ruler," Manwë said gently. "The trick is not to let it happen in the first place."

Finrod looked up at that. "And how does one do that?"

Now Manwë’s smile was genuine and he gave a small deprecating laugh. "When I have figured that out, my son, you will be the first to know."

Ingwë and Arafinwë both snorted in surprise at the Elder King’s words and then they were all laughing. Their mood lightened and Ingwë spoke to Finrod.

"I apologize for my anger, Findaráto. I fear I will never fully understand what you experienced in Beleriand and how the conditions there under the Shadow changed you. Even now, though you are Reborn, I sense a terrifying hardness to you that I never thought to see in any elf. It grieves me that you must lose so much of your innocence."

Finrod shrugged somewhat diffidently. "As to that, Uncle, I cannot say. As more and more of my memories of my previous life return I find myself thinking in ways that are still strange to me, yet at the same time are frighteningly familiar."

"Then I do not blame you for being angry," Ingwë replied. "You have conducted yourself with amazing self-possession and while I cannot approve of what you have done, I am nonetheless proud of you for handling such an awkward situation with as much grace as you have."

Ingwë then stood up and held out his arms and Finrod went to him, accepting the High King’s embrace. "Thank you, Uncle. Your words comfort me and give me hope."

Arafinwë stood up then and gave his son a kiss on the forehead. "I, too, am proud of you, my son," he said simply and with all sincerity and Finrod basked in the love that both kings offered him.

Then Manwë stood and suddenly it was as if he embraced them all at once and there was such a sense of love and acceptance in that embrace that Finrod staggered slightly and remained standing only because he was still in Ingwë’s arms. He felt the Elder King speak in his mind.

*You will take Aldundil and his family to Lórien and you will teach him not to be ashamed of what he did and who he is. When the time is right, send him back to Tirion.*

*How will I know...*

*You will know, child. You will know,* came the promise from the Elder King and then the elves were alone once again.

For several minutes no one spoke. Finrod was still in Ingwë’s embrace and did not wish to leave it, comforting as he found it, but eventually he gave a sigh and stepped out of his great-uncle’s arms and gave him and his atar a rueful smile.

"I think we should get back to the trial."

Ingwë and Arafinwë nodded and without another word the three kings left the room together.

****

Heceldi: Forsaken Elves, a name of the elves of Beleriand who never came to Aman, used primarily by loremasters. Might be considered as something of an insult. Heceldarin is the plural adjective.

77: Trial’s Ending

When they returned to the throne room it was to find that Oromë had left but Námo was still there. The Vala gave them a shrewd look and then smiled, nodding, as if pleased by what he saw. When Finrod would have gone to join Glorfindel and Sador, Ingwë stayed him and, taking his hand, led him to the dais, ordering another chair to be placed beside his own throne.

"Sit beside me, Nephew," Ingwë whispered so only Finrod and Arafinwë could hear, "for I deem you have greater experience in such matters than your atar or I and we would welcome your wisdom in judging these prisoners."

Finrod stared at the High King for a moment before giving him a deep bow and complying to Ingwë’s wish. As he sat, Finrod was revealed to them all as one endued with solemn majesty no less than that of the High King’s and all looked on in amazement and wondered. So it was that the High King was flanked by two fellow rulers when the questioning of the prisoners began.

None were willing to respond to the questions put to them, yet all of them discovered, to their horror, that they were unable to resist answering. All felt the implacable power of the three kings who sat in judgment. Even the bystanders could feel their potency and none were unmoved. The awful presence of the Lord of Mandos did nothing to make things easier and all the prisoners quailed whenever Námo’s gaze fell upon them.

Thus, it was discovered that three others were involved in the attack on Glorfindel and orders were issued for their arrests once their identities were revealed and confirmed by Lord Námo.

"They may be in hiding," Glorfindel suddenly said, stepping forward to speak.

"And would you care to guess where they might be?" Valandur asked with a sardonic smile.

Glorfindel stared at the ground for a moment, deep in thought, before replying. "Look for them in Eldamas. That is where they were recruited."

"You know this for certain?" Valandur asked sharply.

Glorfindel gave the loremaster a feral grin. "So I’ve been told."

Every eye fell on Námo who evinced a virtuous air that many found disturbing. "Don’t look at me, my Children. I haven’t told Glorfindel anything."

Glorfindel snorted at that and gave the Vala a disbelieving look. Námo’s smile merely deepened.

"Then who..." Lindórië began then stop, blushing in embarrassment when Námo gave her a knowing look.

The Lord of Mandos nodded. "What the Elder King chooses to reveal to you Children and when he chooses to do so is his business. If Glorfindel says these others are hiding in Eldamas, I would suggest you take his word for it." Here he paused and gave them all a brilliant smile. "For some reason, my brother is rather fond of our little Balrog-slayer." He looked directly at the prisoners then, his expression never changing. "So he takes a rather dim view of all that has happened to him... as do I."

The Vala’s tone of voice was rather mild, which only made it worse. Every one of the prisoners blanched and in spite of the fact that they were bound to their chairs, two of them actually tried to flee and the guards had to subdue them.

Ingwë turned to the chief of his guards and nodded. "Eldamas then." The guard bowed and quietly motioned for several others to follow him out of the throne room. Ingwë continued to address the rest of the court. "We will continue with the trial of these five. When the others have been apprehended there will be another trial for their benefit. Let us proceed with the questioning."

Tulcaner was the most reluctant to speak, yet in the end, even he was unable to resist the relentless questioning, not only by Valandur and Lindórië, but by the three kings as well, for Finrod had questions of his own to which he wanted answers.

"I know why Vorondil and Ingoldo were involved in my brother’s kidnapping," he commented at one point, addressing Tulcaner and the three ellyn who had been taken at the lodge. "I am curious to know why you were involved."

It turned out that the other elves all had kinsmen residing in Mandos, they having died in the War of Wrath.

"Why should you rebel Noldor and the Sindar who forsook the Blessed Land for Endórë be released before the Faithful who died in a war not of their making?" Tulcaner snarled.

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that. "Is that how you see yourselves, as the Faithful? The ones who did not defy the Authority of the Valar, the ones who did not participate in the Kinslaying, the ones who did not die on the shores of Mistaringwë during the Battle-under-Stars or in any of the other battles fought across the face of Beleriand, the ones who were not enslaved by Melkor to toil in darkness and despair? Those Faithful?"

Tulcaner did not answer, but his sneer said it all. Both Glorfindel and Sador went absolutely white with anger. Ingwion, Elessairon and Lómion had to physically hold both of them back. Alassiel was seen wrapping her arms around Glorfindel in an attempt to comfort him. Finrod stole a glance at Námo, whose expression was impassive and unreadable, and sighed.

"You are, of course, correct," he said softly and sorrow dripped from every word. Not a few closed their eyes against the weight of grief that they inexplicably felt at hearing Finrod’s words. The former King of Nargothrond stood up then and a dark fire was seen burning in his eyes that made many shudder. "Yet, your anger is misplaced." Without looking he pointed at Námo. "There is the object of your scorn. There is the one who holds your kinsmen in his keeping, who decides who is Reborn and who is not. There is the one to whom you should complain." Now he pointed at the prisoners, his voice dripping with scorn. "Yet it took seven of you to subdue one Noldorin rebel, whose only real crime was that he was reborn before your kinsmen."

Silence reigned. No one moved, enspelled as they were by Finrod’s words. Slowly he sat and his voice, when he spoke, was devoid of any emotion.

"Do you know how I died?"

Ingwë put a hand on the ellon’s arm. "No, child. Do not torture yourself this way. It will do no one any good."

Finrod gave his uncle a brief, painful smile. "Dying was not the worst thing that happened to me, Uncle. Dying was the easy part. It was what came afterwards that was hard." He sighed then, closing his eyes to bring himself under control again. "As you wish, Sire. I will speak of it no more."

"But I will speak of it," Námo said gently and gave Finrod a sympathetic look when the ellon opened his eyes in surprise. The Lord of Mandos turned his attention to the court. "Findaráto is correct. Dying is often the easy part. Here before you is one who gave up crown and scepter for an oath to one of the Atani, an oath he held more precious than any Silmaril. Here is one who fought one of my Fallen Brother’s Maia servants, not with sword, but with Songs of Power, though he would have been better to have fought with sword, for he would never have defeated Sauron otherwise." He ignored Finrod’s expression of disbelief. "There are many ways to die, my Children, and some deaths are more gruesome than others. I will not bore you with the details. Suffice to say that Findaráto died in excruciating pain, yet I know he would gladly suffer death again should the need ever arise."

All saw Finrod nod at these words and even Glorfindel and Sador nodded, adopting Námo’s judgment of Finrod’s character for themselves. Námo continued.

"Findaráto, and all who have died, including the Vanyar and Noldor who died in the War of Wrath, suffered Judgment. There is no escape from that. Faithful or no, Rebel or no, Judgment comes to all who enter Mandos. Eru decrees it and I see it done. Judgment most often is the most terrifying thing any face, but afterwards comes Forgiveness and Reconciliation and the Renewal of Hope. Love there is and Mercy and none who come before us come chained."

He paused for a moment to allow time for his words to sink in. There were quiet sobs throughout the room and many who had wondered now confronted their own pain and sense of loss for the first time and found release in tears they thought had been shed long since.

When Námo spoke again, his tone was gentle and loving. "Your kinsmen will be released from Mandos, I promise you. The time of their release, however, is not yet. Have patience, my Children... and faith." He then turned to Finrod and gave him a warm, understanding smile, which Finrod returned.

At last the questioning was done. All eventually broke down and admitted to their crimes. Ingoldo had a defeated look on his face and his eyes were dark with fear. There was a brief recess while Ingwë conferred with Arafinwë and Finrod. When they returned to the throne room, Ingwë looked upon his brother Ingoldo with a mixture of sorrow and disgust as he addressed him.

"Did We not warn you, my brother, after the last time, that you should watch yourself? We know you have no fear of Us, but Ingwion is another matter...." He nodded in satisfaction when Ingoldo blanched. "Yes, and We would like nothing better than to leave you to his tender mercies."

Many stole a glance at the Vanyarin prince, who stood to one side of the throne dais with a grim look on his face as he stared at his uncle. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Ingwion was a dangerous foe to his atar’s enemies and many of the older elves remembered the circumstances under which Ingwion proved just how dangerous he could be. Ingoldo had good reason to fear the firstborn son of the High King. Ingwë smiled grimly.

"However, my brother rulers," — here he nodded to both Arafinwë and Finrod — "and I have decided on a different fate for you and the other conspirators. You will all be sent to Formenos for a period of time. Others will join you who were involved in a different plot but all are guilty of disrupting the peace of Aman."

Valandur stood then and bowed to the High King. "Sire, how will we ensure that they will remain in Formenos? For all his arrogance, even Fëanáro had a certain sense of honor and, at least in the beginning, abided by the terms of his exile. But I deem none of these have any honor left and I pity the guards who must be sent into exile with them."

Námo spoke then. "Fear not. The Valar will set the Maiar to watch Formenos. No elves but the prisoners and any family who wish to follow them need endure exile."

"How will they live? What will they do there?" Valandur asked.

"The climate is harsher than here, but not unduly so, and the land is arable," Arafinwë replied. "They can well support themselves with farming and the tending of sheep. It will give them something to do during their time of exile and will perhaps teach them humility, or the value of honest work, if nothing else."

Valandur nodded and bowed to the kings before resuming his seat, satisfied with the answers given.

Ingwë turned his attention back to the prisoners. "The length of your exile will be determined later, but you Ingoldo We banish from Eldamar along with Tinwetariel your wife."

There were shocked murmurs all around, but they stilled as Ingwë continued.

"You and Tinwetariel will remain in Formenos until this present Age ends as the Valar decree, at which time We will review your case and determine if you have shown yourself repentant of your crimes against Us. Only then will you be permitted to return to Eldamar, though the conditions of your parole will be very strict. The other prisoners, when their exile ends, will go to Lórien for a length of time to be determined by the Valar, there to serve the needs of the Reborn."

"Nay, Ingwë," Námo interrupted with a shake of his head. "Not to Lórien. They shall come to me instead."

There were gasps all around and one of the prisoners gave a strangled scream and fainted. Ingwë stared at the Vala in consternation. "Do you mean for them to die, lord?"

Námo shook his head. "Nay, child. I mean no such thing. They shall come before the gates of Mandos and I will set them to a task of my choosing. In Formenos they may learn repentance; in Mandos they will have a different lesson." The grimness of the Vala’s tone was such that no one even thought to ask just what that lesson might entail.

Ingwë nodded reluctantly. "It will be as you say, my lord. Will you speak then the doom upon these?"

Namo shook his head. "To Ingoldo and Tinwetariel only will I speak the doom as my lord Manwë dictates and only within the Máhanaxar. Bring them before us on the third day from now." Then, without another word, the Lord of Mandos simply was not there.

Ingwë sighed and cast a rueful glance at Arafinwë and Finrod before addressing the court. "This trial is ended. Remove the prisoners."

****

Mistaringwë: "Grey cold mountain lake"; the Quenya version of the Sindarin Mithrim.

Note: The Battle-under-Stars, or the Dagor-nuin-Giliath, was the second great battle fought in Beleriand when Fëanor led his people up the Firth of Drengist to the shores of Lake Mithrim. It was so called because Isil had not yet risen when the battle was fought.

78: Consequences

Glorfindel and Sador joined Finrod in the antechamber with Ingwë and Arafinwë. Sador was subdued and pensive. Glorfindel, for once, did not try to lighten anyone’s mood with a silly antic. Instead he actually fell into Finrod’s arms sobbing.

"I’m sorry....Imsorryimsorry...." Finrod’s expression was one of surprise as he hugged him.

"What is this, gwador? Why the tears? You’ve done nothing to be sorry about." He gave Ingwë and Arafinwë a rather helpless look. The two kings returned his look with concerned expressions of their own. Sador stood next to Finrod, rubbing Glorfindel’s back to comfort him.

Glorfindel gave a sniff as he tried to get himself under control. "Y-you had to take Aldundil’s oath... be-because of me. It-it’s all my fault you’re so angry."

"Because of you?" Now Finrod was totally confused. "Glorfindel, how do you figure all this is your fault? You’re the victim here."

"B-but Vorondil hates me." Glorfindel tried to explain. "He...he did what he did because he...he hates me and... and now you’re stuck with him... and his atar!" He was practically wailing again and it proved too much for Finrod, who hugged him closer and laughed.

"Oh gwador, gwador, gwador," he said as he rocked Glorfindel in his arms. "No wonder Lord Námo finds you so delightful. I may be ‘stuck’ with Vorondil and his atar as you say but that’s by my own choice and has nothing to do with you. Hush now, best beloved. All is well, truly."

It took several minutes to convince Glorfindel of that and Ingwë and Arafinwë, once they understood the situation, took it upon themselves to offer the ellon comfort, taking Glorfindel in their arms and speaking softly to him until he was calmer. Finrod, meanwhile, turned to Sador, who had not spoken.

"And do I need to be concerned about you, gwador?" Finrod asked gently, running a hand through Sador’s hair. The Sinda shook his head.

"No, gwador," he said quietly. "I am fine. I... just... I am thinking about what Lord Oromë said... about why he had me join the Hunt. What do you suppose he meant?"

Finrod nodded, gathering Sador into his arms to offer him some comfort. "You must not fear Lord Oromë’s reasons even if he does not choose to reveal them to you at this time. The Lord of Forests does not often concern himself with the Eldar and when he does it is always to their benefit, though I admit, at times it does not seem so." He gave Sador a brief smile which the ellon wanly echoed. "That Lord Oromë has taken an interest in you is a great honor. Try not to be concerned by it. He has made you one of his own and will ever treat you gently." He kissed Sador on the forehead and released him, giving him an encouraging smile. Sador ducked his head in embarrassment but otherwise appeared to be less pensive and worried.

"That’s better," Finrod commented, then gave a sigh. "I don’t know about anyone else, but I feel exhausted and would like nothing better than to take a long hot soak and fall into bed."

Arafinwë gave his son an amused look. "It’s barely time for the evening meal, yonya."

"I know, Atar, but taking Aldundil’s oath has left me depleted. I fear I will sleep through most of tomorrow, perhaps even into the next day." He gave a weary sigh. "As it is, I need to check on both Aldundil and Laurendil. I’m afraid Laurendil may have suffered a backlash from my earlier anger."

"How so?" Ingwë asked.

"As one whose life is in my keeping, Laurendil would have been completely open to me at the time I took Aldundil’s oath."

Ingwë gave an involuntary shudder and Arafinwë paled at his son’s words. Ingwë then turned to Arafinwë with a puzzled look.

"You participated in the War of Wrath," he said. "Did you ever come across this ritual while you were there?"

Arafinwë shook his head. "No, I did not, nor was I really aware of the significance of the front braids at the time. I noticed some of our people sporting them, but not all, and assumed they were merely imitating the Sindar out of respect or envy. I did not know nor did I care, as long as they fought and survived the fighting. When we returned, no one wore them, and I forgot about them until Findaráto was returned to us. I never knew about this oath until Sador and Laurendil explained it to me."

"It troubles me that such an oath ever developed," Ingwë said with a sigh. "How many of the warriors now living on Tol Eressëa have taken this oath and to whom?"

Finrod nodded in understanding. "You fear that once the other kings of Beleriand are released from Mandos those oaths will be... revived to the possible detriment to the peace of Aman."

"It is exactly what I fear, Nephew." Ingwë acknowledged. "That oath is too dangerous for all of us."

"Perhaps," Finrod agreed, "but for one thing: those who were once kings of Beleriand will cleave to your authority without question. You need not fear that it will be otherwise."

Ingwë gave his great-nephew a strange look. "How can you be so sure, child? Do you have such power of command over someone like Elwë?"

Finrod smiled with a shake of his head. "Nay, sire, but Anatar Olwë does... and Atar and I will see to Ñolofinwë, Findecáno, and Turucáno."

"Ñolofinwë may well dispute my right to be Noldóran," Arafinwë said ruefully, but again Finrod shook his head.

"Nay, Atar, do not be overly concerned. Ñolofinwë will be too unsure of himself as a Reborn to even think such a thing. He will be simply grateful that you have welcomed him back into your good graces and have forgiven him."

Arafinwë stared at Finrod in surprise. "But why should he look for forgiveness from me? If anything it is I who should ask for his forgiveness for deserting all of you, for turning back like a coward because..."

"Atar!" Finrod shouted in shock, taking Arafinwë by the shoulders and practically shaking him. "You are no coward! And you did not desert us. It was we who were the cowards, slinking away in the dark because we were too proud or too frightened to accept Mercy when offered to us. No. My uncle and all the others will be the ones looking for forgiveness."

For a long moment father and son stared at one another and then Arafinwë nodded once and Finrod gathered him into his arms and gave him a fierce hug, kissing him on the cheek before releasing him. Then he turned to Ingwë.

"The number of warriors who have taken that oath is probably less than you fear, Uncle, for many still reside in Mandos." He paused as if gathering his thoughts, but all noticed him swaying slightly with fatigue. Glorfindel held out a steadying hand and Finrod smiled gratefully. "When they are eventually released," he continued, "it may be some time before they even remember the oath or its consequences. I, for instance, had no memory of it until Laurendil appeared and spoke the words. Now, if you will excuse me, I must see to Aldundil."

"I will come with you, gwador," Glorfindel said in a tone that brooked no argument.

"And I will see that a bath and a light meal are waiting for you," Sador added.

Finrod nodded his thanks and with a bow to Ingwë and Arafinwë he and Glorfindel took their leave.

****

When they reached Aldundil’s apartments it was to find two guards standing before the door. Neither disputed Finrod’s right to enter but one of them spoke softly to him before opening the door.

"There was some trouble earlier, lord, but Lord Laurendil forbade us to interfere."

Finrod nodded and he and Glorfindel entered to find themselves in the midst of chaos, much to their dismay. Furniture was thrown all around and there was broken crockery scattered across the rugs along with what appeared to be locks of dark hair. Water dripped from overturned flower vases. In one corner Vorondil crouched with his hands over his head weeping while on the other side of the room Aldundil lay unconscious with an interesting bruise on his jaw beginning to form. Laurendil knelt over him, a look in his eyes that any orc would have recognized as dangerous. He had a knife in one hand.

"Laurendil!" Finrod called, putting forth all the power of his kingship into his voice.

Laurendil blinked, as if waking, and, looking up to see Finrod and Glorfindel, he dropped the knife with a sob but otherwise did not move. Glorfindel gave Finrod a wry look.

"He’s your vassal, you take care of him. I’ll see to Vorondil." Finrod chuckled and nodded.

Going over to Laurendil he crouched down and put a hand on the ellon’s shoulder. "What happened, otornya?"

Laurendil shook his head. "I don’t know. One minute all was quiet, the next.... When we got here Aldundil went directly to his room without speaking. Ten minutes later he came out with a knife in his hand and attacked Vorondil, attempting to cut off the ellon’s hair. I was so shocked I didn’t move fast enough but was able to prevent him from hacking off his own locks after he finished with his son’s. I’m afraid I had to be rather rough with him."

Finrod looked down at the still unconscious elf, a dark purple bruise on his jaw. "Where is Lady Calalindalë?" he finally asked.

"When Aldundil attacked his son I yelled at her to bar herself in her room. I feared in his state Aldundil might try to harm her as well."

Finrod nodded. "We will leave her there for now." Then he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "Lord Manwë warned me...." He shook his head and opened his eyes again and saw the confusion on Laurendil’s face. "Come. Let’s see if we can revive my newest vassal."

With that the two ellyn took Aldundil by the arms and hauled him up, laying him upon a couch that had not been turned over.

Meanwhile, Glorfindel knelt over the still weeping Vorondil. The younger ellon was a mess. His tunic was torn and there were shallow gashes on the back of his neck from the knife. His hair was even more ragged than before and Glorfindel could see that it would all have to be trimmed at the neckline. It would take some time for Vorondil’s hair to grow back.

Glorfindel sighed and reached over to take the ellon into his arms. Vorondil opened his eyes to see who was there and screamed.

"No! Nooooo!" He tried to get away but there was no place for him to go and Glorfindel’s hold on him was too strong.

"Hush now, child," he chided the ellon softly. "No one’s going to hurt you, least of all me." He continued holding Vorondil tightly, rocking him gently and began singing Námo’s lullaby. Eventually, almost against his will, Vorondil fell asleep.

Finrod came over then to see how Vorondil was doing and shook his head in dismay at the ellon’s state. "I’ll have Laurendil find some water and a clean cloth. We need to tend to those gashes before they fester."

"See if he can find some shears as well," Glorfindel said. "I’ll trim Vorondil’s hair while he’s asleep. I think it will be less of a shock for him if he sees it neatly trimmed instead of the rat’s nest it is now."

Finrod nodded and in short order Laurendil came back with a bowl of tepid water, clean cloths, some unguent smelling of lemon and a small pair of clippers. He and Glorfindel tended to Vorondil while Finrod sat next to Aldundil, waiting for the elf to waken, which he did about ten minutes later. By then, Laurendil and Glorfindel had finished treating Vorondil and were taking him to one of the bedrooms. Laurendil volunteered to check on Lady Calalindalë.

"Assure the lady that both husband and son are well," Finrod ordered, "but ask her to remain in her room until I send for her. I need to speak with Aldundil alone, so when you’ve seen to the lady stay with Glorfindel."

Both ellyn nodded as they left. Finrod turned back to Aldundil to see the older elf staring blankly up at him in confusion.

"Hello, Aldundil," Finrod said conversationally. "Do you know, I take a rather dim view of people attacking my property."

"P-property?" Aldundil’s confusion merely deepened as Finrod nodded.

"Yes. Vorondil is my property, or didn’t you know that is what ‘bondsman’ means?"

"M-my son... my son..." but he couldn’t complete his thoughts as he fell to weeping. Finrod sighed and gathered him into his arms and rocked him.

"Your son belongs to me as surely as you do, Aldundil, though the manner in which he does is different. Nonetheless, you had no right to do what you did."

"He dishonored you... me.... all of us!" Aldundil protested hotly through his tears.

"Yes, but it was not your place to punish him. That is my prerogative and mine alone."

Aldundil’s weeping abated and now he was beginning to feel embarrassed. "Forgive me, ar-aranya. I meant no disrespect."

Finrod released him from his embrace and looked at him with a mixture of exasperation and love. "I know you didn’t. Nonetheless, I’m afraid I will have to punish you for what you’ve done to my property."

Aldundil shivered at that, his expression bleak. "W-what..."

Finrod took a hank of Aldundil’s hair and held it up for the ellon to see. "You will resume wearing warrior braids. I trust you remember the pattern. I’ll see that the appropriate gemstones and beads are given to you if you tell me what they are. I expect to see you wearing them before we leave for Lórien."

"Th-that’s my punishment?" Aldundil asked, still feeling confused.

Finrod gave him a gentle smile, leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "For now," he whispered. "Now go clean yourself up and then see to your wife and apologize to her. Remain with her until I send for you."

Aldundil nodded as he struggled to rise from the couch, now subdued and embarrassed by all that had happened. He eyed the mess around him. "What about..."

"I’ll have my uncle’s people come and clean this up," Finrod said. "Go now. I needs must look in on Vorondil."

"My son..."

"Beyond having a very short hairstyle, thanks to your expert barbering," Finrod said with a wry twist to his lips, "he appears to be well physically, though I have yet to ascertain the state of his mind." Then his tone darkened and Aldundil nearly quailed at his lord’s expression. "He is no longer your concern, Aldundil. With your oath you gave him to me and I will see to his well-being from now on."

Aldundil closed his eyes for a brief moment and the grief that was etched on his face was almost more than Finrod could bear but then he opened his eyes, which were now clear of any confusion, gave Finrod a bow and without another word left to do the prince’s bidding. Finrod stood there for a moment in contemplation, then went to the door and, opening it, gave his orders to the guards before returning to see how Vorondil was doing. He found that Laurendil and Glorfindel had removed the ellon’s outer tunic and boots and had tucked him into bed. Glorfindel had done a decent job of trimming the ellon’s hair. It was short but neat and did not look too bad. More like one of the Edain, Finrod thought to himself with a fond smile at the memory.

"How is he doing?" he asked softly as he entered the room.

Glorfindel looked up with a grin. "Still sleeping like an elfling. I ought to run and get my stuffed toy for him."

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that. "Stuffed toy? You brought your stuffed toy to Ingwë’s court?"

Glorfindel laughed. "Nay, but Lord Námo did."

Finrod shook his head in disbelief. "You’ll have to tell me all about it later. For now, I need this particular elfling awake." He reached over and began gently stroking Vorondil’s cheek and calling him with voice and mind until the ellon began to stir, opening his eyes blearily. It took him a few seconds to recognize Finrod and when he did he tried to scramble out of his reach. Finrod sat down on the edge of the bed and took the ellon by the shoulders.

"Nay, Vorondil," Finrod said soothingly. "There’s nowhere for you to go. Settle down. No one will harm you. How do you feel, hinya?"

"M-my neck hurts," he said, looking somewhat lost and forlorn. The three older ellyn looked upon the younger elf with pity rather than with scorn, recognizing how very young he truly was for all that he had tried to act older.

"It will heal," Finrod said, "and your hair will grow back." They almost smiled when Vorondil threw his hands over his head in a vain attempt to hide his shorn locks. "For now, I want you to go and gather your belongings. Laurendil will go with you to help. Then I want you to bring them to my apartments. You’ll be staying with me until we leave for Lórien."

"Wh-why?" Vorondil asked, clearly confused and feeling somewhat fearful.

"I think your atar and ammë could use some privacy, don’t you?" Finrod asked gently with a small smile. "And this way, you will have time to get used to the idea of being my bondsman."

Vorondil gave a stifled sob at that and Finrod gathered him into his arms and hugged him. "There’s nothing to fear, child," he said as gently as he could. Whatever anger he had felt towards this ellon was long gone, replaced by an almost fatherly concern that he recognized as a concomitant consequence of taking Aldundil’s oath the way that he had. "You will find that I’m not an ogre and I will never command from you anything shameful or against your deepest will. Perhaps, in time, we will even find ourselves friends, though Glorfindel might have a thing or two to say about that."

Glorfindel snorted good-naturedly and stuck his tongue out at Finrod who smiled. Vorondil gave them both dubious looks but seemed calmer and more accepting of the situation. Finrod gave him another hug for good measure and smiled at him. "Good. Now, go with Laurendil and I’ll see you later." He turned to Laurendil with a rueful look. "Tell Sador I may be a while."

"The bath will be hot and the meal cold... or should that be the other way around?" Laurendil joked and he, Finrod and Glorfindel laughed. Even Vorondil was seen to giggle a little at the levity being displayed, which heartened Finrod and gave him hope that the ellon was not irredeemable.

When Laurendil and Vorondil, who had to borrow one of his atar’s tunics, left, Finrod and Glorfindel went to see Aldundil and Calalindalë. They did not stay long. Finrod told them what he had decided about their son and they were both resigned to it, though Calalindalë looked fearful until Finrod assured her he would never do anything to her son that would bring shame to him.

"I give you my word as King of Nargothrond, my lady, that your son’s well-being will always be of concern to me and I will do nothing to endanger it or bring him shame. He is my thrall, true, but he is still a scion of a noble family and will be treated as such by me in all things."

With that both Aldundil and Calalindalë were mollified. Finrod suggested they remain in their apartments for the rest of their stay until it was time to leave for Lórien. "For I think, lady, you will benefit by coming with us. Lord Irmo and Lady Estë will welcome you and this way you will not be separated from your loved ones."

Calalindalë thanked Finrod, as did Aldundil, and after a few more minutes of discussing details, he and Glorfindel left, encountering a team of servants busily cleaning the mess in the front room as they did.

"Now, I want that bath," Finrod said with much feeling as they walked down the corridor to his apartments. "And then I want to sleep for a very long time."

"Which means I finally have my chance at revenge."

Finrod stopped in amazement. "Whatever do you mean, gwador?"

Glorfindel gave him his most wicked grin. "Not telling, but don’t be surprised if you wake up feeling slightly cold... and wet."

Finrod narrowed his eyes and a dangerous gleam shone through them. "You wouldn’t dare."

For an answer Glorfindel stuck out his tongue and made a very rude noise, then stepped nimbly out of Finrod’s reach and ran down the corridor with his gwador running after him shouting threats and laughing at the same time.

****

Elwë: Elu Thingol.

Ñolofinwë: Fingolfin.

Findecáno: Fingon.

Turucáno: Turgon.

79: Return to the Ring of Doom

After careful consultation with his engineers and the Maiar who had helped with the cleaning of Formenos, Ingwë decided that it would be best to wait until the spring before sending the prisoners into exile. In the meantime, Arafinwë sent for his prisoners to come to Vanyamar, thinking it would be prudent to have all of them under one roof. The problem was, no one knew where they could be housed that would be isolated enough that they could not cause trouble in the city until Glorfindel remembered the caves where Manwë had kept him.

"They’re not overly large but they are large enough," Glorfindel explained to Ingwë. "There are three main caverns plus the bathing cavern and privy. I do not know how food can be gotten to them, for now I suspect that Lord Manwë simply made my meals appear when needed. The front entrance is the only one. There are no other exits so you won’t have to block anything up."

Ingwë nodded. "I will have my people take a look. Do you think you can remember where they are located?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "No, sorry. I’m afraid I have no idea where on the mountain I was. Olórin led me back to Vanyamar but not along any recognizable route. We didn’t even reach the road until the city was in sight."

"I will ask Lord Manwë then and get his permission to use the caves," the High King said. "Valanya will come before we leave for Valmar and I will go up to Ilmarin as is my custom on that day to pay my respects to the Elder King and his Spouse."

So it was decided. When Ingwë returned from Ilmarin it was with Manwë’s permission and directions and even a few suggestions on how to fortify the caves for the purpose they were to be used. Ingwë stated that he regretted that he even had to consider such a thing, and Manwë commiserated with him.

When the day came to travel to Valmar it was decided to leave directly after breakfast. It would be a large group that was traveling, for many of the Vanyarin nobles and not a few of Arafinwë’s people wished to witness the doomsaying against Ingoldo and Tinwetariel, and progress between the two cities would be slow. The older elves remembered the last time with Fëanáro, but for the younger elves this was a first.

Finrod traveled with his own party consisting of Glorfindel, Laurendil, Sador and Ingwion, with the addition of Aldundil and his family, as well as Elessairon, Lómion, Ercassë, Elemmirë and Alassiel. Lirulin had elected to remain in Vanyamar with Indil and Findis, for none of them desired to see Ingoldo or Tinwetariel again.

It was a somewhat strange group riding with Finrod, and the Vanyar who rode with the High King looked upon them with a combination of sincere interest and gratuitous curiosity. Many were surprised to see Lord Aldundil wearing those ridiculous front braids that the Noldorin prince and his otornor insisted on wearing. Even more shocking was the sight of Vorondil with his locks shorn and many wondered, erroneously of course, if Finrod had ordered them cut as a means of shaming the younger ellon who was now his thrall.

The problem with this theory, several others pointed out, including Lord Valandur, was that Findaráto was seen treating Vorondil with great gentleness and respect and the younger ellon did not seem unduly frightened of him. At one point, during a brief rest period, Findaráto was seen putting an arm around Vorondil and speaking to him quietly. No one heard what was said, but they saw Vorondil nod his head and actually smile at whatever was being told him, and many wondered at that.

They were even more amazed when, upon reaching the Ring of Doom, both Findaráto and Glorfindel took Vorondil into the center of the Ring and began pointing out various features to him, as if explaining something. The ellon, they saw, looked about in wonder, but not fear, and even appeared to be asking a question or two which one or the other of the Noldorin Reborn took pains to answer as completely as possible and with apparently great patience and even good humor. No one could figure it out and those who understood the truth were not about to enlighten them.

Ingoldo and Tinwetariel were brought into the center of the Ring of Doom, neither looking at all well. Glorfindel, as the injured party was there as well, along with those who had participated in the Hunt. Finrod insisted that Vorondil and Aldundil stand by him.

"This concerns you both as well," he told them. "While Vorondil’s doom was not uttered within the Ring, nevertheless it behooves us to ratify it here where all judgments are made." Both son and father paled at Finrod’s words and Vorondil began to tremble. Finrod put a comforting arm around the younger ellon and kissed his forehead. "There’s nothing to fear, hinya. Judgment has already been rendered. This is just a mere formality, nothing more."

Vorondil nodded somewhat reluctantly but did not look too convinced. Glorfindel clapped him on the shoulder and bent down and whispered something in his ear that seemed to calm him and he even gave the Balrog-slayer a shy smile, which Glorfindel returned with a grin of his own.

Then, just as the sun touched the western horizon, setting all ablaze in a glory of red and gold, purple and rose, the air around them shimmered and the Valar appeared sitting on their thrones in all their terrible majesty. Every elf there bent their knee to the Elder King who bade them to rise, his words solemn with the weight of glory that surrounded him.

"Not since Fëanáro has any Elda stood here to receive the doom of exile," Manwë said softly, though all heard his words. "It grieves me that we must do so again today. Yet, testimony has been heard and crimes have been confessed to. I have listened to the sentences passed upon all who transgressed the Sérë Valaron and I hereby ratify all judgments." He paused and looked straight at Vorondil, his expression becoming less stern, though no less solemn. He gestured to the ellon.

"Come here, Vorondil."

Vorondil swallowed visibly and blanched. Finrod took him by the hand and led him before the Elder King’s throne. Manwë stared at him for several moments. Vorondil wanted to look away, but found that he couldn’t and he grew even more pale. Finally the Elder King spoke.

"Findaráto hath claimed thee for himself and I accept his claim. Therefore, as agreed, thou wilt go to Lórien as Findaráto’s bondsman to perform whatsoever service he requireth of thee. For thirty years of the Sun thou wilt remain there and attend to the needs of the Reborn who pass through Lord Irmo’s domain. At the end of that time, and if Findaráto releaseth thee, thou wilt be free to leave Lórien and take up whatever life thou desirest. All judgments will be considered rendered and all debts paid. Dost thou understand the terms of thy thralldom, child?"

Vorondil could only nod, reeling slightly under Manwë’s regard. Finrod held him up and gave him an encouraging smile. Manwë nodded. "Then there is nothing more to say. Use the time in Lórien wisely, child, and listen to thy Master. He hath much to teach thee that will be to thy benefit." He reached down and gently took Vorondil into his embrace and planted a kiss on the ellon’s forehead, then gave Finrod a nod. "Go now." The two ellyn bowed to the Elder King and returned to their friends and family.

Manwë looked about and his expression darkened. "Let us proceed to hear the doom upon Ingoldo and Tinwetariel."

At that Námo stood up and his expression was such that none of the elves could look upon him. Ingoldo and Tinwetariel found themselves falling to their knees before the terrifying visage of the Doomsman of Arda.

"Thou, Ingoldo, and thou, Tinwetariel, did conspire against the Sérë Valaron in that ye did deliberately entice one who has yet to reach his majority into committing a heinous act upon another. And this deed was unlawful, whether of Aman or not of Aman. Therefore this doom is now made: For the remainder of this Age, as the Valar shall determine, ye shall leave Vanyamar where this crime was committed and abide at Formenos. Ye shall not be permitted to go more than one league from there in any direction, though within those bounds ye are free to wander. In that time take counsel with yourselves, and remember who and what you are. But after that time this matter shall be set in peace and held redressed, if others will release you."

"As to that, we will see," Ingwë stated and Manwë nodded.

Orders were given and the two prisoners were escorted away from the Máhanaxar. They would be returned to Vanyamar that very night while the High King and his party remained in Valmar. Finrod would leave in the morning with Laurendil, and Aldundil and his family, as well as with Ingwion who would continue on to Nienna’s house under a suitable Maiar escort, while Sador and Arafinwë would return to Tirion. Glorfindel and the four other Noldor who had gone to Vanyamar with him would remain there until the New Year as originally planned.

"I know you would rather come home, Glorfindel," Arafinwë said, "or even go with Findaráto, but I think you should continue your fostering under Ingwë for a time. It will not be for very long and then you will be together with your brothers once again."

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, Atar, I know, and truly I do not mind."

So the next day there were many farewells among the various parties and soon small groups were seen heading west or east, but the largest group went north. With them rode one golden-haired Balrog-slayer.

****

Valanya: Valar-day; what would be our Friday and in the Shire was called Highday. See Appendix D.

Note: Again, some of the wording of the doom against Ingoldo and Tinwetariel are taken from The Silmarilion, "Of the Silmarils".

80: Once Again to Lórien

Finrod and his party reached Lórien well after sunset on the third day from Valmar. As late as the hour was, Lord Irmo was waiting for them along with several Lóriennildi. The Lord of Lórien gave them all a warm greeting.

"Lord Aldundil, Lady Calalindalë, welcome to Lórien," the Vala said. "I trust that your stay here will be pleasant and fruitful. My people have arranged a pavilion for you."

Aldundil and Calalindalë bowed to the Vala and thanked him. Several Lóriennildi led them away after Finrod assured Aldundil that he was to take the next several days to acquaint himself with Lórien.

"I will send for you when I need you," Finrod said in dismissal.

Irmo then turned to Ingwion with a gentle smile. "Prince Ingwion, I know you are not happy to be here but I assure you that spending some time with Nienna is not the punishment you think it is. Rest here for the night and tomorrow my people will escort you to Nienna’s house. Fear not! I have been told that you will return to Vanyamar by the New Year."

Ingwion bowed but said nothing. In a short while he made his good-byes to Finrod and Laurendil, for they would not see him before he left Lórien and then he, too, was led away.

Irmo then looked upon Laurendil with something like amusement. "I understand, my son," Irmo said with a glint in his eyes, "that your wife has been spending the entire day preparing for your return. If I were you, I wouldn’t waste too much time making her wait."

Laurendil blushed and Finrod laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Go, gwador. I may be your king and have your life in my keeping but Manwen is your wife and she ranks me, at least in this much."

If possible Laurendil blushed even more deeply but did not offer any protest. With a hasty bow he set off towards his pavilion, only to be stopped by Finrod calling out to him.

"And if I see your face anytime before three days from now, I will have to be very angry with you, my son."

Laurendil grinned at that and gave Finrod a more formal bow. "Be iest lîn, aran nîn."

Finrod merely laughed, turning back to Irmo, who stood there with an indulgent smile on his face.

"Vorondil will stay with me for the time being," Finrod said and Irmo nodded.

"As I suspected. We do have one problem though. It seems that my brother, in his infinite wisdom, has decided to release an entire contingent of Reborn all at once, and we are presently short on beds." He gave Vorondil a sympathetic look. "I’m afraid, my son, that you will have to sleep on the ground until such time as we have a bed for you. I have my people making new ones even now but it may be a day or two before we have one ready for you. I hope you don’t mind."

Vorondil merely shook his head, trying not to show any anger. What was he going to say, anyway? He was a thrall, after all. It wasn’t as if his feelings mattered anymore. Finrod gave him a shrewd look but did not say anything to him. Instead he turned to Irmo with a wry grin.

"The timing does seem rather... suspect, wouldn’t you say?"

Irmo actually snorted. "Personally, I think it’s a conspiracy perpetrated by my fellow Valar. Sometimes I feel like a glorified innkeeper trying to find beds for all his guests."

Finrod laughed at that and even Vorondil found himself grinning in spite of himself. "Well, I guess there’s no help for it. By your leave, my lord, we will retire." Finrod bowed and Vorondil remembered to do the same.

"We will speak later," Irmo said with a nod and gestured for the remaining Lóriennildi to take the ellyn’s bags.

In short order Finrod and Vorondil were alone in the pavilion. There was only the one cot and on the floor beside it was a pile of furs and blankets. They were soon lying down, but Vorondil had difficulty falling asleep. He did not really believe that there were no beds to be had, and suspected that this was just a means of showing him he was just a thrall and didn’t deserve to be treated like a real person. The thought brought tears to his eyes and he tried desperately not to weep. Unfortunately, the harder he tried to stop the tears from coming the more they did and he found himself sniffling into his pillow, hoping Finrod wouldn’t hear.

That hope was doomed, for Vorondil heard Finrod sigh and rise from his bed. The ellon went perfectly still, wondering what punishment his... master was about to give him for disturbing his rest. He tensed in anticipation of pain and closed his eyes.

"I don’t know why you should have all the fun," Finrod said softly as he plopped a pile of blankets onto the floor next to Vorondil.

The statement so surprised him that Vorondil turned around to see Finrod standing there with a wry smile. "F-fun?"

The Noldorin prince knelt down and wiped the tears from Vorondil’s cheeks with a gentle hand. "I always enjoyed camping out, especially when not being pursued by orcs."

"Orcs?" Vorondil echoed, too stunned to say anything more coherent.

Finrod nodded, throwing a blanket over himself and getting comfortable. "Hmm. Yes, orcs. I can’t begin to tell you how many mudholes I slept in while hunting orcs... or fleeing from them. Now, do you think Lord Irmo would be terribly upset if we made a hole in the pavilion so we can see the stars or should we just move everything outside?"

Vorondil did not know what to say. In fact, he half suspected that this was just a trick on Finrod’s part to lull him into a sense of false security before turning on him, but somehow he couldn’t quite see that happening. Still, he was at a loss as to what to do or say at this juncture. Finrod saved him the trouble by reaching over and taking him into his arms and settling him there.

"Shall I tell you a story?" Finrod asked quietly. "There’s no campfire, but we can still tell tales and sing songs just like it was a real camping trip."

"I-I’ve never been camping," Vorondil confessed hesitantly.

"Never?" Finrod said in surprise. "Well, we’ll just have to remedy that, won’t we? We’ll rope in Laurendil. He just loves going camping, especially when it’s raining orcs and balrogs."

Vorondil looked up at Finrod in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely," Finrod answered with a laugh. "Now, what story would you like to hear?"

Vorondil shrugged, still unsure what was happening. The last thing he expected was for Finrod to treat him more like a younger brother than a thrall and he was not quite ready to accept the prince’s attempts at friendship.

"Would you like me to tell you how I found the Atani?" Finrod finally asked.

Vorondil gave him a surprised look. "Wh-what are they like?" he asked in genuine curiosity.

Finrod smiled. "When I first saw them I thought they were a rather strange group of orcs, but then I heard them singing...."

Vorondil was fast asleep before Finrod even got halfway through his tale.

****

Something ticklish woke him. Vorondil tried to focus his eyes to see what it was and found Finrod staring down at him with a smile. "Time to wake up. We have a guest." The prince’s eyes traveled to the right and up and Vorondil followed them to find himself staring at a rather amused looking Maia standing above them.

"Heeek!" Vorondil grabbed the blankets and threw them over him. Finrod just laughed and pulled them back down.

"None of that, my dear. We don’t want him to think we’re rude, after all."

The Maia spoke. "Lord Irmo bids you good morning and hopes that you will join him for breakfast. Oh, and you’re to bring your thrall with you."

Finrod’s expression went cold as he stood up and Vorondil was surprised to see the Maia take a step back. "His name is Vorondil," the Noldorin prince said quietly but with much authority. "Thrall he may be, but you will speak of him, and to him, with the same respect you would accord to any of the Eruhíni."

The Maia bowed at that, but offered no apology, merely fading away. Finrod shook his head and looked down at Vorondil, who lay there unsure how to respond to what had just happened. "Let’s go find the bathing pool. I don’t think it wise to keep Lord Irmo waiting."

****

They returned from their baths to dress and found that in their absence a second cot had been put in the pavilion and the blankets and furs that had been on the floor properly stored away. Finrod gave Vorondil a wry grin. "Sometimes it’s good to be king."

Vorondil actually laughed at that and Finrod was glad, for it was genuine laughter. Vorondil had a long way to go before he could be considered ‘rehabilitated’ but he was making a good start.

"Come. Let us go find Lord Irmo," he said once they were dressed and the two ellyn made their way to a particular grove where the Lord of Lórien waited for them.

****

Lord Irmo was sitting at a table laden with food when Finrod and Vorondil entered the grove. He looked up with a smile and gestured for the two ellyn to sit after they gave him their obeisance. "I trust you both slept well?" he asked.

They nodded and Finrod spoke for them both. "We went camping, but there was no campfire so we didn’t stay up late."

"I see," Irmo said with a knowing smile. "Please help yourselves. If there is something you wish and do not see let me know." However, it appeared that the Lord of Lórien knew their favorite breakfast dishes and soon the two elves were eating with great delight. There was little conversation at first, but eventually the ellyn slowed down enough to take their attentions off their plates and give them to Lord Irmo who all this while had watched them eat with faint amusement.

"You’ve complicated things for yourself, my son... and for us," Irmo said to Finrod, flicking a quick glance at Vorondil. "Taking Aldundil’s oath... that was not what we had planned."

"We, my lord?" Finrod asked curiously. Vorondil looked on the two of them with something like fear, knowing that whatever the dispute meant, he must be at the heart of it.

"We," Irmo repeated firmly, and the elves had no doubt whom he meant.

Finrod’s expression darkened somewhat. "I was not aware that I needed anyone’s permission to act as my conscience dictates... or as Eru wills."

Irmo raised an eyebrow at that. "And now you have a thrall..."

Finrod stole a quick glance at Vorondil who was trying not to be noticed by either of them. He placed a hand on the ellon’s back and began rubbing it to comfort him before turning his attention to Lord Irmo. "What I have is someone who made a mistake and will spend the next thirty years making amends. His status is my concern and mine alone. In the meantime he will be treated with all the respect any Child of Ilúvatar deserves. I will accept nothing less from anyone, least of all the Valar and the Maiar, who should know better."

Vorondil gave an involuntary gasp at Finrod’s words, his eyes widening in shock at the way the prince had spoken to the Vala and wondered if they would both be punished for such temerity. For several minutes no one spoke, then Irmo bowed his head. "I apologize on behalf of my people, Prince Findaráto. It will not happen again."

Finrod nodded. "And I apologize, as well, my lord. I know that what I did was... precipitous, to say the least, but there were lives at stake, lives I was not willing to see destroyed out of pique."

Vorondil paled, understanding that Finrod was speaking about him. Irmo glanced at him with a sympathetic smile. "You are correct, my son," he said, turning back to Finrod. "Such considerations cannot be easily discounted, but what exactly are we to do with you, young Vorondil, heh?"

Vorondil was wishing the ground would just open up and swallow him. He didn’t know what to say and was afraid to say anything. Finrod saved him the trouble. "For the moment he will follow me or Laurendil on our rounds and we will begin teaching him Sindarin. When he is proficient enough he will tend to the Reborn on his own, though I will continue to supervise his progress. Although he will not be formally admitted as an apprentice and will not wear a tabard, he will for all intents and purposes act as one and will attend the necessary lectures. Laurendil, Manwen and I will see to anything else that he needs to know. When his thirty years of service are up and he has proven himself to me to my satisfaction, he will be free to leave Lórien and take up whatever life he desires. I will not dictate the rest of his life for him, only these next thirty years. He will not leave Lórien save as I give him leave to do so and then only in the company of either myself or Laurendil or possibly his parents, but I withhold judgment on that for now. When he is not on duty or if I do not require his attendance he is free to pursue whatever activities he wishes. He is not to be bullied or otherwise treated disrespectfully by anyone."

Irmo raised an eyebrow and gave Finrod a knowing look. "You’ve thought it all out, haven’t you?"

Finrod smiled thinly. "Well, I had three days to think about it on the way here."

Irmo nodded and looked at Vorondil, giving the ellon a penetrating gaze. Vorondil tried not to squirm. "Do you understand the conditions which Lord Findaráto has dictated just now, child?"

Vorondil nodded. "Yes, my lord," he said faintly. "I-I’m to do whatever m-my... master tells me."

Irmo sighed and Vorondil wondered if he had somehow given the Vala a wrong answer, but neither he nor Finrod looked angry. Finrod placed a hand on the back of Vorondil’s head and made him lean forward so as to plant a kiss on his forehead.

"That will do for now, hinya," he said softly and the obvious love that Vorondil sensed from Finrod brought tears to his eyes and he found himself weeping.

"I-I’m s-sorry... I’m sorry," he cried and Finrod rocked him gently.

"I’m glad to finally hear you say that, child," he said. "It gives me hope for you."

****

Later, when Vorondil had calmed down, they took their leave of Lord Irmo. Finrod went in search of Eärnur and introduced him to Vorondil. The Telerin journeyman greeted the younger ellon with a wide grin.

"Oh, good. Someone whose Sindarin is even worse than mine," he said when Finrod explained that Vorondil would be taking Sindarin lessons in preparation for tending to the Reborn Sindar.

Vorondil gave the Teler a puzzled look. "But I don’t speak any Sindarin."

"Exactly!" Eärnur said and laughed. Finrod joined him.

"Perhaps you would care to offer Vorondil his first lesson," he said once he had gotten himself under control. "I needs must attend to other matters and would leave Vorondil in your capable hands. Perhaps you can also give him a tour and show him what his duties might be."

Eärnur bowed. "It would be my honor, my lord. Come, Vorondil. We can start at Lórellin and work our way back to the dining pavilion in time for lunch."

Vorondil looked at Finrod who gave him a nod. "And Eärnur," the Noldorin prince said with a knowing smile, "keep the language lesson clean. Vorondil’s still underage."

Eärnur feigned a scowl. "Oh bother, and I was so looking forward to teaching him all the insulting words so he can try them on you."

Finrod just laughed as he walked away. Vorondil gave the Teler a dubious look. Eärnur winked and began walking in the opposite direction. Vorondil quickly joined him. As the two of them strolled towards the lake, Vorondil decided that, as circumscribed as his life might be for now, it was not likely to be dull.

****

Be iest lîn, aran nîn: (Sindarin) "As you wish, my king".

Eruhíni: (Quenya): Children of Eru.

81: Judgment on a Minor Note

Vorondil’s good intentions to be obedient to Finrod lasted two weeks.

During that time he struggled with Sindarin, which he found confusing and incomprehensible for the most part. At the same time he was slowly learning his duties. He would not be ministering to the Reborn directly, but seeing to their physical needs — bringing them their meals, cleaning their pavilions, folding their clothes. It was menial and beneath him, but he had no choice in the matter. For the most part he did not see Finrod during the day as he went about his tasks, though his... master made a point of sharing the evening meal with him and quizzing him on his progress (or lack of it) in learning Sindarin and asking about his day in general.

Sometimes either Laurendil or Manwen would take him with them on their rounds and he always had to listen to the lectures (Finrod quizzed him about these as well and he learned quickly not to forget what had been taught) even though he knew he would never be allowed to minister to the Reborn or anyone else as a real apprentice. That wouldn’t have been so bad, he decided, being a real apprentice, but he wasn’t. He was a thrall, though no one used that word, not even Finrod.

He saw his parents only once in that first two weeks and then they were gone. Back to Tirion, Finrod told him after the fact, for his master would not allow him to say good-bye to them.

"I thought it best that they not stay," Finrod explained to him. "Your ammë was very upset at the thought of you doing menial work. I’m afraid both your atar and I had to be rather abrupt with her, so I decided not to allow her to say good-bye to you. Your atar agreed."

In truth, Vorondil did not mind that, for Ammë had always been a bit ... high-strung, but he greatly missed his atar and would have liked to have given him a proper good-bye.

The hardest part was, of course, remembering to call Finrod ‘Master’, though the few times when he forgot Finrod never chastised him and didn’t seem to mind one way or the other. It was everyone else who minded and more than once he was drawn aside by one of the Lóriennildi and taken to task for his forgetfulness. The message, if not the words, was always the same: "You’re a thrall, act like one".

Only that morning one of the Lóriennildi had scolded him and he was so despondent over it that even Finrod noticed and asked what was wrong when the two of them happened to be in their pavilion together shortly after the noonmeal.

"Nothing, Master," Vorondil said quietly as he stood over his bed and folded clothes. From the beginning Vorondil’s one task in caring for his master was folding Finrod’s clothes.

"I can do the rest myself," Finrod had said with a deprecating grin. "but I can’t fold clothes to save my life. That will be your job. I hope you can do it better than I or else we’re both going to look bloody ridiculous with wrinkled tunics."

In the end Vorondil had to have Lady Manwen show him how to do it properly.

Finrod glanced at his thrall and saw the set look on the ellon’s face. "Vorondil," he said quietly, "stop what you’re doing and look at me."

Vorondil put down the tunic he had just picked up to fold and looked up, biting his lip. Finrod studied him for a long moment, then very softly said, "Don’t ever lie to me, child. You will not enjoy the consequences."

That broke Vorondil’s resolve. His expression darkened to one of despair. He grabbed the tunic he’d been about to fold, bunched it up and threw it at Finrod, screaming, "I don’t care! I hate you! I hate all of you!"

Then he turned and ran out of the pavilion, and continued running, heedless of Finrod calling him to come back, heedless of anyone or anything but his own misery. He ran and ran, through one grove and another, past surprised Lóriennildi and disinterested Reborn. He ran until he found himself at the entrance to Lórien and the road leading back to Valmar and Tirion stretched before him. He was running down the road, sobbing, half blind with tears, when someone tackled him and he went down screaming, thrashing about in a futile attempt to escape.

"Vorondil! Stop!" Finrod ordered as he attempted to hold the ellon, but Vorondil was too far gone in despair to hear him, so he was forced to knock the child out with a well-placed fist.

****

Pain was the first thing Vorondil felt when he came to; fear was the second. Someone placed a cool cloth on his forehead and held a second one against his jaw which was where the pain seemed to be centered.

"You can open your eyes whenever you’re ready, Vorondil." Finrod’s voice was a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Vorondil bit back a sob and tried to turn away but Finrod grabbed his arm and held him back. "No, child. You’re not getting away with that. Open your eyes and look at me."

There was a note of command which Vorondil could not ignore and he reluctantly opened his eyes to see Finrod sitting next to him. They were back in their pavilion. Laurendil was also there, standing behind Finrod, his expression unreadable. A single lantern hanging from the center pole lit the pavilion and Vorondil could tell that it was now full night, though just how late it was he did not know. Finrod looked down at him and sighed.

"I think I should have just killed you the way Laurendil wanted me to," he said softly, his eyes dark with some emotion the younger ellon could put no name to and that frightened him as nothing else could have. He started screaming.

It took both Finrod and Laurendil to hold him down until his thrashings quieted and his screams became mere whimpers of sick despair that tore at the hearts of the two older elves. Finrod then gathered the elfling into his arms and rocked him.

"I’m sorry, child," he whispered, "I shouldn’t have said that, nor do I really mean it. Shh. It is well, Little One. Be still now."

It took some time but eventually Vorondil calmed to the point where he was nearly falling asleep, except his body decided at that moment to make its needs known and to his embarrassment his stomach rumbled loud enough for the other two elves to hear.

Laurendil chuckled and said, "I’ll get us some food, aranya. Vorondil’s not the only one who’s missed a meal."

Laurendil left and now master and thrall were alone. For a long moment neither moved nor spoke. Finrod continued holding Vorondil, who, besides feeling hungry, had a horrendous headache. It was hard to concentrate on the soft words which Finrod began speaking.

"I’m not going to punish you, Vorondil, but I will exact an oath from you that you will not run away from me again. Make no mistake, child. This will be as binding an oath as the one your atar gave me and if you break it I will punish you. I did not reign for over three hundred years of the Sun in Nargothrond without being ruthless when necessary, so do not make the mistake of thinking I do not mean what I say. I do."

Vorondil lay there, wishing Finrod had indeed killed him and said so in a strangled whisper made hoarse by tears. Finrod took a deep breath, shaken by the utter despair he heard in Vorondil’s voice.

"Oh, child, what did they do to you?" he whispered as he rocked the ellon tightly, hoping to offer him some comfort.

"W-who?"

"The ones who drove you to this hopelessness. Who has dared to rob you of estel?"

For some minutes Vorondil said nothing, then quietly, brokenly, he began to speak of the last two weeks, the difficulty he was having learning Sindarin, the menial nature of his duties without any of the glory of being a real apprentice, and finally everyone constantly reminding him of his thralldom.

"And... and I miss my atar," he ended with another sob.

Finrod sighed. "I know you do, child, but I promise you, you’ll see him at the New Year. Now, how exactly is everyone reminding you that you’re my thrall?"

So Vorondil explained and Finrod was very careful to keep the anger out of his voice, though it was difficult. "They had no right to say these things to you, Vorondil, and I wish you had told me earlier."

"I know I’m supposed to call you ‘Master’," Vorondil said with a heavy sigh, "but sometimes I forget. I don’t mean to, honest."

Finrod hugged him. "I know you don’t, Little One, but truly, I don’t care if you call me ‘Master’ or not. Call me whatever you wish."

Laurendil happened to walk in as Finrod was speaking, bearing a loaded tray, and grinned mischievously. "So, aranya, if Vorondil goes around calling you an orc-brained ninny, you’re fine with that?"

Finrod laughed. "As long as he does so respectfully, yes." Laurendil sniggered as he put the tray down on a table.

Vorondil looked upon them with a mixture of confusion and horror. "B-but I would never..."

"Well, I did," Laurendil said with a fond smile at the child, "and it was nowhere near respectful."

Vorondil gazed at the older ellon with wonder. "D-did you get punished?" he asked faintly.

Laurendil nodded and Finrod laughed again. "Indeed," the former King of Nargothrond said.

"W-what..."

"I promoted him to captain," Finrod explained as he and Laurendil shared a warm smile.

"That’s a punishment?" Vorondil asked in disbelief.

Laurendil nodded, his expression more sober. "I thought so at the time."

Finrod looked down at the ellon still lying in his embrace. "I told you I knew how to be ruthless when necessary."

Vorondil shivered at that. Then Finrod pushed him out of his arms. "Let’s eat," he said.

****

Later, Finrod insisted Vorondil get some sleep, assuring the younger ellon that no punishment would be forthcoming now that he understood what had brought about the earlier revolt. It took some doing, and Finrod ended up playing the harp and singing Námo’s lullaby, which Vorondil now listened to with a smile as he drifted towards the Path of Dreams, but he finally succumbed and then Finrod and Laurendil left the pavilion.

"Where do we go, aranya?" Laurendil asked quietly as he followed Finrod down the sward that lay between the various groves housing the pavilions. Finrod was walking at a determined clip and his expression was set. The last time Laurendil remembered Finrod with that look, the citizens of Nargothrond were summarily reminded who exactly ruled Nargothrond. Finrod had returned after a year’s absence with Bëor in tow and the reception was less than welcoming for them both in certain quarters. Bëor was ready to depart, not wishing to cause trouble for his lord, but Finrod began systematically reminding them all that he was indeed Fëanor’s nephew and not to be trifled with. It was at that moment that a certain lowly Ranger scout named Glorendil had fallen in love with his king and had given him his oath. In all the centuries since, Laurendil had never regretted that decision and thanked the Valar for the opportunity to serve the only king he would ever acknowledge in whatever capacity said king deemed appropriate.

Finrod did not answer, and Laurendil was content to merely follow his king’s lead. Eventually, Laurendil found himself in a part of Lórien he had not even known existed, though Finrod apparently knew just where he was going. They came to a particular grove and upon entering it Laurendil felt as if he’d stepped back into a time before Time. He had to listen carefully to ascertain that his heart was still beating and taking a breath was proving difficult. Then Finrod was touching his brow with a single finger and a light seemed to flow from it, silver and gold mingled. As the light flowed into him Laurendil felt himself coming back into focus and took a deep welcome breath.

"Stay here, Amborondanya," Finrod ordered quietly. "This grove does not welcome the Eruhíni gladly."

Laurendil nodded, automatically assuming the stance of a guard. Finrod smiled approvingly and then moved into the center of the grove, seemingly unaffected by whatever had assaulted Laurendil. Only starlight provided illumination, but it seemed as if Finrod was bathed in a silvery light that had nothing to do with the stars. For a moment Finrod merely stood there and Laurendil wondered what they were doing in this particular grove. The answer was not long in coming.

A shimmer of light grew near where Finrod stood and then Lord Irmo was there, along with Lord Námo. That nearly unnerved Laurendil and he had a sudden urge to flee, some primal need screaming in the back of his mind that he ruthlessly suppressed, though it was a near thing and he felt faint. The two Valar stood silently before Finrod with implacable expressions. Námo was dressed in a flowing robe of silver figured silk, while on his head he wore a circlet of silver with a single large isilsar. Irmo was dressed similarly in a robe of gold figured silk. A gold circlet with a single large anarsar graced his head.

"You should not have come here, Arafinwion," Irmo said and there was no warmth in his voice. "And you should not have come with Laurendil."

"Laurendil is my vassal and he will keep silent in all that he sees and hears," Finrod’s voice was just as cold and unforgiving as Irmo’s.

"Tell us your thoughts," Námo said in a deep voice that seemed to echo something from an earlier time. Laurendil was suddenly reminded of the trek North and the Doom of Mandos uttered by the one who stood only a few feet away. The former Ranger wanted to be very, very sick just then, but he steeled himself against his body’s demands.

"Your people are systematically robbing a child of estel and I demand that it stop right here and now."

"Demand?" Irmo asked in a tone that was absolutely deadly in its quietness.

"I hold you responsible for the actions of your people, Lord Irmo. I will brook no denial in this, not even from the Valar. This will stop now or I will stop it for you."

"You’re very sure of yourself, Findaráto," Námo said with some surprise. "Whence comes such courage, child? What have you remembered?"

Laurendil felt his jaw drop at those words. What were they talking about? For the first time he saw Finrod hesitate.

"I do not know if it is a memory," he said slowly. "I only know that I’ve done this before, but I’m not sure where."

"Tol-in-Gauroth," Námo answered and Laurendil shivered and saw Finrod sway slightly. He was tempted to leave his post and go to his king’s aid but knew better than to interfere with what was going on, so he stood still and watched.

"Songs of Power," Finrod muttered.

Irmo gave his older brother in the Thought of Eru an appraising glance. "You think that’s what is happening, hánonya?"

Námo nodded, looking less grim. "There is no doubt in my mind."

"If we could get back to the subject at hand," Finrod said with a tone of voice Laurendil had only heard whenever his king had held court, allowing his subjects to approach him with their problems and concerns. Both Valar gave him unreadable looks. Finrod merely stared back with disinterest.

"Your thrall ran away today," Irmo said at last.

"Your people did their work well," Finrod retorted. "My congratulations."

A silence fell between the three in the center of the grove that seemed to Laurendil to extend beyond the Circles of Arda unto the very porticos of the Timeless Halls and all of Arda went still for the wonder of it. Then Námo turned his amaranthine gaze upon Laurendil. "Let him come, Laurendil."

Laurendil started and was suddenly aware that someone stood behind him. Turning, he saw it was Vorondil, his eyes blank and unseeing and Laurendil thought the child must be sleepwalking. He stepped aside and without acknowledging the Ranger’s presence, the younger ellon walked into the center of the grove.

Finrod frowned. "You did not have to summon him, my lords. I hold him blameless in this."

"But we do not," Irmo responded, then reached out and gently touched the space between Vorondil’s eyes with his forefinger and the ellon started blinking, coming awake. He took in his surroundings with a bemused expression and then his gaze lighted upon the two Valar and he moaned, shock running through him like a fire. Finrod took him in his embrace and whispered something Laurendil could not hear. He saw the child nod and then Finrod released him.

"And of what do you deem him guilty?" Finrod asked.

"He ran away," Irmo said simply, as if that explained everything.

"And if I have forgiven him that, can you dare do less?"

"Vorondil may have escaped justice at the hands of the High King, Findaráto," Námo said coldly, "but he has not escaped us. He violated the Sérë Valaron and we will not be gainsaid in exacting justice."

"Being my thrall for the next thirty years isn’t punishment enough, my lords?" Finrod asked with a slight smile that held no warmth. "Whatever happened to mercy and forgiveness or are those just words bandied about for the comfort of those of us who must live on sufferance of your good will?"

The two Valar exchanged glances that Laurendil could not read. Vorondil, Laurendil noticed, had gone perfectly still, his face dead white. Finrod, on the other hand, was now surrounded by a golden glow and his eyes shone with fiery wrath. Námo returned his attention to Vorondil, who was standing somewhat behind Finrod, as if behind a shield against the Valar’s wrath. Laurendil could see the child trembling.

"By rights, Vorondil," Námo said softly, though Laurendil had no trouble hearing him, "you should be in Mandos now under my care."

Vorondil raised a hand to his mouth in horror and started weeping though he never took his eyes off the Lord of Mandos. Námo continued staring at him for a moment and then suddenly he released his hold on the ellon and sat down upon a throne that was simply... there. Laurendil noticed that the silvery robes had become something that wasn’t quite black under the starlight but Námo’s whole mien darkened. Irmo remained standing, however, and then the grove became suddenly too small as fourteen more Beings appeared, two of them Maiar, both of whom flanked Laurendil. The other twelve Valar ranged around the four people in the center in a half circle, giving Laurendil a perfect view of the proceedings. He had no doubt he was seeing a Valarin court in progress. Námo spoke again.

"This should be the Máhanaxar, but we will dispense with that formality for now. Come here Vorondil." He gestured to Vorondil, who stumbled closer to the throne and then was kneeling before the Vala. Námo reached out and touched Vorondil’s forehead with a forefinger and a silvery light flared for an instant and then Vorondil was on the ground, his eyes wide open and he was screaming.

Laurendil found the two Maiar gripping him, keeping him where he was, though his first reaction was to go to Vorondil and try to help him. However, he knew there was no help he could offer the poor child. Whatever the Valar were doing to him it was beyond anyone’s ability to help. Finrod stood there unmoving, or perhaps unable to move, gazing at Vorondil writhing on the ground as horrors only he could see assaulted him. The expression on his king’s face was one he had never hoped to see again, not since the Dagor Bragollach. Somehow, Laurendil knew, Finrod was going to make the Valar pay for this night.

Námo must have recognized the look as well for he gazed serenely at Finrod. "Save your anger, Arafinwion," the Vala said above Vorondil’s screams. "This is no different than what you went through and serves the same purpose."

Laurendil saw Finrod shudder at that and then mercifully Vorondil’s screams came to a halt. At that moment, Estë came forward and knelt before the ellon and gathered him into her arms. She rocked him and crooned a wordless lullaby that even effected Laurendil, for he began to relax and the Maiar released their hold on him. Even Finrod seemed less tense than before. Estë looked up at Námo.

"His hröa cannot endure much more, brother," she said in her musical voice which always reminded Laurendil of nightingales. "Yet his fëa is strong and he recovers quickly."

"The resilience of youth," Manwë said, stepping forward. The Elder King gave Finrod a glance. "A few days’ rest should see him to rights, my son. Do not fear for the child. This was necessary for all of us, including him." He turned his attention to Námo. "Are you satisfied, Morimando?"

Námo nodded. "Yes, Calamando, I am. Judgment has been rendered and all debts paid. Let the child be returned to his bed."

With that, a third Maia appeared, one whom Laurendil and Finrod both recognized. Olórin bowed to the Elder King and Námo before giving a soft greeting to Finrod. "Do not be dismayed, child. You knew it was only a matter of time. Taking Aldundil’s oath merely postponed the inevitable. Be comforted that my lord Námo has shown as much mercy as he has."

"Mercy?" Finrod turned his gaze upon the Lord of Mandos who was still seated.

"Findaráto, this had nothing to do with punishment, you know that," Námo said with a sigh. "Vorondil should have found himself in Mandos by now where I would have been able to cleanse him of all the hatred that was eating up his soul. Aldundil’s move circumvented our plans for him. And you didn’t make it any easier when you accepted Aldundil’s oath."

"You wanted Vorondil to die?" Finrod asked disbelievingly.

It was Manwë who answered, laying a hand on Finrod’s shoulder. "No, child, not wanted. We knew he was supposed to die then."

"At my hands." It was not a question. Finrod stared at Manwë for a moment. "I was supposed to be his executioner."

"You were supposed to be Vorondil’s savior," Manwë corrected. "A role that you have adopted anyway, but not in the way we thought." Here the Elder King gave Finrod a sad smile. "Did we not tell you that we cannot safely predict which way you Children will go? We foresaw that Vorondil would come to Mandos, but it seems we misinterpreted that vision. Mandos has had to come to Vorondil instead."

"What now?"

Lord Námo nodded towards the ellon still in Estë’s arms. "Olórin will take Vorondil back to your pavilion and remain with him until he wakens. The child will be weak in both hröa and fëa after his ordeal and somewhat disoriented. Olórin will help him there. He should recover quickly enough, though I suspect he will sleep off and on for the next few days. Afterwards... well, this is as much a new experience for us as it is for him. We’ll have to see."

"So he’s been returned to innocence as well?" Finrod asked, kneeling beside Vorondil and caressing the ellon’s hair.

Manwë shook his head. "Not to the extent you and the other Reborn have been, but yes, some of his innocence has been restored, enough to allow his soul to develop properly. It really was twisted, you see, more than you realize."

Finrod continued to stroke the ellon’s hair for a few moments before he rose and gave Námo a steady gaze. "Then I forgive you," he said simply, almost without emotion.

"Hantanyel," Námo replied and Laurendil was surprised at the depth of gratitude the Lord of Mandos conveyed with that one word. He had never considered the possibility that the Valar would ever want or need forgiveness for anything, much less from any of the Eldar.

Manwë gestured to Olórin who bowed again before reaching down and taking the now sleeping ellon into his arms. Then the Maia strode towards the entrance where Laurendil was standing and, giving the elf a smile and a nod in greeting, left the grove.

Irmo glanced at Finrod, smiling. "I apologize, as well, for my people, and will be taking steps to ensure the harassment stops. I allowed it to go on for as long as it did for I wished to determine who among my people were in most need of... correction. I am curious though to know what you were planning to do if I had refused your demand."

Finrod gave the Vala a mirthless smile. "Trust me when I say, my lord, that you do not ever want to find out."

There was silence then that stretched somewhat uncomfortably before Námo broke it. The Vala stood, his throne no longer there, and held out his hands to Finrod, who, after the briefest of hesitations, took them.

"When you are ready, best beloved, we will talk." Then he was gone and so were all the rest except for the Elder King, who gazed serenely at the two elves. Manwë gestured towards Laurendil.

"Come here, child."

Laurendil complied and then Manwë was taking them both by the hand. "You are both so very precious to us in ways you will never understand, though I’m not sure I like this air of defiance in you Findaráto. You’re beginning to remind me too much of your atar."

Finrod started at that and then gave the Elder King a genuine smile. "I’ll take that as a compliment, my lord."

Manwë smiled back. "As I meant you to, child." Then he looked directly at Laurendil. "You did very well here tonight, Laurendil."

"I did nothing, my lord," the former Ranger said. "Your Maiar made sure of that."

"Oh, they weren’t here to stop you, child," Manwë rejoined. "They were here to protect you."

"Pr-protect me?" Laurendil asked with some confusion.

Manwë nodded. "This grove... it’s very dangerous to those uninvited by us. Had you followed your instinct to go to Vorondil’s aid you would have been dead before you had even reached the center."

Laurendil gave Finrod a look of horror and saw that his king was nodding. "I’ve been here before," Finrod explained. "This grove can no longer harm me."

Then it was as if the Elder King held them both in his embrace even though he never moved and Laurendil felt something warm and loving steal over him, caressing him and healing his fëa and he sighed as tension he didn’t realize existed within him melted away, leaving a sense of blissful relief. He noticed that Finrod seemed equally relaxed. Manwë smiled at them both, gave them both a kiss on their brows and released them.

"Go now, children, and rest. Have no fear for Vorondil. He will recover and have very little memory of this night, yet, I think you will see that the despair that threatened him earlier is gone. Treat him gently and all will be well with you... and with him."

Then, somehow, Laurendil found himself standing before his own pavilion and Manwen was there to greet him. Her smile suggested that sleep was the last thing on her mind and Laurendil suddenly realized that the same was true for him. He smiled back and together they entered their pavilion.

Finrod found himself standing before his own pavilion as well. Olórin was there, gently leading him inside. In moments he was fast asleep in the cot beside Vorondil’s. Olórin sat in a chair between them, smiling gently at nothing in particular.

****

Estel: Hope, trust, a temper of mind, steadily fixed in purpose, and difficult to dissuade and unlikely to fall into despair or abandon its purpose regardless of the circumstances.

Amborondanya: My most faithful one; a title Finrod has given to Laurendil [an- (intensive or superlative prefix) + voronda "faithful one" [BORÓN] + -nya (first person singular possessive pronomial suffix). Tolkien indicates that the original quality of the consonant would be preserved when an- is prefixed to words in v- derived from original b, assimilated to am- before the bilabials b, m, and p.].

Isilsar: Moonstone. A symbol of truth in self-reflection and showing what ‘is’. Enhances intuition and inspiration as well as promoting spiritual growth [isil "moon + sar "stone"].

Anarsar: Sunstone; a sparkling orange-gold stone. A symbol of self-discipline, humility and a desire for service to the greater good. A protective and healing stone [anar "sun" + slar "stone"].

Morimando: Dark-Mando; a title of Námo, used when sitting in Judgment.

Calamando: Light-Mando; a title of Manwë, used when sitting in Judgment.

Hantanyel: Thank you.

Note: Tol-in-Gauroth or "Isle of Werewolves" is where Finrod, Beren and their Companions were caught by Sauron. Finrod waged a duel with Sauron using Songs of Power, but was defeated. Later, Finrod and all the other elves were killed by Sauron’s chief werewolf, though Finrod managed to kill the werewolf before he died. Only Beren survived to complete the quest for the Silmaril. Tol-in-Gauroth was originally known as Minas Tirith and was Finrod’s watchtower on the Sirion before Sauron took it.

82: Furtherance

Vorondil ended up sleeping for nearly four days straight, waking now and then to eat or to tend to personal needs. Olórin or Finrod had to help him there for he was almost too weak at first either to hold a spoon or even to stand. Finrod did not venture far from the pavilion himself and even had his meals sent to him.

No one was permitted inside the grove, unless summoned. A Maia was always at the entrance. Only Laurendil and Manwen were permitted into the Ampano Arano — as some of the people in Lórien were beginning to call it — whenever they wished. Finrod, when Laurendil told him how others were referring to the grove, merely snorted in amusement.

In the meantime, rumors were rife as certain Lóriennildi were discovered to be absent without explanation. Lord Irmo and Lady Estë assured everyone that those missing were unharmed and would return to their duties after a suitable time of reflection. Then, the remaining elves were summoned one at a time to a certain grove. What occurred there, no one afterwards spoke of it, but everyone who went in came out white as a sheet and in some cases had to be carried out by an attendant Maia.

Vorondil woke suddenly early on the fourth morning, feeling ravenous and... clean was the only word he had to describe the way he felt, as if someone had scrubbed him from the inside out. As it was, he felt in sore need of a bath, and especially wished to wash his hair. He was surprised to find the Maia Olórin there when he awoke, calmly putting out bathing paraphernalia and rummaging through the wardrobe for a clean tunic for him to wear.

"Good morning, child," the Maia said with a smile. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Hungry," Vorondil replied without thinking.

Olórin grinned. "Why don’t you go bathe and when you return I’ll have breakfast waiting for you."

"Where’s my master?" the ellon asked as he rose from the bed. He was unaware of the appraising look the Maia gave him as he hunted for his dressing robe nor was he aware of the unself-conscious manner in which he had asked the question.

"Finrod is already at the baths. He left only a half an hour ago, so you might see him there."

Vorondil nodded as he gathered his things and with a shy smile thanked the Maia and headed towards the bathing grove. He never saw the Maia standing on guard at the entrance of the grove as he left.

****

Finrod was indeed at the baths, as was Laurendil. Vorondil hesitated at the entrance when he saw them together, not wishing to disturb them, but Finrod saw him and with a smile waved him over.

"It’s good to see you finally awake, youngster," Finrod said as Vorondil removed his robe and slipped into the pool. "I was about to lay bets with Laurendil as to whether you would awaken in time for New Year’s or not."

Vorondil blushed as Laurendil laughed. "I’m sorry, Master," he said apologetically. "I don’t know why I felt so weak all of a sudden."

"What do you remember, child?" Finrod asked gently, pulling the ellon over to him and putting a comforting arm around his shoulders.

For a moment Vorondil stared into the waters. "I...went to sleep and then... there was a grove I’d never seen before. You were there and... and Lord Námo."

"What happened?" Finrod asked encouragingly when Vorondil paused, looking suddenly ill.

The younger ellon looked up at his master and then he was wrapping his arms around Finrod’s neck and weeping. "Shh. There’s no need for tears, Vorondil," Finrod admonished him gently, patting him on the back. "All is well. Tell me what you remember."

Vorondil pulled back from Finrod and attempted to wipe his tears as he spoke. "L-lord Námo put a finger on my forehead and then...and then...." He looked up at Finrod again and his expression was blank with pain. "He... he made me see... things."

Finrod nodded. It was telling that Vorondil had no memory of the other Valar being present during his ordeal. "Judgment is like that," he said with a tinge of sadness in his tone. "Painful, but necessary. It’s over now. The pain is merely a memory and it can no longer harm you. How do you feel?"

"Clean," came the surprising answer.

Laurendil laughed. "Well, you are sitting in a pool of water after all."

Vorondil grinned but shook his head. "No. I mean inside me. I can’t explain it but I woke up feeling as if my... my fëa had been scrubbed clean of something filthy."

Finrod and Laurendil glanced at one another and their expressions were solemn. Vorondil blushed. "I... I’m sorry. I can’t explain it any better than that."

Finrod gave the ellon a warm smile. "I think you explained it very well, child. Now, why don’t you hand me that brush and I’ll scrub your back for you."

****

The three elves were walking back to Finrod and Vorondil’s pavilion with Vorondil between the two older elves, when they encountered Eärnur. The Lóriennildo gave them a respectful bow — or rather, gave Finrod his bow — then straightened, his expression a mixture of confusion and hurt.

"I thought we were friends," he said plaintively as he looked at Finrod.

Finrod gave him a sympathetic look. "We are, Eärnur, never doubt it."

"Then what, by all that’s holy, is going on?" the Teler nearly shouted, sounding angry now. "When you first came here you were just another Reborn Etyangol and now..."

"DON’T YOU CALL MY MASTER THAT!" Vorondil screamed in fury, launching himself at the surprised elf. "YOU DON’T HAVE THE RIGHT!"

"Whoa! Vorondil, stop that at once," Laurendil said as he deftly pulled the ellon off a very surprised Eärnur with a single hand, forcing the ellon back into his arms and pinning him to his chest. Vorondil struggled for another few seconds before collapsing into tears. Laurendil gave Finrod a helpless look but did not loosen his hold on the child.

Finrod ignored his thrall for a moment to make sure that Eärnur was unharmed. The Teler gave his friend a jaundiced look. "Even your thrall loves you."

"And is that a bad thing?" Finrod asked with some amusement.

"What’s happening, Findaráto?" Eärnur retorted, ignoring Finrod’s own question. "I... I was summoned before my lord and..." Now he turned white and would have collapsed himself if Finrod hadn’t caught him.

"Let’s go to my pavilion and we will talk," Finrod said quietly, giving the Teler a supporting hand. "Laurendil, bring our little warrior." Finrod’s tone was laced with ironic humor.

"Yes, aranya," Laurendil acknowledged with a chuckle then turned his attention to the still weeping Vorondil. "I’m going to release you, youngster, and you’re going to behave yourself or you will regret it. Do I make myself clear?"

Vorondil nodded meekly and Laurendil let him go. The four continued to the grove where the Maia guard gave Finrod a respectful salute. "If Lady Manwen approaches, Olóremmárië," Finrod said, "allow her entrance, otherwise, no one else."

"It will be as you say, Prince Findaráto," Olóremmárië said, her voice sounding like the wind in the trees on a warm summer’s day.

Finrod gave her an ironic look. "I suppose it would be too much to hope that you would be able to keep the Valar out as well?"

The Maia laughed gaily. "I will assume that was a jest, young prince, and not take offense."

Finrod sighed dramatically. "I was afraid that would be your answer." Olóremmárië laughed even louder as she stepped aside to allow them entrance into the grove.

Olórin was not there when they came into the pavilion, but several trays of food were and three of the elves fell upon them with alacrity. Vorondil was naturally subdued after his unexpected outburst but his appetite was by no means blunted. Eärnur, having eaten earlier, sipped on some tea, while Finrod and Laurendil refused to discuss anything more important than who would eat the last sticky bun. When they had had their fill and were settling back with their tea, Finrod gave Vorondil an appraising look.

"I may have to have Laurendil teach you the rudiments of fighting if you’re going to continue protecting my honor," Finrod finally said with a laugh when Vorondil turned several shades of red.

"D-does that mean I can have a sword?" Vorondil asked excitedly and the other three elves raised almost identical eyebrows at the eagerness they could hear in the ellon’s voice.

"Thralls don’t usually go armed, you know," Laurendil said gently, not wishing to deflate the child’s enthusiasm too harshly.

"B-but I won’t always be a thrall... will I?" The last was said with a note of uncertainty and Finrod hastened to reassure him.

"The terms of your servitude are quite explicit, Vorondil. Thirty years. After that, what you make of your life is up to you."

The younger ellon appeared to be mollified by his master’s words and Finrod turned his attention to Eärnur. "I am sorry to see you so upset, meldonya. I regret that you have suffered for the actions of others."

"I... I just want to understand," Eärnur said plaintively.

Finrod nodded. "I know and I will do my best to explain without breaking any confidences. This has been a long time coming, though. Lord Irmo has been very patient with all of you until now."

"B-but I’ve been learning Sindarin just as Lord Irmo wished. Why..."

"Eärnur," Finrod interrupted, "I think Lord Irmo has decided to impress upon all the elves in his service certain truths that many of them have tried to ignore up till now." He gave the Teler a sympathetic smile and a squeeze on the arm. "Was he very harsh with you?"

Eärnur shook his head. "No, but h-his words frightened me. I don’t know why, but they did."

"I’m sorry, child," Finrod said with a sigh. "I’m afraid that sometimes the innocent are tarred with the same brush as the guilty. This seems to be one of those times." He paused and gave his attention to Vorondil who was sitting listening to the conversation with unabashed interest.

"And now I have to come up with two suitable punishments for your actions, Vorondil," he said with some exasperation.

Vorondil choked on his tea. "T-two punishments, Master?"

Finrod nodded, looking somewhat grim now. "You did run away after all. Whatever the reason behind your actions, you did not have my permission to leave Lórien. And your unprovoked attack on Eärnur... I’m not sure what I’m going to do with you, child. You’re becoming more trouble than you’re worth."

Vorondil went quite pale at that and then he was on his knees before Finrod stammering an apology. "W-will it hurt much?" he whispered at the last, shaking like a leaf in an autumn wind at the thought of experiencing any kind of pain. He wondered briefly if a flogging was as bad as it sounded.

"Only if you think clothes folding a painful chore," Finrod said with a quirk of his lips.

"Huh?" Vorondil was unsure if he had heard correctly.

"Do get up off the ground, child," Finrod admonished him gently. "You’re getting your knees dirty. That’s better," he said when Vorondil complied, looking sheepish. "Since you’re so fond of Eärnur here, I think you will profit by spending some time with him." Both Eärnur and Vorondil looked bewildered at this; Laurendil merely snorted. Finrod ignored him. "So, for attacking Eärnur, you will spend the next month following him on his rounds and learning everything he has to teach you about being a proper apprentice. I think we can find a tabard for you somewhere, can we not, Eärnur?"

Eärnur raised an eyebrow at Finrod’s words but nodded nonetheless. Vorondil just sat there with his mouth hanging open in surprise. Laurendil gave him a knowing smirk and a wink.

"Good," Finrod continued. "And for running away, you get to fold his clothes for the next month as well."

For a long moment only silence reigned inside the pavilion as Vorondil attempted to understand what his master had just told him. Finally, he gave Finrod an uncertain smile. "D-does this mean I’ve been... promoted?"

Finrod gave the ellon a deep smile. "I told you I knew how to be ruthless, didn’t I?"

Laurendil burst out laughing.

****

Sometime later, Finrod was sitting with Melian in her grove telling her of the recent events. She said nothing as he spoke but smiled gently throughout. When he was finished with his narrative he paused and gave her a quizzical look.

"Was I wrong to do what I did?"

Melian shook her head. "Nay, Nephew. You were very right to confront my Lord Irmo and I am glad that poor child has someone like you as his defender."

Finrod snorted. "I don’t think either Lord Irmo or Lord Námo appreciated my efforts on Vorondil’s behalf that night."

"Are you so sure of that, my son?" came the amused voice of the Lord of Mandos.

Finrod looked up to see Námo striding towards them and stood to give him his obeisance. Námo waved him back to his seat.

"Not from where I was standing, my lord," Finrod said quietly, not quite meeting the Vala’s eyes.

Námo gave Finrod an appraising look and put a hand under the ellon’s chin, making him look up. "We were very proud of you the other night. It took you longer than we expected for you to see Vorondil’s plight, but when you did... I see why my Fallen Brother’s minions feared you."

Finrod shivered with something akin to delight at Námo’s words. Námo nodded. "As my brother said, you are very dangerous. You are also in a great deal of trouble."

Now Finrod shivered with something akin to fear, though his expression never changed. "So, what’s my punishment to be then, Master?"

Námo stared at the elf for a long moment, before smiling. "How would you like to be promoted?"

Melian burst out laughing.

****

Ampano Arano: The King’s Grove, literally, "the King’s wooden hall".

Olóremmárië: The name means "Dream-snarer" [contracted from Oloriremmárië: olos (olori- before a suffix) "dream" + remma "snare" with agental suffix -r + feminine ending -ië]; a reference to the Maia’s normal duties of warding the Path of Dreams and preventing evil from entering upon it.

83: On the Shore of an Endless Sea

Ingwion arrived at Nienna’s house with some trepidation. He was also in a sour mood. He resented the highhandedness of the Valar in ordering him around. He was the haryon of the Vanyar, a respected member of his atar’s court and here he was being escorted by several Maiar to the back of the beyond, a prisoner to the Valar’s caprices.

Fine, he had been upset, but under the circumstances who could blame him? And he had apologized... sort of. What more did they want? Obviously a lot more, he thought with a sigh as he dismounted to greet Lady Nienna with as much dignity as he could muster, though in truth he would prefer to have dispensed with the pleasantries and just get on with his punishment.

Nienna smiled at him knowingly. "This is not a punishment, Ingwion."

"You could have fooled me," he muttered darkly, then blushed, knowing he was being rude but not able to help himself.

Nienna only smiled more deeply and motioned him to enter her house. ‘House’ was perhaps a misnomer, Ingwion decided. ‘Manse’ might be a better word. It was much larger than he had imagined. The entrance was an arcade that led into a cloister with an upper gallery reached by a wrought-iron spiral staircase in one corner. The cloister was quite large. A fountain in which the statue of a kneeling woman wept graced the center. Flowers — blue irises and purple sage intermixed with white clematis and bindweed, though there were others he did not recognize — surrounded it and a stone path led to the center from the middle of each wing of the house. Tall tasari in the four corners of the garden provided shade and solace. Stone benches were scattered about, though none were presently occupied.

Nienna moved left along the covered walk to the stairs and led the way up to the gallery, then down one side of the house to a room that faced west. "I think you will like this room, Ingwion," she said with a smile. "There is an excellent view of the ocean."

The room was spartan but elegantly appointed with a large canopied bed and an oak-carved wardrobe taking up the bulk of the space. Nienna pointed out where the privy and bathing room were on this floor and bade him to take his time unpacking.

"When you are ready, come down and we will talk. You will find me in the second room to your left as you come down the stairs."

With that the Valië left him. For a long moment, Ingwion merely stared at the room that was apparently to be his cell for the duration of his stay. As cells went, it could be worse. He strode over to the embrasure and sat on the cushioned ledge to look out, gazing over the sea-cliffs to the ocean beyond. He sat there for the longest time before finally turning away with a sigh. He stood up and went over to where he had dropped his saddlebags, beginning the ordeal of unpacking.

****

He found the room where Nienna awaited him readily enough. It was a workshop. That much he could figure out. Beyond that, he was at a loss to know what sort of workshop. Nienna was standing next to a dark-haired elleth dressed in a simple gown of worsted wool dyed a forest green, looking at something on a long table. The Valië was shaking her head.

"Nay, Niélë, I do not like this design. I think you can do better, dear. Why don’t you rest for now and come back to this later when you are feeling more refreshed."

The elleth stammered an apology, looking both tired and mortified, but Nienna put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Hush now, child. For any lesser project your design would be ideal, but I wish for something different and I know you have the skill and the imagination to effect such a design for me. Go now and rest and do not let your fëa be forlorn or discouraged. You are doing very well. I am very proud of you." She kissed the elleth on the forehead and Niélë gave the Valië a short curtsey and turned away. Ingwion could see she’d been crying, but there was now a look of calm acceptance in her expression. She saw Ingwion standing at the doorway and gave a small gasp, then made her way past him without a word, reddening in embarrassment.

Nienna watched with amusement. "Come in, Ingwion. Don’t mind Niélë. She is very clever about some things but not about others. She does not handle social proprieties very well. Come sit and we will talk." She gestured to a chair that was at one end of the long table. Nienna sat in another chair across from him.

Ingwion complied, though with some reluctance. He was still feeling resentful and wanted to hate Nienna for being his gaoler, but at the same time, his innate respect for the Valar made it difficult to maintain such a stance. Nienna gave him a shrewd look.

"If you wish for me to be your gaoler, Ingwion," she said without preamble, "then that is what I will be... for now. I hope, though, that in time you will see me as a friend."

"Why am I here, Lady?" he asked with a weary sigh.

"You are here because we wish it," Nienna said somewhat coldly and Ingwion gave her a surprised and wary look. He had always thought the Valiër to be... softer than their male counterparts, but he was beginning to dimly realize that that was a misconception, one that he was sure he would regret ever having.

"But why? Why?" he demanded, standing up abruptly, and the pleading he heard in his voice appalled him. One would think he was a ten-year-old whining after a favorite treat that had been denied him by his elders. He could feel the tears threatening to come and ruthlessly held them back, though he did not know for how long he could do so.

"Sit down, Ingwion," Nienna said quietly, the steel of command in her voice too difficult to ignore. Ingwion sat and then the tears came in earnest. He hid his face in the crook of an arm as he wept, silently cursing himself for his weakness even as the tears continued to flow unabated despite his best efforts to stop. Nienna merely sat there, patiently waiting for the storm of emotion to pass. Eventually the tears slowed and Ingwion gave a gulping sigh as he fell into a state of uncaring, floating serenely, waiting for what would come next, unaware that he was even waiting.

He felt a hand on his back, rubbing it gently and the sense of serenity deepened. He might even have slept for a time, for suddenly his eyes focused and he was back in the workshop. He raised his head, his expression bleak, for he had thought himself back in his rooms in Vanyamar, but that had simply been a foolish dream. He was here with Nienna, a prisoner of the Valar as surely as his uncle was a prisoner of the High King.

"You are not a prisoner, Ingwion," Nienna said softly as she continued to rub his back, bending over him to whisper in his ear. "Though you are not permitted to leave the vicinity of my house without escort, you are free within its bounds to do as you please, to come and to go as you will."

Nienna sat down again and looked kindly at the still bewildered elf. "Child, this is an opportunity for you to grow and to learn. Use this time wisely."

Ingwion remained unconvinced, but found that he no longer had the strength or the will to argue. He merely nodded and sat there mutely, waiting. Weren’t prisoners supposed to wait to be told what to do? Prisoners and thralls. He wondered suddenly how that poor child, Vorondil, was faring under his cousin’s hands. Nienna shook her head and sighed.

"Why don’t you spend the rest of the time before dinner exploring, acquainting yourself with the layout of the house? None will hinder you. If you wish to explore outside you only need ask and one of my people will escort you. There’s a path to your left as you go out that will take you down to the seashore."

Ingwion sat staring at Nienna, not sure what was expected of him. Nienna smiled. "Go, child. I will see you at the dinner hour."

Ingwion stood then and giving the Valië a bow left the workshop. Standing in the cloister, he was undecided what he should do next. Exploring the house did not appeal to him and he had the sudden urge to be outside. He strode to the arcade entrance only to find the door closed and locked and he collapsed against it, full of misery and confusion, unsure what was happening to him.

"Would you like to go outside, child?"

Ingwion looked up to find himself facing a Maia smiling down at him with compassion. He wore an ankle-length white tunic with a dark grey surcoat upon which was embroidered a silver fountain. Ingwion noticed that it was a rendering of the same fountain that graced the cloister garden. He nodded mutely. The Maia put out his hand and helped Ingwion to rise.

"My name is Tiutalion of the People of Nienna," he said gently, taking a key from a chain around his neck and unlocking the door, opening it and motioning the ellon to pass through. The Maia followed and closed the door, then motioned to the left where a path began. "The sea is that way. Would you like to go down to the shore?"

Ingwion nodded again, not willing to speak yet. He felt drained of emotion for some reason and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he should feel concerned about this. Tiutalion walked beside him, warning him of the steepness of the path. A tangy breeze ruffled his hair as he took the path downward and he could hear the sound of breakers, though he could not actually see the beach, for the path was a series of steps carved from volcanic rock that towered above him on either side. The steps did not go straight down, though, but wound slightly so that the beach was invisible until one reached the very end of the defile. Tiutalion walked behind him and every time Ingwion looked back he saw the Maia nod encouragingly, his smile gentle and his eyes compassionate. At the foot of the stairs Ingwion found himself on a black sand beach, which was interesting in itself, never having seen one before. The cliff swept away to his left, ending in the sea. The beach stretched before him several hundred paces to a rockfall on the other end. Large black rocks they were, strewn about as if tossed carelessly by some giant child at play.

Tiutalion joined him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "The beach is yours, child, and you may do as you wish, but when I call for you, you must come." Then Ingwion was alone, which, on one level, frightened him and he knew not why. For the longest time he stood there staring down the strand. The sea looked... sullen was the best word he could think of and it perfectly fitted his mood. The grey waves endlessly ate away at the land in a remorseless, almost joyless, dance, a slow dirge against time and tide. Whenever the sun appeared from behind clouds, the sand would glitter darkly from the volcanic glass and the waters would turn bluer, but the light was fitful and pale and there was no warmth in it. Seagulls cried above him but there were no other signs of life.

Then, without conscious thought, he was running down the beach. The sand sucked at his boots and his progress was slowed by waves seeking to entrap him for he ran where the sand was wet and the surf crashed upon the shore. Soon, though, he reached the rockfall and began climbing it, wanting only to escape, to see what lay beyond. His breath was ragged now with tears as he continued climbing the basaltic rock, heedless of the sharpness of its edges so that his tunic became torn and his hands were bloodied. He was nearly to the top when two things happened.

Suddenly, above him, stood a Maia with a sword of light blocking his path, looking upon him with grim dispassion. At the same time he felt someone else grab him from behind, pulling him roughly from the rocks. He screamed, more in anger than in terror, and thrashed about, seeking escape, but the grip was adamant, though there was a gentleness to it as if whoever held him sought not to do him any further injury. Ingwion found himself back on the beach, sitting with his back against the rocks that he had been climbing in his bid for freedom.

"No, child! Be still!" came the command and such was the force of it that Ingwion had no choice but to obey.

Then Tiutalion was kneeling before him holding his rock-scraped hands and tsking gently, reminding Ingwion of his own atar clucking over his childish bruises when he was an elfling. He started crying again, a feeling of hopelessness stealing across him, and Tiutalion gathered him into his embrace and rocked him.

"Hush now, child," he crooned. "You must not carry on so. It’s not the end of the world... well, actually it is, come to think about it, but only in the geographical sense."

Ingwion pulled back from the embrace to stare at the Maia in confusion, his tears momentarily forgotten, though his misery was not abated. Tiutalion smiled at him. "Just a little joke, child."

"V-very little," Ingwion said, then allowed himself to be gathered into Tiutalion’s embrace again.

For a long while there was no sound but the endless shushing of the surf pounding the glassy shore and the quieter sounds of Ingwion sniffling. Then Tiutalion began speaking, his voice soft and compassionate.

"Ingwion, this place is a prison only if you choose to make it so. Prisons, whether of the hröa or of the fëa, are usually of our own making. No one here will force you to believe otherwise, but we will abide by your rules."

"W-what?" Ingwion asked in confusion, not sure he understood what the Maia had said.

"Your rules, child. As long as you think this place is naught but a prison, and you a prisoner of the Valar, we will treat you as such."

"What else am I, if not a prisoner? I’m not here of my own free will."

"Neither was Findaráto when summoned to Lórien, nor Glorfindel when sent to your own city. Neither wished to be where they were, yet each saw, not a prison, but an opportunity."

"W-what opportunity?" the prince asked bitterly.

"That is a question only you may answer, child. We will not enforce one upon you."

"I-I said I was sorry... what more do you want?" he cried with deep despair.

"Oh, child, you were forgiven before you even stepped across Lord Manwë’s threshold with Glorfindel’s knife in your hand ready to accuse all and sundry of foul deeds against your beloved brother," Tiutalion said with a light laugh. "This has nothing to do with punishing you for your... insolence I believe Lord Oromë called it. This has everything to do with your need to come to terms with what you’ve done."

"What have I done?" Ingwion was now totally confused. This was not how he imagined this conversation would go.

"Defied the Authority of the Valar, of course."

"But I didn’t!" Ingwion protested, breaking away from Tiutalion’s embrace to stare at him in shock and dismay. "I would never..."

Tiutalion placed a finger on the ellon’s lips to still him. "But you did, child, though it may not seem so to you. You stormed into the Elder King’s presence demanding answers and you trusted him not nor the words which he spoke to you. In your heart you were ready to defy Lord Manwë’s edicts."

Ingwion shuddered then, remembering the roil of emotions that had stormed across his fëa as he walked up the Landamallë with Glorfindel’s knife in his hands, knowing that the Maia’s words were true. He would have defied Eru himself for his brother’s sake and wondered if the Etyangoldi had felt the same way as they fled Aman under the Valar’s wrath.

"I-if I’ve been forgiven then why..."

"The Valar have forgiven you, Ingwion, but you have yet to forgive yourself."

Ingwion scrambled to his feet to face Lord Námo, who stood there in grim majesty, dressed in a somber grey ankle-length wool tunic with black silk thread embroidery. Over the tunic was a black linen surcoat belted in front but with the back left free. He wore a diadem on his head of wrought mithril in the shape of a cross with equidistant arms. Embedded in the center of the cross was a large tumbled white topaz. Amber was set in the four arms. Tiutalion rose more slowly and gave his lord a respectful bow. Ingwion merely stood there, waiting. Námo sighed and gazed out into the endless sea for a moment.

"How many times do you waken in the night in a cold sweat after dreaming of your confrontation with us in my brother’s throne room?" the Lord of Mandos asked suddenly.

Ingwion started. "How did..."

He blushed when Námo looked at him, raising an amused eyebrow. "Sorry."

Námo nodded. "As I thought. Do you not see, best beloved? You replay that scene over and over again in your mind and you find no solution to what you know was a defiance of our Authority, though admittedly you did not utter unspeakable oaths or run off to Endórë. Yet, in your heart you were already beyond our Authority and that is something with which you have not come to terms, for you have always been obedient to our will in all things."

"S-so what do I do now?" Ingwion asked, sounding lost. He had always been obedient — to his atar, to the Valar, to Eru — and he had been ready to throw all that away for one Reborn Noldo who had stolen his heart when he wasn’t looking. He shivered, and not because of the slight cool breeze that now blew off the waters.

Námo smiled gently at the downcast ellon. "Go swim."

Ingwion looked up in surprise. "Huh?"

"And look," the Vala pointed out into the ocean. "My brother has sent you playmates."

Ingwion followed Námo’s finger and saw two dolphins dancing in the deeper waters past the breakers. He glanced at the Vala and Maia standing next to him and saw the amused expressions on their faces. Tiutalion nodded.

"I think you should do as my lord suggests, child," the Maia said in a slightly chiding voice that nevertheless was full of encouragement and love. "But when I call for you, you must come."

Still in a daze, Ingwion stripped off his clothes and then went hesitantly into the ocean, which proved surprisingly warm, under the watchful eyes of two Maiar and a Vala. He swam out towards where the dolphins were frolicking. They greeted him joyfully and one of them nudged him so he knew that he was to hang onto the dorsal fin. Suddenly the dolphin leaped into the air carrying the Vanyarin prince with him. He gave an involuntary shriek that was a mixture of shock and delight, remembering at the last moment to take a deep breath before they dove into the water.

As he continued swimming and playing with the dolphins he felt something within him unfold itself and he began to weep. At that point the dolphins swam gently in slow circles, chirping softly to the star-child clinging to them whom their lord had entrusted into their keeping. When the storm of tears came to an end Ingwion felt empty, but it was an emptiness full of promise, not of despair, and for the first time since leaving Vanyamar he felt hopeful. The dolphins, sensing a change of mood, clicked and whistled in delight and then they were frolicking once again with the star-child who now laughed with a joy he thought had been forever lost.

How long he and the dolphins played, he never knew, but at last he heard Tiutalion call to him and without hesitation, though he truly wished to remain with his new friends, he began swimming back to shore. It took longer than he anticipated, for, in their play, he and the dolphins had gone further away from the shore. He stumbled a few times before reaching the beach as he fought the undertow and then a large towel was being wrapped around him. Soon he was dried off and dressed. Both Tiutalion and Lord Námo were there, though the sword-bearing Maia was gone, or at least, no longer visible. Ingwion suspected that if he tried climbing the rocks again the Maia would return.

"Did you enjoy your swim, best beloved?" Námo asked with a smile.

Ingwion nodded and smiled in return, the first genuine smile he had shown to anyone since leaving Vanyamar.

"You did well in obeying me, child," Tiutalion said warmly as he kissed the ellon on the brow. Ingwion felt inexplicably happy at the Maia’s words.

Then Námo was gesturing back down the beach to the rock stairs. "Now, why don’t we go back up to the house? I understand my sister has ordered all your favorite foods for dinner tonight. We wouldn’t want to miss that, now would we?" He gave them a sly grin.

Ingwion stared at the Vala in surprise. "All?"

Námo nodded, still grinning.

"B-but oatmeal is for breakfast!" the ellon protested disbelievingly.

Námo and Tiutalion began laughing. In spite of himself, Ingwion found himself joining in.

****

Haryon: Prince and heir to a throne.

Tasari: Plural of tasarë: weeping willow.

Tiutalion: Son of Consolation. This is the Quenya version of the real-world name, Barnabas, which is one of my favorite names.

White Topaz: Symbol of truth and forgiveness.

Amber: Symbol of the Presence of Eru Ilúvatar.

84: Obedience is a Verb

Ingwion was fascinated by the beach. In the days that followed his abortive escape attempt, he continued to visit it. He thought he might be denied the privilege because of what he had done, but surprisingly (to him) Nienna had made no objections, merely warning him to be wary of the undertow if he went swimming and to keep his eye on the sea during low tide.

"The sea returns very quickly, so do not venture too far from the shore," she admonished him the next morning after the "Feast of Every Dish Known to Elfkind" as Niélë, the only other elf in residence, had called it. It turned out that EVERYTHING was a favorite dish of Ingwion, much to everyone’s amusement (except for Niélë) and Ingwion’s delight.

"Can I help it if I like food?" he had said with a smirk, not even bothering to apologize. Námo had laughed and Nienna had merely passed him a plate of mushroom tarts, smiling all the while.

Ingwion returned to the beach with Tiutalion once again his escort. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he stopped the ellon from running onto the beach immediately.

"Heed Lady Nienna’s words, child," the Maia said gently but with authority. "The sea is treacherous, especially for one like yourself who is unused to its ways. Remember, when I call for you, you must come."

Ingwion nodded and then Tiutalion gave him a smile and a nod and he was off. At first he did nothing more than run barefoot across the wet black sand with the waves lapping his feet, turning back at the rockfall to run in the opposite direction. He reveled in the salt smell in the air and the feel of the ocean breeze on his face. The day was bright with sun glaring off the whitecaps that crashed onto the beach with a resounding roar, for a storm brewed somewhere out in the middle of the ocean, far from landfall.

After a while he stopped and stared out to sea, wondering if he dared take a swim. The sun was hot now and he was eager to enter the waters beyond the breakers but something, some niggling part of his mind, stayed him and he was content to strip and merely sit in the surf and let it roll over him until he was cooled before drying himself off and donning his clothes again. When Tiutalion called for him he came without any real reluctance, feeling suddenly hungry. The Maia greeted him with a smile and praised him for his obedience, which pleased Ingwion immensely, though he was not sure why.

The next time he went to the beach was at low tide and he marveled at how far out the water now was. Heeding Nienna’s warnings, he did not go any further out than the first sandbar, and that was far enough to make him feel somewhat nervous. From that vantage point, though, he could see around the cliffs at one end of the beach and the rockfall at the other end to where other beaches stretched along the coast. They looked inviting and though he no longer felt the need to escape, Ingwion sensed that those beaches were forbidden to him and so did not venture to pass either cliff or rockfall in his explorations.

And indeed, there was much to explore even in the small area allotted to him and he spent a happy hour or two finding seashells and admiring their beauty or coming across small pools where crabs dwelt. He even dug for clams but had no luck. So engrossed was he with exploring the sandbar that he quite forgot about Nienna’s warning until a seemingly errant wave swept over him. He looked up in sputtering shock but the water was still far out and looked no closer. He couldn’t understand where the wave had come from, and then another one hit him from out of nowhere.

Suddenly, with a frisson of something akin to fear, he knew and without hesitation began running towards the beach, which now seemed further away than he originally thought. The wet sand sucked at his feet, seeming to want to trap him but soon he reached the dry sand and collapsed in a boneless heap, gasping for breath. He watched with rising horror as the ocean came rushing toward him, running faster than any horse he knew. In seconds the sandbar he had been on was swallowed up and then breakers were crashing onto the beach. The sea had once again claimed its own.

"I see Lord Ulmo was looking out for you, child."

Ingwion looked up with a start to see Tiutalion standing next to him, a thin smile on his face, and Ingwion blushed at the mild reprimand he detected in the Maia’s words.

"I’m sorry," he said softly. "I’ll remember next time."

Tiutalion only nodded. "Time to come in, child." Ingwion stood up and meekly followed the Maia back to the house.

****

Every time he came to the beach Ingwion looked for his dolphin friends. He somehow knew that he would not be welcomed in the deeper waters without them, so he had to be content with going no further out than knee-deep and sitting in the surf, but how he longed to swim in the deeper waters with his friends. Yet, they came not and Ingwion soon despaired of ever seeing them again.

It was on the fifth day since coming to Nienna’s that he suffered a crisis that threatened to destroy the peace he was beginning to feel and the trust he was finally earning. The day before, the storm that had begun out in the middle of the ocean had finally reached them and Ingwion was forced to remain indoors, fretting with impatience. So it was with some relief that he awoke the next morning to calm seas and quickly made his way to the beach once Nienna gave her permission.

He had been on the beach for some time and it was now nearly noon. As usual, he had looked for the dolphins and, when he did not see them, he settled himself against the rockfall, idly watching the play of water swishing calmly around the base of the rocks. Then, a high squeaking noise filled the air and two dolphins jumped through the waters, beckoning him to join them.

Ingwion stood up with a glad cry and began stripping off his clothes as quickly as he could, running into the surf towards his friends. At that precise moment he heard Tiutalion calling for him and the shock of it drove him to his knees. He knelt there in dismay for several seconds, heedless of the waves washing over him and then with a sense of defeat he forced himself to stand and return to the beach, retrieving his clothes but not bothering to don them. He trudged back down the beach to the stairs, cringing at the mournful sounds of the dolphins who had come to play with the star-child and refused to look in their direction. Ingwion made his way slowly up the stairs, stopping at the top where Tiutalion awaited him. The Maia gave him a sympathetic look.

"You did well to obey me, child," he said as usual. "I know how difficult it was for you this time."

The words gave Ingwion no comfort and he almost hated Tiutalion at that moment. Without acknowledging the Maia’s presence he went into the house, made his way to his room, and refused to come out for the rest of the day, not even for dinner.

For the next two days Ingwion remained within the house, mostly in his room but eventually need drove him to seek the kitchens and find something to eat, though he found no joy in it and he still refused to properly dine with Nienna and Niélë as had been his custom. Of Tiutalion there was no sign, nor did he ask after him. Nienna watched him with growing concern but said nothing. Niélë, as was typical of the elleth, barely registered the fact that Ingwion was no longer present at the dinner table. She was still rather shy around the haryon and was relieved that she didn’t have to dredge up any kind of courtesy that might be expected of her during dinner.

On the third day Ingwion’s fascination with the beach proved greater than his anger at Nienna and Tiutalion and, swallowing his pride, he humbly asked permission to go there. Nienna nodded and again Tiutalion came and escorted him to the beach. But now something of the delight he had always felt upon feeling the volcanic sands between his toes was lost to him and he found no real joy in being there. Neither did he wish to return to the house and so he sat disconsolately upon a large bleached piece of driftwood, idly watching the waves roll in.

Then, the dolphins appeared and his heart leapt, but he schooled himself and remained seated, refusing the bait (as he saw it). Tiutalion suddenly appeared next to him, looking puzzled.

"Your friends are calling for you, Ingwion," the Maia said. "Why do you not go to them?"

Ingwion jumped up, his face suffused with anger. "Why? So you can reel me back in at the last minute like before?" he shouted. "Is that how you entertain yourself, tormenting me by letting my friends come but only pretending that you will allow me to go to them?" He stormed past the Maia towards the stairs. He was halfway up them when he was stopped by Nienna standing there.

"Go back to the beach child," she said gently but with authority. "You do not have my leave to come up."

That was the final straw for the elf. "MAKE ME!" he screamed, fury in every fiber of his being at what he saw as capriciousness and tyranny on the part of the Powers.

It was, of course, the wrong thing to say. Suddenly he was being bodily lifted up into Tiutalion’s arms and finding himself being taken back down to the beach. He was screaming now, and weeping and he cursed the Maia, Nienna and all the Valar roundly, even using one or two phrases in Sindarin that he had picked up from Glorfindel. Then he felt himself being placed in another’s arms. He was dimly aware of being carried into the ocean, the sudden wet coldness of the water shocking him enough to stop his thrashing and screaming, though he continued to weep, clinging now to the one holding him. He felt the dolphins swimming about him without their presence actually impinging upon his consciousness. They crooned to him in their whistling language, their sleek bodies caressing him, until he was lying silently in the arms of whoever held him. It was only then that he felt the beard under his questing fingers and knew that he must be in Lord Ulmo’s embrace.

"Feeling better, child?" the Lord of Waters asked gently.

Ingwion declined to answer, not really in the mood to be sociable. His anger was still there and he wasn’t about to let it go. They treated him with contempt, speaking to him as if he were an elfling or a stupid thrall, like poor Vorondil. They had no right. Was he not, after all, the haryon to the High Kingship? He deserved better from them. They wanted obedience. Well, they were not going to get it from him anymore.

Ulmo chuckled then and that just drove Ingwion towards fury again, but it was a draining emotion and he could not keep it up and he began weeping all the harder, pounding his fist into Ulmo’s shoulders in what even he knew was a futile gesture of defiance. Ulmo held him through his tantrum, allowing the sea to do its work of offering succor to the ellon in his arms with the gentle lapping of the waves rocking his hröa to stillness.

Finally, Ingwion’s weeping ceased and Ulmo deemed it time to return to shore, where, with Tiutalion’s help, he removed the ellon’s clothes and wrapped him in an overlarge towel. Ingwion welcomed the loss of his clothes, for their heavy wetness had clung to him uncomfortably and chafed him. Then he was being placed on a blanket and the warmth of the sun stole into him, caressing him, and he fell asleep for a time.

When he woke he lay there, content not to move, luxuriating in the feeling of the sun kissing his face and listening to the slurp-shush of the ocean hitting the beach. His eyes were closed against the brightness of the sun and he sighed with relief when something blocked the light and he was in cool shade.

"Why don’t you open your eyes now, Ingwion?" came Ulmo’s voice rumbling somewhat like the ocean that was his domain. "We need to talk."

Ingwion was reluctant to comply, remembering his half-promise to himself not to be obedient any longer, but then he felt someone lift him into a sitting position and his eyes opened of their own accord at the sudden movement of his body.

"Ah, that’s better," Ulmo said with an amused tone as he adjusted his hold on the elf so Ingwion was now facing him. "You are a very stubborn elfling and I think you’ve been taking lessons from our favorite balrog-slayer, hmmm?" This last was said with feigned annoyance though Ingwion did not smile. Ulmo sighed and shook his head.

"He’s very willful."

Ingwion shivered at that and slowly turned his head to see Lord Námo standing there, looking less than pleased. The Vala was dressed in grey tones similar to the shades favored by his sister and wore no jewelry save for the gems in his braided hair. Embroidered upon the overtunic was the same fountain that graced the cloister. It seemed to Ingwion that Námo was almost acting as one of Nienna’s servants, the way the Vala was dressed, but that didn’t seem possible and he dismissed the idea out of hand.

"Very willful indeed," the Lord of Mandos reiterated, then he stared hard at the elf and Ingwion found he could no longer look away but was forced to gaze into Námo’s eyes. What he saw there made him quail and he felt himself cringe against Ulmo who spoke to him in a very gentle tone that just seemed to make the whole experience worse.

"Obedience has nothing to do with doing what you are told, child," the Vala said, gently running his hand through Ingwion’s hair, attempting to soothe him. "That is only the surface meaning of the word. It has everything to do with paying attention, of bending one’s ear, not one’s will, to those in Authority, to listen with one’s entire being to what is being said. You are not listening, Ingwion, and that is where your sorrows lie."

Námo moved then, kneeling before the elf, unmindful of the sand, and his expression was less severe, though no less daunting, and Ingwion cringed even further into Ulmo’s embrace. "Do you know why Lord Manwë initially refused you entrance into his presence the day you found Glorfindel missing?"

"Y-you asked me that before, at the trial," Ingwion whispered, uncertain as to where Lord Námo was going with his question.

"Yes," Námo nodded, "though you never did actually answer the question, so I am asking you again, Ingwion. Do you know why Lord Manwë initially refused you?"

"Be-because I was angry," he answered.

Námo shook his head. "No, child, because you were not listening, or rather, you were not willing to listen. You had already decided that we were to blame for Glorfindel’s disappearance and anything we said to the contrary would be dismissed by you."

Ingwion wanted to protest the Vala’s words, but in his heart he knew them to be true and looked down in chagrin. Then Námo spoke again, more softly. "Do you know why the Elder King decided to see you anyway?"

Now Ingwion shook his head, for he truly did not know, having only assumed that his threat (pathetically puerile when he came to think about it) had been enough.

"For the same reason."

Ingwion looked up in genuine confusion and saw Námo nodding.

"You were not listening and in your heart you had turned from us even as Fëanáro had, though not necessarily for the same reasons." Ingwion went white at the thought that the Valar saw him as another Fëanáro and felt his stomach begin to heave. Námo reached out and placed a hand on Ingwion’s forehead and the sick feeling receded.

"Fear not, child," the Lord of Mandos said in a kinder tone than he had been using. "We are not here to condemn but to instruct. Refusing to listen to us is not a crime so much as it is a case of bad judgment. In Fëanáro’s case, he went beyond mere disobedience, mere not-listening if you will, to blatant rebellion, not just against us but against Eru. Not listening is the first step down a steep slope that leads to sorrows unimagined."

"We want to make sure you do not experience such, child," Ulmo interjected. "Do you know why Tiutalion called you back from joining the dolphins the other day?"

Ingwion was tempted to say what he had told the Maia but refrained, contenting himself with a shake of his head. "Tell me, lord," he whispered dejectedly, sure that the reason would be as he suspected anyway however nicely the Vala put it. He did not see the look that passed between the two Valar at his thoughts.

"Well, it wasn’t because he likes to torment ellyn," Ulmo said sardonically and Ingwion cringed somewhat at the tone. Ulmo sighed and decided on a different tack. "Stand up." The two Valar rose and Ulmo gave Ingwion a hand. The elf clutched the towel still covering his nakedness and followed the Valar to the edge of the rockfall where Ulmo bade the ellon to climb to the top. The Valar followed him. Once at the top the Lord of Waters pointed to a spot halfway between the beach and where the dolphins generally appeared.

"The day the dolphins came," Ulmo said, "you could not see but there was a group of sea creatures floating in the surf between you and the dolphins. These creatures are very deadly and nearly invisible. The Teleri call them falmatirnor, for they hide in the waves and wait for their prey. Had you not listened to Tiutalion you would have swum right into them and the sting of their tentacles would have paralyzed you instantly and you would have drowned." He gave the ellon a brief glance to make sure his words were having the correct effect. "They came with the storm, you see."

Ingwion turned to the Vala. "Why didn’t Tiutalion tell me?"

"Why didn’t you ask?" Námo retorted. "Had you asked why Tiutalion had called you in when he did, instead of assuming the worst, you would have been told, but you weren’t listening, Ingwion."

Ingwion stared out to sea with chagrin. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing about himself. He had always been obedient and now the Valar were accusing him of disobedience. None of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for Glorfindel. His love for the golden-haired Noldo had driven him to this and he wondered why it had been so easy.

Námo shook his head. "Do not blame Glorfindel for this Ingwion, he is not the one at fault." The Vala’s tone was cold and Ingwion felt the blood rush from his head and he swayed. Ulmo took hold of him and then guided him back down to the beach. When they reached the sands Námo spoke again, in less forbidding tones.

"You are an estimable elf, child, a credit to your people, but you are not perfect. This flaw lies within you. Glorfindel is merely a convenient excuse on your part. Face the truth about yourself. Learn to listen more attentively and you will be obedient to us, if that is what you truly wish." He gave the elf a knowing look. "How did you feel whenever Tiutalion offered you praise for your obedience?"

Ingwion responded somewhat reluctantly. "His words made me feel...I don’t know... happy, but I don’t know why."

The Lord of Mandos nodded. "There is a certain delight in actively practicing obedience, Ingwion, in mindfully paying attention to what is being told you by those in Authority over you and following through from there. It is no less so for us Valar who obey the words of Eru Ilúvatar. Melkor refused to listen, as did Fëanáro. Do not follow them, child. It will bring nothing but sorrow to all."

Ingwion paled at those words but held firm and nodded. It had never occurred to him to think of the Valar, whom he always thought of as The Authorities, as having to practice obedience, no less than he. With this revelation, Ingwion began to see these Beings in a wholly different, more mature light.

Námo nodded, apparently pleased that he had finally gotten through to this Child and smiled briefly, giving the ellon a light kiss on the forehead. He gave Ulmo a glance, quirked an enquiring eyebrow at his brother Vala, and faded from sight. Ulmo gave Ingwion a smile of his own, his eyes twinkling with gentle humor.

"Well, my boy, you might as well take advantage of your state of undress and go swim with the dolphins." He pointed out to sea and Ingwion was glad to see his dolphin friends playing just beyond the breakers. "Just remember to come in when Tiutalion calls for you," the Vala reminded him and Ingwion nodded, giving the Lord of Waters a shy smile, then threw off the towel as he ran into the surf. It did not take him long to reach the dolphins and begin playing with his friends. He never noticed when Ulmo disappeared.

Some time later, when Tiutalion called for him, he came immediately and when the Maia praised him for his quick return Ingwion gave him a genuine smile. "Thank you," he said and then impulsively hugged Tiutalion, quite forgetting that he hadn’t dried off yet. Tiutalion didn’t seem to mind and hugged the ellon back.

****

Falmatirnor: literally, "wave-watchers"; a name given to what we would call jellyfish, especially the Portuguese Man-o’-war. In many real-world languages "jellyfish" is rendered by some form of the Greek word medusa, from Medousa, lit. "guardian", fem. present participle of the verb medein "to protect, rule over". The tentacles of the jellyfish are reminiscent of the gorgon’s snake-head.

Linguistic note: Obedience: literally means "the act of paying attention to, giving an ear to, listening to", ultimately from Latin oboedire: ob- "towards"+ audire "hear, listen". The original meaning of the Indo-European root word au- , is "to perceive [a thing or a person]".

85: The Joy of Serving

When Ingwion entered Nienna’s house, he was surprised to find Lord Námo there. The Lord of Mandos was in the cloister tending the garden. Ingwion noticed he was still dressed in the grey tunic with the emblem of the fountain embroidered on it. The sight of this particular Vala on his knees pulling weeds was so incongruous that Ingwion just stood there in shock. The sense of shock increased when Nienna came from her workshop to see what her brother was doing and began criticizing him.

"Hmm. I don’t know why I let you do this, brother. You’re as hopeless as Glorfindel in the garden. You’ve just pulled up the nieninqui."

Námo looked at his sister with a combination of humor and dismay. "Is that what these are? I thought they were weeds." His voice sounded suspiciously like Glorfindel’s to Ingwion’s ear and that was even more shocking.

Nienna laughed at that and playfully swatted Námo on the head. "Just for that, it’s kitchen duty for you tonight."

"Yes, Lady," the Lord of Mandos said, speaking in his own voice, his eyes twinkling with merriment, but Ingwion had the most uncomfortable feeling that Námo had spoken those words with all sincerity.

"And put the nieninqui back where you found them," was Nienna’s parting shot, as she returned to her workshop to oversee Niélë’s project (Ingwion still hadn’t figured out what it was).

"Yes, Lady," Námo said with a fond smile for his sister and returned to replanting the nieninqui. Without looking up he said, "Close your mouth Ingwion and come over here and give me a hand."

The ellon gave a start and then realized that Tiutalion was no longer with him. He was alone with the Lord of Mandos, who was still kneeling in the dirt and replacing the flowers he had dug up. Ingwion walked into the garden and reluctantly knelt beside Námo who pointed to one of the plants lying on the ground.

"Put it here, will you?" the Vala requested.

Ingwion complied, feeling stunned. This was the last thing he thought he would be doing, helping the Lord of Mandos in Lady Nienna’s garden. "Lord, why are you here?" he asked, his tone one of complete confusion.

Námo gave the ellon an odd smile and said. "I lost a bet with my sister."

Ingwion could feel his universe tipping precariously sideways. "A... a bet?"

Námo nodded with equanimity as he continued replacing the nieninqui.

"Er... do you... lose often?" Ingwion asked in a slightly strangled voice.

The Vala laughed. "Almost never, but when I do...."

Just then one of the Maiar came along the covered walk from the kitchen and approached them, smiling at the sight of Námo and Ingwion together. Námo noticed the Maia’s amused look and smiled. "Yes, Aiwendilmë, is there something you wish to tell me?"

"Only to remind you, Námo, that when you’re peeling the potatoes, not to make them into ... er... inappropriate shapes."

"I will be the soul of propriety," Námo said virtuously.

Aiwendilmë merely laughed as she continued along the covered walk. "That’s what you said the last time."

The Lord of Mandos gave Ingwion a smirk and winked. Ingwion just stared at him. "You... you’ve done this before?"

"Hmm, yes," the Vala said with a distracted air as he made sure all the nieninqui were properly replanted.

"But... but.. it’s so menial... and you’re... I mean..."

Námo gave the ellon a grave look. "Child, nothing done with love is ever menial." He stood up and brushed the dirt from his hands and tunic. "Now come. Those potatoes won’t peel themselves, you know."

Ingwion had to almost run to catch up with the Vala’s longer strides. "What did she mean... er.. about inappropriate shapes, Lord?"

Námo gave the elf a rueful look as they walked along one side of the covered walk towards the kitchens that looked east and south. "The last time I peeled the potatoes I got a little... bored."

Ingwion stopped and found himself sniggering at the sudden image those words evoked and then he was laughing. "You didn’t?" he asked in shocked surprise.

Námo put a finger to Ingwion’s lips. His expression went dark but his eyes were still bright with merriment. "If you tell anyone outside this house, I will personally acquaint you with the Doom of Mandos."

Ingwion gulped, but before he could respond to Námo’s threat, Tiutalion came across the garden towards where they were standing. He held a pile of table linens in his arms. "Ah, Námo, you’re on your way to the kitchen, aren’t you?"

Námo nodded. "Yes, we are."

"Good," Tiutalion said as he proffered the pile of linens to the Vala. "Would you put these in the linen cupboard on your way there?"

Námo accepted the linens. "Of course, Tiutalion. That’s the cupboard to the left, isn’t it?"

"Yes, thank you," the Maia started to turn away, then stopped. "Oh, and Námo, see that Ingwion’s hands are clean before he starts peeling the potatoes."

"Why am I peeling potatoes?" Ingwion asked, feeling a bit put-upon. "I’m not the one who lost the bet. Couldn’t I just... watch?"

Námo and Tiutalion shared a look that the ellon could not interpret. Námo regarded Ingwion in such a way that the elf felt as if he hadn’t any clothes on. "Child, you’re not listening."

Now Ingwion paled at that and when Námo placed the linens in his arms, he did not object. Námo pointed down the walk. "The cupboard on the left. I’ll meet you in the kitchen."

Ingwion nodded and made his way to the cupboard without another word, embarrassment written all over him. He put the linens away and then continued to the kitchen where Námo was waiting for him, peeler in hand. He pointed to a sink that was against one wall and Ingwion went and washed his hands, drying them on a scrap of cloth before joining Námo at the table where a pile of potatoes awaited them. Námo handed him the peeler.

"Ever use one of these before?" the Vala asked in a conversational tone as he picked up a second peeler. Ingwion shook his head. Námo nodded as he took a potato and began to expertly peel it. "It’s really not too hard. Hold the potato like this and peel in this direction." He demonstrated and then encouraged Ingwion to give it a try.

The elf was clumsy at first, but soon he was peeling the potatoes almost as fast as Námo. They sat there in silence, Ingwion too shocked by everything to venture a conversation. Námo, for his part, ignored the ellon and concentrated on his task. As they sat there peeling away, the head cook approached them.

"Ah, Námo, I see you have a helper this time. Not teaching him any bad habits are we?"

The cook laughed and Námo joined in. "He has enough bad habits as it is, Marilliën, without my teaching him mine."

Marilliën nodded. "You’ll be serving as well?"

Námo smiled. "That’s the bargain. I think Ingwion would like to help as well, wouldn’t you?" The Vala gave the ellon an enquiring look.

Ingwion could only nod, looking nonplused, afraid to actually say anything. The cook smiled at him and told them to carry on. "I’ll see if I can find appropriate livery for you, Ingwion," she said as she continued on to another part of the kitchen.

For a while Ingwion and Námo sat in silence until the ellon found the courage to make an observation. "They don’t give you your proper title, Lord," he said quietly, almost hesitantly, as if he might be treading on dangerous ground with his words.

Námo gave Ingwion a brief smile. "All part of the game, child. The Maiar are joyfully obeying my sister’s orders not to treat me as anything but the newest member of the staff."

Ingwion wrinkled his brow in concentration even as he picked up another potato and began peeling it without conscious thought. "So... you’re just pretending to be one of Lady Nienna’s servants?"

Námo shook his head. "No, child. This is no pretense and I’ll tell you something else." He bent his head closer to Ingwion and whispered, "Sometimes I let myself lose a bet just so I can have the pleasure of submitting myself to one of my fellow Valar in this manner."

Ingwion just stared at him in shock. Pleasure? In peeling potatoes!?

"And washing dishes, cleaning out horse stalls, working the bellows in the smithy, pulling weeds, and a host of other so-called menial tasks."

"But... but why?"

"Because I love them, child, and this is one way that I show them the depth of my love: by joyfully serving them." Námo pointed his peeler at the potato in Ingwion’s hand. "You missed a spot."

****

It turned out that Nienna had guests for dinner. One of them was Olwë of Alqualondë come to view Niélë’s progress on her project. What exactly the project was, Ingwion could never figure out, nor did anyone bother to enlighten him. It was frustrating, to say the least, but obviously it was something to which he was not to be privy, at least for the moment, so he tried his best to ignore the conversation at the table as he was serving.

The other guest was none other than Lord Aulë, who apparently would oversee the next phase of the mysterious project.

When it came time to serve, Marilliën brought Ingwion a tabard, dark grey with the fountain embroidered on it. It felt strange to be wearing it at first, and Ingwion was a bit self-conscious as he entered the dining room behind Námo, bearing a tray. He was afraid Niélë might laugh, and certainly Olwë would find it amusing.

He needn’t have worried. Niélë never looked up from her plate, shy before King and Valar; Olwë never blinked an eye, not even at Námo passing out bread, but continued his conversation with Lord Aulë and Lady Nienna as if he were used to seeing one of the Aratar serving him dinner every day of the week.

It was a new experience for the ellon, though he remembered doing something similar as a page in his atar’s court when he was an elfling, but that had been so long ago, he had quite forgotten about it. He vaguely recalled how proud he had felt to have successfully served his beloved atar and king and the joy he had experienced. Perhaps if he kept that in mind, he told himself, then the evening would pass more pleasantly for him. His nervousness and general embarrassment, though, proved his undoing.

It was his duty to serve the soup. As he started to set the tray of bowls on the table he inadvertently caught Lord Aulë’s eye and sudden shyness took him and without realizing it he tried to bow to the Vala at the same time as he was putting down the tray and watched in horror as the steaming bowls slid gracefully off the tray right into Lord Aulë’s lap.

The Vala never moved. Nienna rolled her eyes. Niélë finally looked up from her plate long enough to take in what was happening before looking down again, but this time Ingwion had the feeling she was trying not to laugh. Olwë stared at Ingwion as if the ellon had suddenly sprouted a second head and Námo stood there laughing.

Ingwion let the now empty tray drop from nerveless fingers, the blood rushing from his head, and, feeling very sick, he fled the room, heedless in his shock as to his direction. He half expected someone to call him back but no one did and so he ran.

Aulë still hadn’t moved, but stared at the wet, steaming mess in his lap for another minute before looking up and giving Nienna a wry grin. "And I was so looking forward to the soup, too."

Now Námo slid to the floor in helpless laughter and Niélë held her napkin to her mouth as she suffered a coughing fit trying not to laugh before her betters. Nienna merely sighed and Olwë finally came out of his shock to make his own wry observation.

"Just as well," he said with a dry tone. "I never cared for mushrooms anyway."

"Oh for the love of Eru," Nienna protested with some exasperation. "Námo, get off the floor and make sure Ingwion is all right. Niélë, dear, stop trying to stuff that napkin down your throat and go find something to clean this mess up. And you two," here she glared at Aulë and Olwë, "I’ll deal with you two later. Now someone pass me the salt."

****

Ingwion ran through the cloister, mortified to the bone. How could he have done such a thing? Ever since coming here he had lost all confidence in himself. His atar would be sorely disappointed in him. He was rounding a corner when he ran into someone who grabbed him just in time to stop him from crashing to the ground. It was Tiutalion.

"Whoa there, youngster. Where are you going in such a rush?" the Maia asked as he took hold of the ellon’s shoulders to steady him.

"Let me go, let me go!" Ingwion struggled in Tiutalion’s hold but to no avail.

"Oh, good," Námo said as he came upon them. "You’ve saved me the trouble of looking for him. Here, let me have him, Tiutalion." The Maia handed the still struggling ellon over to Námo with some relief. The Vala placed a gentle hand on Ingwion’s head. "Hush, child, be still."

Ingwion ceased struggling, giving a sigh as he sagged bonelessly against Námo. Tiutalion looked on with a grin. "I take it dinner didn’t go as planned?"

"Not really," Námo said, returning the Maia’s grin. Then he turned his attention to Ingwion. "Let’s go back to the dining room. You left poor Niélë to clean up your mess."

Ingwion stifled a sob, shaking his head. "Hush now," Námo said. "No one thinks the less of you, least of all Lord Aulë." He released the ellon from his hold and made the elf face him. "Come along now. We still have three more courses to serve."

Ingwion looked at Námo in horror. How could he possibly.... He wasn’t even aware of being sick until he felt a cool cloth on his neck. Someone had conveniently placed a basin under him as he heaved, taking it away when the last of the spasms came to an end. Then a goblet was pushed under his nose.

"Drink this, Ingwion," Námo commanded softly and the ellon complied. The clear cool water brought him all the way back to himself and he was able to focus on his surroundings once again.

"I... I’m sorry..." he stuttered, still feeling weak. Námo helped him to stand, keeping a solicitous hand on his elbow.

"No need to apologize, child," the Vala said kindly. "I think the day’s events are finally catching up with you." He started back down the walk towards the dining room. Ingwion had no choice but to come with him. "I think we’ll keep you away from liquids for now and have you keep the table supplied with bread and cheese and such."

They entered the dining room where all seemed normal. Ingwion refused to look at anyone.

"I see you didn’t have to go too far, brother," Nienna said.

"Ingwion... er... ran into Tiutalion."

"Ah, such a helpful Maia," Nienna said in a rather dry tone. "I’ll have to think of a suitable reward. Now, why don’t we carry on? My guests haven’t come all this way just to sit at an empty table."

Námo gave Nienna the most respectful bow Ingwion had ever seen anyone give. "Yes, Lady. I’ve decided Ingwion will be in charge of the bread and cheese boards, if that meets with your approval."

"Please," Nienna said with a relieved nod. "I think we’ve all had enough excitement for the nonce.... Niélë, if you don’t wipe that smirk off your face I will teach you the true meaning of the word contrition from the inside out."

Nienna’s tone had turned so cold that Ingwion looked up from the shock of it to see Niélë turning dead white. Nienna gave the elleth a hard stare and, satisfied that she had gotten through, nodded and turned back to Námo. "You may serve the next course, brother."

Námo bowed again. "Of course, Lady. Come Ingwion, you can bring in the potatoes."

The rest of the evening passed in a fog for Ingwion as he continued helping Námo serve the table. He was given little opportunity to brood but he refused to look at anyone directly. Sometime between serving the pheasant and the salmon, Olwë stopped Ingwion from returning to the kitchen by pushing his chair back and taking hold of the ellon’s arm.

"Now you listen to me, elfling," the King of the Teleri said without preamble. "You act as if nothing like this has ever happened to you."

"It hasn’t," Ingwion muttered, still refusing to look anyone in the eye.

Olwë raised an eyebrow. "Well in that case, I’d say it’s long overdue."

Ingwion looked at the Telerin king in surprise. "What do you mean, sir?"

Olwë smiled. "Next time you see my grandson, you ask Findaráto to tell you about the time he was serving me at table and managed — the Valar only know how — to trip over his own feet, drop an entire tray of roast hens and then pull the tablecloth down over his head, along with everything else on the table. And he wasn’t an awkward elfling at the time, either. He was several yéni old by then."

"Wh-why was he serving at table?" Ingwion did not recall ever hearing this story about his cousin.

"His atar had banished him to Alqualondë for a season after he’d committed some minor infraction and acting as a page in my court was his punishment." Olwë smiled. "The other pages were absolutely merciless towards him. I think he cried for a week, but it taught him humility, if nothing else."

"And is that what this is all about, teaching me humility?" Ingwion asked in dismay, remembering the events that had occurred earlier in the day on the beach.

Olwë gave the ellon a surprised look, releasing his hold on Ingwion’s arm. "That’s for you to decide, youngster. I think that the only lesson this evening should teach you is not to bow while holding a tray full of soup."

Ingwion blushed at the implied reprimand, then bowed to Olwë before returning to the kitchen to get the next dish to be served. When the interminable dinner was finally over, Nienna led her guests and Niélë to the workshop while Námo and Ingwion cleared the table and then helped with the washing up. Neither spoke the whole time except for Námo’s quiet instructions to the elf.

When the last dish had been washed, dried and put away, Námo took Ingwion by the shoulders and forced the ellon to look at him. "You’ve been sulking all evening, child," Námo said gently. "I don’t like my people sulking. If you are to be my apprentice..."

"YOUR WHAT!?"

"Calm down, Ingwion," Námo commanded with a hint of annoyance and Ingwion stood there, shock written all over him. "Yes, my apprentice. What do you think all this has been about, anyway?"

"But... but... I don’t want to be your apprentice!" Ingwion went white and put a hand on his mouth as soon as he spoke the words, wishing he could call them back. He stared at the Vala in horror, waiting for something terrible to happen. It did, but not the way he expected: Námo grinned.

He felt himself trembling uncontrollably at the sight of the Lord of Mandos smiling. "Child, what you want does not enter into it. What you need does."

"Wh-what do I need?" Ingwion asked in a small voice.

Námo reached over and kissed the ellon gently on the forehead. "For the moment... you need to feel secure. Nienna will see to that for the nonce. Beyond that..." Námo shook his head and gave the ellon a rueful smile. "It’s been a long day, child. I think you should go to sleep. Tomorrow will give you a different perspective on things." He reached over and gave Ingwion another kiss on the forehead.

Suddenly, the elf felt incredibly tired and stifled a yawn. Námo hid a grin. "Go to bed, child. When you are ready to listen, I will be here to speak to you. Until then, good night."

Ingwion could never afterwards remember how he got to his bedroom but within minutes he was undressed and snuggling into his bed. The idea of being Lord Námo’s apprentice... and what would he be doing, anyway? Ushering the dead into Mandos?

He had trouble coming up with any suitable answers and before long he had drifted onto the Path of Dreams where he spent the night welcoming the fëar of dead elves while Lord Námo stood by beaming and saying, "He’s my apprentice, he’s my apprentice," over and over again. By the time Ingwion struggled awake the next morning he was ready to kill the damn Vala and send him to his own Halls.

****

Nieninqui: Plural of nieninquë: snowdrop; the Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin niphredil.

Aratar: The Supreme; a translation of the foreign word Máhani adopted and adapted from Valarin. Refers to the eight most powerful Valar, of which Námo is one. The others are: Manwë, Varda, Aulë, Yavanna, Ulmo, Oromë and Nienna.

Yéni: Plural of yén, an elvish century of 144 solar years.

Linguistic note: The word contrition comes from the Latin contritus, past participle of conterere, to crush, to wear down: com- + terere, to grind together.

86: Losing a Bet, Gaining an Apprentice

Lord Námo was not there when Ingwion made his way down for breakfast, for which he was grateful, not wanting to face the Vala after such a disturbing dream. Lord Aulë and King Olwë were also gone, taking Niélë with them. As usual, Ingwion spent the morning on the beach, but by noon another storm had arrived and he was forced indoors. Tiutalion warned him that with the coming of winter the storms would become more frequent and stay longer, and this particular one lasted several days.

During that time Ingwion thought over Lord Námo’s words. He was still unsure what the Vala had meant about being his apprentice. What exactly did one do as an apprentice to the Lord of Mandos? There was no real answer to that, so he eventually put it aside. Still, the idea would not let him go and he spent much of his time sitting on a bench in the cloister, idly watching the rain soaking the garden, and thinking.

His eyes often strayed to the spot where he had found Lord Námo supposedly weeding, remembering their conversation. Nothing done with love is ever menial. These words echoed through his mind and fëa throughout the day, and invaded his dreams at night.

By the third day he was tired of doing nothing and he sought out Lady Nienna who greeted him with a warm smile when he found her at her loom. "What can I do for you, child?" Nienna asked as she looked up from her weaving.

Now that it came down to it, Ingwion was suddenly unsure. He swallowed nervously and bowed to the Valië. "Is... is there aught that I can do, Lady?"

"What were you thinking, Ingwion?"

Now the ellon looked down, suddenly shy, "Wh-whatever you wish, Lady. Perhaps I could... weed the garden." It was the only thing he could think of at that moment.

"The garden, is it?" Lady Nienna’s voice was full of amusement. "And do you know anything about gardening?"

Ingwion looked up, the glint of mischief in his eyes. "At least I can tell the difference between nieninqui and weeds... unlike some people I know."

Nienna laughed outright at that and Ingwion had the strangest sensation of someone swatting the back of his head, although no one was behind him.

"Oromë was right, you are very insolent."

Ingwion blushed and tried to stammer an apology, but Nienna waved her hand in dismissal. "Child, you little realize how refreshing your attitude is compared to your fellow elves. Too many of your people practice deference towards us instead of honest respect, so we rejoice when we see it."

Ingwion stared at the Valië uncertainly. "I... I don’t understand, Lady."

Nienna gave the ellon a brief, almost sad, smile. "Too many of the Eldar yield to us in all things. They capitulate at every point, and abdicate their right to form their own opinions. They take what we consider to be mere suggestions on our part as law. When someone like yourself comes along, someone who stands up to us, even insults us, we rejoice, for you are showing us proper respect. You are taking ownership for your own opinions and ideas, questioning us as to our motives and intentions when we say a thing. In doing that, child, you allow us the freedom to act in authority over you."

"That doesn’t make sense, Lady," Ingwion said in confusion. "How can insulting you give you the right to have authority over me?"

"Not a right, Ingwion," Nienna said carefully. "A freedom. There’s a difference. When someone defers to us always, we cannot exercise true authority over them, we cannot create a mutual exchange of power that allows us to govern Arda in compliance to Eru’s will. All we can do is issue orders. That is not the purpose for which we were created."

Ingwion still looked unconvinced. "Think of it this way, child," Nienna finally said. "Your atar is the High King of all the Elves, but neither Arafinwë nor Olwë, both of whom are kings in their own right, have ever allowed Ingwë to lord it over them. I know for a fact that they have both respectfully told your atar off on more than one occasion, and rightly so."

Ingwion suddenly realized what the Valië was saying. High King of All the Elves his atar might be, but the other kings were not averse to calling his atar on the carpet over a matter if the situation warranted. He remembered one argument where Arafinwë had called Ingwë a ‘blithering idiot’. Ingwion had been shocked when his atar had laughed and agreed with him.

Nienna continued. "When any of you treat us, not as your masters, but as your peers, when you look us in the eye and tell us off, we rejoice, for it means we can properly fulfill our roles as Guardians. Trust me when I tell you that we do not enjoy issuing orders for you to follow blindly. We would much rather treat you —and be treated by you — if not as equals, at least as fellow creatures under the lordship of Eru."

The elf still wasn’t sure he fully grasped what the Valië was saying but nodded anyway, deciding to think about it later. Nienna nodded, guessing where the ellon’s thoughts were. "Well, regardless, you’re looking for something to do," she said briskly, returning them to the original topic. "The garden’s a bit wet, so we will ignore that for now." Nienna thought for a moment. "Perhaps you would like to sweep the cloister walk. There’s a besom in the storage cupboard. Tiutalion can show you where it is and show you where to put the rubbish."

"Sweep the cloister walk," Ingwion repeated somewhat doubtfully. "All of it."

Nienna arched an eyebrow. "That’s the general idea."

Ingwion nodded, paling a little at the implied reprimand in the Valië’s tone and bowed, leaving to find Tiutalion, who happened to be standing just outside the room with a besom in hand. The Maia said not a word but pointed to a place where Ingwion could put any rubbish, mostly dead leaves, and left him to it. For a moment Ingwion stared at the broom, then sighed and began to sweep the walk.

It took him some time to cover the entire walk and he was somewhat awkward with the broom at first, but after awhile he managed to find a rhythm in his movements that seemed to act as counterpoint to the drip-drip of the rain. He found it immensely soothing and he lost all sense of time, so he was surprised when Tiutalion called to him.

"You’ve done very well, Ingwion," the Maia said, coming up the walk. "Why don’t you stop? It’s almost time for lunch."

"Lunch?" Ingwion asked in surprise, for truly it hadn’t felt that long since he started sweeping.

After lunch, Tiutalion came to him and asked him if he was up to doing something else. Ingwion shrugged, not really caring since he had no other plans. The Maia led him to a room on the upper floor. It was a library. Ingwion stood in the door mesmerized, for he had no idea the room even existed. It was obvious that the room was little used, for dust lay heavy on the few pieces of furniture and covered the shelves. Also, a cursory glance showed that many of the books were jammed onto the shelves in a somewhat haphazard manner. Tiutalion gave the ellon a smile.

"Lady Nienna has been meaning to restore this room. Perhaps you would like to help."

Ingwion nodded and Tiutalion pointed to a bucket and some rags. "Don’t try to do it all at once. Take your time. There’s no rush. If you need anything else let me know." With that the Maia left and Ingwion picked up a rag and began to attack the dust with more enthusiasm than sense and was soon sneezing himself silly. After that, he concentrated on one small area at a time, starting from the door and working his way into the room. As with the sweeping he soon lost himself to the rhythm of the task and was surprised when Tiutalion came in and ordered him to stop and get cleaned up for dinner.

Sitting at table with Lady Nienna, Ingwion described his day with much enthusiasm, though he kept yawning throughout his narrative. Nienna hid a smile.

"You’ve done very well on your first day," she said. "If you wish you may continue working in the library and I might find you some other tasks as well, but do not spend all your time there, child. The storm will pass over tonight and tomorrow should dawn fair. Take some time to relax. It’s too cold for swimming but the beach is still accessible."

"Yes, Lady," Ingwion said and then excused himself, for he could not stop yawning and decided to make it an early night. Nienna let him go with a satisfied smile.

"How long do you think his enthusiasm will last, sister mine?"

Nienna looked up at her brother sitting in the chair Ingwion had just vacated. She shrugged and handed him a cup of tea. "We’ll have to see, but I don’t think it will last past a week, myself."

"Would you like to place a wager on that?" Námo asked slyly.

Nienna laughed. "Only if you intend on losing again. Tiutalion misses giving you orders."

Námo smirked but didn’t say anything as he sipped his tea.

****

Besides working in the library, Ingwion found that other tasks were assigned to him arbitrarily (or so it seemed). The next morning after breakfast he was all set to tackle the library again when Aiwendilmë approached him and told him that Lady Nienna wished for him to help in the kitchen. He little liked it but realized he had no choice in the matter so he went and found himself spending half the morning elbow deep in dough and the other half elbow deep in suds. By the time lunch came around he was exhausted and had no desire to work in the library. Nienna took one look at him and told him in no uncertain terms to spend the rest of the afternoon on the beach.

That suited him just fine at first but it really was getting too cold to stay there long, so after about an hour he returned to the house and went to his room and read quietly until dinner.

The next few days he did spend in the library and it was beginning to take shape, but periodically he was called away from his task to do something else, something that was even more menial than removing the dust from books and getting on his hands and knees to wash the grime from the flagged floor. He tried not to mind, but he enjoyed his time working in the library and began to resent the time taken away for other seemingly pointless tasks.

Then, one morning he woke to find all his clothes missing and hanging in the wardrobe was a light grey ankle-length tunic and a dark grey surcoat with Nienna’s emblem of the fountain embroidered on it. He stared at the outfit in consternation for the longest time, fearful of what it meant. Eventually, though, he put it on since the only other alternative was to walk around in his nightshirt. He was standing in front of the mirror gazing at his image and suddenly he was crying for no particular reason that he could fathom.

The weeping did not last long and he wiped his eyes and left the room, unsure how he was supposed to feel now. He was almost grateful that Lady Nienna did not make any comments about his change in garb.

"The library is coming along well," Nienna said to him as he helped himself to some breakfast from the sideboard. "I think, however, I would like you to spend today in the kitchen. Marilliën will let you know what needs doing."

"Yes, Lady," he said quietly as he sat down to eat, though in truth he had no appetite. He was beginning to regret ever having made the offer to help out in the first place and any joy he had initially felt about doing a task had long evaporated. Nienna gave him a shrewd look, which he did not see, but did not comment, merely wishing the ellon a good morning as she left the dining room.

When he reached the kitchen, Marilliën handed him a scrub brush and a pail of soapy water. "Floor needs a good scrubbing as well as the tables."

Ingwion nodded and got to work. It was backbreaking and tedious and the pail of water seemed to get heavier every time he emptied it out and replaced it with clean water. He was hot and sweaty before he was half done and took a moment to catch his breath. It was while he was kneeling there that he inadvertently caught a distorted image of himself in the reflection of a gleaming pot. His hair was disheveled and his clothes were soaked. He did not recognize himself as haryon in the grey tunic and surcoat. He wondered briefly what his atar would say if he could see him kneeling on the kitchen floor with a scrub brush in his hand, surrounded by a puddle of suds.

Suddenly, it was as if he were seeing himself as he truly was and hated himself for it. His attempts to imitate Lord Námo’s acts of selfless love were nothing but a pretense on his part, he realized. He stared down at his chapped hands and broken fingernails, hands that until recently had been smooth and well manicured, and tears of shame flowed down his face. He wasn’t a prince anymore but neither was he a credible servant. The surcoat he wore was a lie and there was no sincerity in him.

"Now you’re being too hard on yourself, child."

Ingwion looked up to see Lord Námo standing there, a look of concern on the Vala’s face. The elf noticed that the Lord of Mandos was still wearing Nienna’s surcoat and wondered if he was even now acting as one of Nienna’s servants. That thought just made his own situation seem worse. The ellon shook his head in dismay.

"I don’t w-want to be your ap-apprentice," he stammered through his tears. "I don’t... I don’t." He started rocking himself and covered his face with his hands.

Námo sighed and, ignoring the fact that the floor was wet, knelt before the weeping ellon and gathered him into his embrace. He called softly for Marilliën, who appeared, looking concerned.

"I think we should have some privacy, Marilliën," Námo said quietly. "Tiutalion should stay, though."

The Maia bowed. "It will be as you say, Lord." Then she faded away and soon Vala and Elda were alone, Ingwion still weeping, though his tears had begun to slow. Tiutalion appeared and brushed a gentle hand over the ellon’s head in an attempt to comfort him and gave Námo a wry look.

"I’m surprised it took him this long to break down," he said quietly. "I have a feeling My Lady forced the issue a bit." He nodded at the tunic and surcoat Ingwion was wearing.

Námo gave the Maia a brief smile. "My sister generally knows what she’s doing," he conceded, then turned his attention to the elf and sighed again. "Ingwion, it’s much too late for tears. Come. There’s nothing to fear here. Let’s get up off this floor. Tiutalion will make us some tea and we will talk."

Tiutalion helped Ingwion up and gave him a brief hug. Námo gracefully rose from his crouch, his tunic now dry. He led the ellon to a trestle table and made him sit while Tiutalion bustled about putting together the tea. Námo then took a bowl of warm water and placed it in front of the elf.

"Wash your face, my prince," he commanded quietly. Ingwion cringed slightly at the title but otherwise said nothing as he complied with the Vala’s orders, taking the towel Lord Námo proffered to dry himself with. The ellon was dimly aware that he no longer felt wet but it didn’t quite register that his tunic was now dry as well.

Tiutalion was soon back at the table with the tea. Námo sat down across from Ingwion and made him drink a cup, then poured him another before speaking. Ingwion never looked up, but sat there in dejected silence. Tiutalion stayed in the background.

"You’ve been trying too hard at something you’re not very good at... yet," Námo said without preamble.

"Wh-what am I not good at?" Ingwion whispered.

"Humility."

Ingwion looked up. Námo gave him a wry smile. "Arrogance comes easily to the Eldar; humility is something that has to be practiced."

"I’m not arrogant!" Ingwion insisted.

Tiutalion gave an involuntary snort. Námo raised an eyebrow. "You’re not?" he said disbelievingly. "You were fairly arrogant to Glorfindel when he first arrived in Vanyamar, and if your little stunt in throwing the knife at Lord Manwë’s feet wasn’t arrogant, what was it?"

Ingwion had the grace to blush. Námo nodded. "When you take oath to me..."

Ingwion stood up so suddenly in alarm he knocked his bench over. "I’ll never take oath to you! Never!"

Then he pulled the surcoat over his head and let it drop to the ground and stalked away, suddenly tired of the Valar and their manipulations and schemes and overbearing manner. He was through with it and them. Obedience... respect... humility. Words, that’s all they were and he was tired of having his inadequacies thrown in his face by beings who could apparently do no wrong and never made a mistake... and they had the gall to tell him which way was up!

He never made it to the door.

"Ingwion, come back here." Lord Námo didn’t raise his voice, but then he didn’t have to. The cold menace in his tone was enough to freeze the ellon’s blood and stop him dead in his tracks. He did not turn around, though, but struggled against the Vala’s bidding. "Now." That last command could not be safely ignored and with a stifled sob and a low-muttered curse, he complied and returned to stand in front of the Vala, defiance written all over him. Námo’s face darkened and the temperature in the room dropped even more so that Ingwion stood there shivering slightly. For a long moment silence reigned between Vala and Elda as a battle of wills ensued, but eventually Ingwion was forced to capitulate and found himself kneeling before the Lord of Mandos weeping again.

"I d-don’t want to b-be your apprentice, I don’t, I don’t," he insisted through his tears. He felt Lord Námo’s hand on his head, stroking his hair gently and, in spite of himself, he felt calmer almost immediately.

"Would it help to know that I don’t want you to be my apprentice either," Námo said quietly.

That brought Ingwion up short and he looked up at the Vala in surprise. "Y-you don’t?"

Námo gave the ellon a wintery smile. "No, I don’t, but I will take you as my apprentice nonetheless, though Eru knows we both will probably regret it before too long." This last was said with a long-suffering sigh and Ingwion wondered at that.

"Th-then why..."

Now Námo’s smile became more genuine, though somewhat rueful. "I lost a bet with Lord Manwë."

Ingwion was on his feet, staring at Námo in shock. "You... you lost a bet... over me?"

The Lord of Mandos looked at the ellon standing there gulping like a beached fish and amusement returned to his eyes once more. "Yes, Ingwion, over you. Would you care to hear about it?" At the ellon’s nod, Námo gestured at the surcoat still lying on the floor. "Then put that back on and sit down." Ingwion complied, though with obvious reluctance and distaste as he pulled the surcoat back over his head. Námo poured more tea and for a moment neither spoke. Finally, Námo broke the silence.

"It was the day you came storming through Valmar like my brother Tulkas in a temper. Lord Manwë was sure that you would accuse us of complicity in Glorfindel’s disappearance. I had more faith in you and said that you would not be so... stupid." Ingwion went first white with mortification and then red with embarrassment. Námo smiled knowingly. "Lord Manwë placed a wager and I accepted." He gave Ingwion a deprecating shrug. "I lost."

"On purpose?" Ingwion ventured somewhat fearfully.

Now Námo actually chuckled. "No, child. This is one of the rare times when I truly lost the bet."

Ingwion looked down at his teacup, not sure how to respond to that. The idea that the Valar placed bets on how he and others acted was unnerving and he began to resent being the object of one of their games.

"Not a game, child," Námo said. "We never know for sure which way you Children will go. Placing bets on the outcome of a given situation is just our way of enjoying the process of learning about you. You are an endless source of fascination for us, Ingwion, and believe it or not, we actually enjoy being proved wrong by you on occasion. It keeps us from exhibiting too much false pride in our own dealings with you."

"So... what was the wager?"

"If I lost, I was to take you as my apprentice and train you."

"Train me to do what exactly?" Ingwion asked with some exasperation, wishing the Vala would get to the point.

"To act as our personal emissary to the elves of Tol Eressëa."

"Your what to who?" Ingwion stared at Námo in shock, not quite believing what he was hearing. "Why would you need me as an emissary? Isn’t that what the Maiar are for?"

"You are aware of the situation on Tol Eressëa." It was not a question but Ingwion nodded, for he had been privy to Arafinwë’s discussions with his atar about the state of affairs on the island. "The Tol Eressëans are lacking in true leadership while certain people remain in my keeping. Your atar, Arafinwë and Olwë are making plans to address that situation. We have decided to make our own plans as well."

Ingwion’s gaze became distant as he recalled certain conversations in his atar’s council chambers. He returned to the present to look at the Vala in confusion. "You want me to... govern Tol Eressëa for you?"

Námo shook his head. "No... we have someone else in mind for that role. Yours will be different... and probably more thankless." Here, he gave the ellon a warmer smile and there was genuine humor in his eyes. "Interested?"

For some several minutes Ingwion just sat there trying to assimilate everything he’d been told. It was a lot to take in, but it was intriguing nonetheless. He glanced up at Námo and gave the Vala a shrewd look. "What was the wager had I not been so... stupid?"

The Lord of Mandos leaned over and held Ingwion’s face between his hands. "It doesn’t matter, child," he said with all gentleness, "since it didn’t happen." Then he kissed him on the brow and released him, giving Ingwion a wry look. "Now, I understand you should be scrubbing the kitchen floor."

Ingwion nodded with a grimace.

"Care for some help?"

The Vanyarin prince gave the Vala a slow smile and nodded.

****

When Nienna wandered into the kitchen some time later she smiled to see her brother kneeling beside the Child as the two of them scrubbed the floor together. Tiutalion sat on one of the tables with a cup of tea in his hands, overlooking their work and pointing out all the spots that they had missed, while Námo and Ingwion traded insults with him.

****

Linguistic notes:

1. The words deference and respect seem to mean the same thing, but deference has the sense of "yielding to another, bowing (literally) to another’s will in all things", while respect literally means "to look back at", i.e. to look someone in the eye. Nienna makes this distinction clear in her talk with Ingwion.

2. The English word authority ultimately is derived from the Latin auctor: "creator, author". Thus, when true authority is administered it creates a bond of mutuality between the parties that allows one to administer power in freedom from servility on the part of the other.

3. While humility is derived from the Latin humilis "lowly", literally "on the ground" from humus "earth", the connotation Lord Námo gives to the word means "lacking in false pride".

87: The Servant-Prince’s Oath

Lunch was delayed by Ingwion’s breakdown, but no one minded. Afterwards, Lord Námo encouraged the ellon to go down to the beach for a while and get some fresh air.

"The winter storms will only worsen," the Vala said, "and soon you will not want to go out at all. Best to enjoy it while you can."

This time, much to Ingwion’s surprise, Tiutalion did not escort him, nor remind him, as he had always done in the past, that he must come when called. "I have better things to do than play nanny to you," the Maia said with a smile. "You can find your own way to the beach. Stay as long as you like, but if you miss dinner it’ll be your own fault."

Ingwion went, practically skipping down the steep stairs at the sudden freedom he’d been given. It was high tide when he went down and the pounding of the surf was all that could be heard. Ingwion idly began building a sandcastle, not really paying attention to anything in particular. Then, something made him look up and staring out into the ocean he espied a thing that literally took his breath away.

For a moment he stood there stunned, not sure what he was seeing, and then he was running to the rockfall and climbing as quickly as he could, quite forgetting in his excitement that it was forbidden to him. Yet, no sword-bearing Maia appeared and soon he was at the top. He did not, however, cast his eyes on the beach beyond, but looked back out to sea.

At first he thought he had lost sight of what he had seen earlier and sadness took him, but then a waterspout appeared, a large creature broke the surface, its huge tail coming up and slapping the surface of the sea with a resounding splash. Ingwion was mesmerized, wondering what sort of creature it was.

"They call themselves the Eärnyellor."

Ingwion turned suddenly at the voice behind him. Ulmo stood there calmly looking at the ellon.

"They?"

The Vala nodded towards the creature, now joined by several others, as it made its way southward. "They are the sea-shepherds and they have grave responsibility in guarding those who live within the oceans of Arda. Their songs are quite beautiful, though you would be unable to hear them."

Ingwion turned back to watch the impossibly huge creatures swim gracefully through the waters, plunging into its depths and then breaching. It was breathtaking and Ingwion felt something inside him soar at the sight of it. He felt Ulmo placing a hand on his shoulder and turned his head to see the Lord of Waters smiling benignly at him.

"I see you have accepted Námo’s offer of apprenticeship," Ulmo said.

Ingwion shook his head. "There was no offer, Lord. He just told me I was to be his apprentice."

"Yet you wear his sister’s emblem, which is the first step in being Námo’s apprentice."

Now Ingwion blushed. "Only because every stitch I own disappeared overnight and this was all that was left for me to wear."

Then Ulmo threw back his head and laughed and the sound of it was deep as the ocean and just as wild. "Nienna, Nienna, you are truly a wicked child."

Ingwion just stared at the Vala, not sure what was going on. Ulmo noticed the concerned and confused look on the ellon’s face and smiled warmly. "Well, regardless, I’m glad you have agreed. Lord Manwë’s been pushing our younger brother into taking an apprentice for some time now but Námo was adamant in his refusal to accept one. When you showed up the way you did that day, dripping with fury as well as with rainwater, Manwë saw the perfect opportunity to force the issue."

Ingwion looked back out to sea, thinking about that day: Lord Manwë’s initial refusal to see him and then the sudden capitulation. Lord Námo’s own reaction on seeing him...

"He said he didn’t want me to be his apprentice," Ingwion finally said.

"It would be more correct to say that he didn’t want to have any apprentice," Ulmo countered. "But what he wants isn’t necessarily what he needs."

Ingwion turned back to Ulmo in surprise. "He said the same thing to me."

Ulmo nodded reflectively. "Well, at least he’s learned something from this, and while you may not believe it, child, he does need you, more than you can ever guess."

Ingwion suddenly had the strangest feeling that there was more going on underneath the surface than he ever suspected. It had never occurred to him to think that the Valar themselves had a structure of society that enforced certain obligations upon them that they might find onerous, or at least unwelcome, much as was common with life among the Eldar. He found his own duties as haryon mostly enjoyable, but he did not always like some aspects of his role and the obligations such a role entailed. He could almost sympathize with Lord Námo.

"I will try my best to be obedient to Lord Námo’s word, Lord," Ingwion said.

Ulmo laughed. "But I hope not too obedient." When Ingwion gave him a quizzical look the Vala just laughed louder. "Child, I sincerely hope you make my brother’s life miserable. He’s getting much too complacent and needs a little shaking up and I think you’re just the elf to do it, too."

Ingwion wasn’t sure if he should take that as a compliment, and in the end, decided to ignore it. He was sure that there would be times when he would be less than sterling in his behavior as an apprentice, but he hoped he was mature enough to keep such lapses in manners to a minimum. He was still haryon to the High Kingship, whatever else he might be, and he wasn’t about to forget it. I just hope no one else does, he thought ruefully as he stared down at the emblem stitched on his tunic.

Ulmo divined his thoughts and placed a gentle hand on the ellon’s shoulder. "You know I am only teasing you and Námo," he said quietly. "I know that you will be good for each other and to each other. I have no fear for either of you on that account and I think you will find that being my brother Vala’s apprentice will not be as onerous as you might suspect. What others might think of the situation is their business and you should not be overly concerned. You are indeed haryon, but you are more than that. You are also a servant. The two are not incompatible. Indeed, one cannot truly be the one without being the other."

Ingwion nodded, feeling somewhat mollified by the Vala’s words. Ulmo bent down and kissed him on the forehead in benediction and then the elf was alone.

****

Returning from the beach sometime later, Ingwion made his way to his room and decided to nap. The emotions of the morning and their implications were catching up with him and he decided a short rest before dinner would not be amiss. He was surprised, therefore, to awaken to Tiutalion’s gentle shaking and to find that it was already dark outside.

"Wh-what time is it?" he asked blearily as he struggled out of bed.

"Time for you to get up, child. Your bath is waiting."

"Huh?" Ingwion’s head felt muzzy and he was not sure what the Maia was telling him.

Tiutalion merely led him to the bathing chamber and helped him out of his clothes. "I’ll have fresh clothing for you shortly."

With that, the Maia left and Ingwion climbed into the tub. Almost at once he began to feel more awake and aware of his surroundings. He must have been more exhausted than he originally thought. Soaking in the hot water brought him back to himself and by the time Tiutalion came back he was wide awake and busily drying himself off. The Maia handed him a freshly pressed grey tunic and surcoat.

Besides the fresh clothes, Tiutalion had also brought a small tray of food. "You missed dinner, but here is a light repast. You should eat it all as you’ll need your strength for the coming ceremony."

"Ceremony?" Ingwion asked. "What ceremony?"

"Well, in case you’ve forgotten, my prince," Tiutalion said with a grin, "this is the Merendë Andohrívëo."

"Oh, yes, of course," Ingwion nodded as he took a soft roll and began to eat it. "Sorry. I’ve quite forgotten what day it is anymore."

Tiutalion nodded his understanding and once Ingwion had finished his meal they made their way downstairs to the cloister where they found Nienna, Námo and Ulmo along with Nienna’s Maiar servants waiting for them. The night was lit only by starlight but the Valar and Maiar glowed faintly with their own light. Ingwion did too, though he was unaware of it.

Nienna gestured for Ingwion to join her and the other Valar by the fountain while the Maiar ranged around the covered walk. Some were even on the upper gallery looking down.

Nienna glanced around. "Tonight is the Merendë Andohrívëo, in which we celebrate the longest night of the year. Tomorrow, Light will return once more unto Arda in all its glory. Yet, darkness has its place and proper sphere, as well, and so we honor it tonight." She paused for a moment before continuing, casting a quick glance at her brother. "However, we will be dispensing with our usual ceremony. Instead, we will stand witness to Prince Ingwion taking oath to my brother Námo as his apprentice."

Ingwion went white at those words and Ulmo had to take his elbow and steady him. Intellectually the ellon knew that he would have to undergo an oathtaking, but he didn’t realize, or refused to consider, that he would be taking it so soon. He looked pleadingly at Lord Námo, but the Lord of Mandos shook his head and gave the ellon a sympathetic smile.

Nienna put a comforting arm around Ingwion’s shoulders. "Fear not, child!" she said softly. "You and my brother may both think you’ve been coerced into this but believe me when I tell you that all has been done in accordance to Eru’s will. My brother recognizes this, little though he likes it, and he accepts the situation joyfully in obedience to Ilúvatar. You must learn to do the same if you wish this experience to be fruitful rather than fearful."

"I will try, Lady," Ingwion whispered, not quite able to keep the tremor from his voice. Nienna gave him a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek before releasing him. Then she glanced at Námo, who stood there in darkling splendour. He was dressed in an ankle-length midnight blue velvet tunic with blue-grey squirrel fur trimming the tight sleeves and high neck. The front of the tunic was stiff with silver thread embroidery showing Telperion in full bloom with Isil above it. A belt of linked mithril inset with fire opals cinched the waist. His braided hair was crowned with a mithril coronet. There was a single large cut sapphire in the center of the coronet. It was the Vala’s only jewelry except for the gems in his hair.

"Come to me Ingwion, haryon of Eldamar," Námo intoned with the deepest gravity. Ingwion felt himself shaking as he took the few steps that separated him from the Vala and he hoped desperately he would not embarrass himself. Then, he was kneeling before Námo and his hands were being held by the Vala. Words formed in his mind, though he did not know whence they came, for he had never heard them before, and he found himself speaking them out loud.

"Here do I, Ingwion of the Vanyar, give unto thee my oath, that I will be obedient in all things, in hröa and fëa, to thy will, to come when thou sayest ‘come’, to go when thou sayest ‘go’, that I may be found acceptable in the eyes of Eru Ilúvatar as thy apprentice. Valar valuvar tenn’ Ambar-metta."

Then Námo was speaking and his voice was full of bells and there was the sense of Another speaking through him that sent shards of awe piercing Ingwion’s heart.

"Here do I, Námo, Lord of Mandos, accept your oath, Ingwion of the Vanyar, and I shall reward obedience with love and disobedience with patience, for I know you will falter in your resolve at times, Child of Ilúvatar, but in all things I shall remain faithful and you will know that I love you even when I must chastise you."

They were not the words Ingwion expected and he felt a tremor of fear rush through him, but then Námo was lifting him from his knees and giving him the kiss of liege lord to vassal and then he gave him one more kiss and for an eternal moment Ingwion felt the Other’s Presence more fully and completely.

He was unaware that he screamed in joy as divine ecstasy took him, nor was he aware of Námo holding him through the experience or that the other Valar and Maiar looked upon him with awe. Finally, the last wave of ecstasy rolled over him and he came back to himself to find that he was weeping softly in Námo’s arms while the Lord of Mandos crooned a soft lullaby, rubbing his back to will calmness. When at last his tears ceased and he was himself again, he sighed and found himself drifting towards sleep.

Then he felt Nienna take him from Námo’s embrace and place him in Tiutalion’s care and soon he was climbing into bed and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

****

He awoke to bright sunshine and Námo sitting patiently by his bed. "Good morning, yonya. Did you sleep well?"

Ingwion nodded, feeling suddenly shy and didn’t know where he should look as he struggled into a sitting position. He finally settled on staring at his lap. "Yes, thank you... er... Master." That sounded very strange and he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to it but knew that he would have to. He tried to keep in mind that his own cousin, Arafinwë, had been apprenticed to Lord Manwë and still called the Elder King "Master" at times.

Námo gave the ellon a smile, though Ingwion was too busy looking at his knees to notice. "I have something for you, my apprentice."

Ingwion looked up then, surprise and curiosity foremost in his expression. "Wh-what?"

"It is customary for a liege lord to gift someone on the occasion of their taking oath, so here is your gift." Námo leaned over and handed Ingwion a small box made of some dark wood unfamiliar to the elf. When Ingwion just sat there staring at the box, Námo chuckled. "You’re supposed to open it, son."

Ingwion started, as if suddenly coming to and blushed. "S-sorry." He picked up the box and opened it, gasping at what he saw within. It was a ring made from mithril and set with a ruby cabachon. Tengwar were etched into the band and Ingwion read them with care:

* Mápaimarinyanna * Ingwion * Herutyallo * Námo *

He looked up at the Vala, and smiled. "Thank you," he whispered, then put the ring on his left ring finger. As soon as the ring was on him he gasped, feeling a slight shock and the stone turned dark. Ingwion looked at Námo somewhat fearfully. Námo frowned slightly.

"That’s not supposed to do that," he said half to himself and Ingwion felt himself becoming alarmed, not knowing what was going on. Almost immediately several things happened at once. Nienna suddenly appeared, looking concerned. Námo stood up. "Guard him," he said and disappeared. Then, the room became impossibly small as several sword-bearing Maiar appeared, ringing the bed. Most had the emblem of the Elder King embroidered on their surcoat, while a few others wore the insignia of Tulkas. Ingwion sat frozen in bed, unsure what, if anything, he should do.

One thing, though....

He started to remove Námo’s gift-ring when Nienna stayed him. "Nay, child, remove not the ring. It is your only safety."

"Safety... from what?" he cried but the Valië either would not or could not answer. He stared around at the Maiar who stood facing outward. The ones nearest to him were grim of face, from what he could see of their profiles from his position. What, by all that’s holy, was happening?

Then the ruby brightened to its original color and Námo reappeared, but he was not alone.

".... and you could have warned me. He is my apprentice after all!" Námo was shouting at Manwë and Aulë who were both smiling at the irate Vala.

Ingwion sat there trying to peek between the Maiar to see what was going on. Námo looked rather put out and fumed before the Elder King and the Smith of the Valar while Manwë and Aulë grinned wickedly. Nienna, Ingwion noticed, merely rolled her eyes and gestured to the Maiar, who bowed to the Valar before disappearing. Ingwion wondered if he should try to get up and give his obeisance to Lord Manwë, although the thought of doing so in his nightshirt left him feeling embarrassed and he brought the bedclothes up under his chin instead.

"Now, Námo, there’s no harm done," Manwë said soothingly, but the Lord of Mandos was not ready to here such placating words.

"No harm! No harm?" the Vala shouted so loudly Ingwion had to cover his ears. "I’ll thank you to leave my apprentice alone. You had no right!"

Now Manwë’s humor fled and his visage darkened. "Take care, best beloved," he said quietly. "Right has nothing to do with it. We did what we thought best for the both of you." Somehow, Ingwion heard an echo of Another’s voice in the Elder King’s words and he was surprised to see Lord Námo actually pale and mutter an apology, giving Manwë a bow. Ingwion wasn’t sure if he didn’t prefer the Námo who was shouting to the one who stood there looking like a penitent elfling. That image of the mighty Vala was too disturbing for the elf.

However, by this time Ingwion had had enough. "Excuse me, my lords, but do you think you might remove yourselves and your argument from my presence so I can dress in private?" Ingwion spoke with as much imperious arrogance as he could muster, raising his eyebrow in the same manner as his atar whenever the High King had had enough of the pretensions of those around him.

All four Valar turned and looked at the Vanyarin prince in surprise at the tone of voice coming from the ellon sitting there with the bedclothes around him and suddenly all of them were laughing and everyone’s mood lightened. Manwë clapped Námo on the shoulder, his eyes twinkling with humor.

"He is indeed your apprentice, my brother. I wish you both joy in each other." With that, he and Aulë disappeared, leaving Ingwion alone with Námo and Nienna. The Valië gave her brother a look that the ellon could not interpret and without a word disappeared. Námo, he saw, was looking rueful.

"I’m sorry, child," the Vala said, sitting in the chair he’d vacated so quickly only moments before. "I was unaware that Lord Aulë gave your ring certain... properties when he made it for me."

"Wh-what sort of properties, Master?"

"When peril is imminent, the stone darkens in warning, returning to its original color when the danger has passed."

Ingwion stared at his ring, trying to understand. "It... it went dark when I put it on."

Námo nodded. "Yes. When you put the ring on for the first time it recognized you as its rightful owner and was... activated. Anyone else who wears the ring will not be able to use it as a warning against danger."

"Why did Lord Aulë..."

"Lord Manwë decided that you might need such protection when you eventually go to Tol Eressëa as our emissary." Here the Vala gave Ingwion a wry look. "The recent events prove that Tol Eressëa is an explosion waiting to happen. This ring, besides being a symbol of our relationship as master and apprentice, will also offer you warning of imminent peril, though it will not protect you from it. That will be up to you."

For a long moment, Ingwion stared at the ring and thought of the implications of the gift and the role he was expected to play from now on. Finally, he looked up and, giving the Vala a respectful bow of the head, said simply, "Thank you, Master. I will always treasure your gift."

"You’re welcome, child," Námo said with a smile.

Ingwion then gave the Vala a sly look. "Now... can I get dressed?"

Námo laughed as he disappeared, leaving Ingwion alone at last.

****

Eärnyellor: Plural of Eärnyello: Sea-Singer, i.e., the Humpback Whale.

Merendë Andohrívëo: Feast of Winter’s Gate, i.e., the Winter Solstice. The Summer Solstice was called Andolairë, or Summer’s Gate.

Opal: Symbol of faithfulness and confidence.

Sapphire: Symbol of wisdom and purity.

Valar valuvar tenn’ Ambar-metta: "The will of the Valar will be done unto World’s-End".

Ruby: Considered to be the most powerful gem in the universe. It was thought to grow darker when peril was imminent, and to return to its original color once danger was past—provided it was in the hands of its rightful owner! Given as a gift, the ruby is a symbol of friendship and love. It is also the symbol of royalty. It gives the wearer the ability to see things in a true and correct manner.

Mápaimarinyanna, Ingwion, Herutyallo, Námo: "Unto my apprentice, Ingwion, from your master, Námo". The English word apprentice ultimately is derived from the Latin verb apprehendere: "to apprehend", literally, "to seize or grasp (a situation)", thus I use the constructed word *mápaimar: mapa- "to grasp" + -ima "-able" (adjectival suffix) + -r (gender-neutral agental suffix) with lengthening of stem-vowel; literally, "one who is able to grasp (a concept)".

88: The Worth of Butterflies

As soon as Sador returned to Tirion, he kissed Eärwen and Amarië in greeting then practically ran all the way to Netilmírë’s workshop to find her and tell her all about his adventures. Netilmírë found herself being lifted off the ground and whirled about as Sador hugged her, finally putting her down only when she laughingly protested that he was making her dizzy.

"It’s good to see you, too, inyonya," she said between gasps as her great-grandson helped her to a bench in the workshop where she sat to catch her breath. She smiled at him and gave him her own more decorous, though no less heartfelt, hug. "Now, go make me some tea and then tell me all about it."

It took some time, of course, and Sador didn’t always tell things in strict chronological order in his excitement to tell her everything at once. Netilmírë was suddenly reminded of her daughter as an elfling trying to tell her and Voronwë a story. Her inability to tell one from beginning to end, but skipping all over the place, appeared to be an inherited trait. She smiled and gave the ellon another hug.

"It must have been very frightening for you, inyonya, to be in Lord Oromë’s presence," she finally said, having gleaned that much from the ellon’s tale. "I know he rarely invites any of the Eldar to his Hunts. That he allowed you to participate shows that he finds you exceptional even for one of us."

Sador nodded, looking suddenly shy and embarrassed. "Finrod and Atar say the same thing, but I... I don’t think I’m that exceptional."

Netilmírë brushed her hand through the ellon’s hair and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I do, best beloved." Sador blushed but looked pleased nonetheless.

Later, when he had returned to the palace, Arafinwë summoned him to his study. The Noldóran smiled as the ellon came in.

"Did you have a good visit with your anammë, yonya?"

Sador nodded with a shy smile. "I still can’t get used to the idea that she’s... and Lord Námo never told me!"

Arafinwë had to laugh at the ellon’s affronted tone. "I think the Valar enjoy surprising us every once in a while."

"I wasn’t surprised... I was floored!"

Arafinwë laughed even harder at that and Sador found himself joining him. "Well, come and sit and we will talk," the King said once they had calmed down. "I wish to discuss your trip to Tol Eressëa."

Sador went immediately still and began fingering his one remaining braid. Arafinwë nodded knowingly. "You still have nightmares, don’t you?"

"How did..."

"I haven’t raised four children of my own without recognizing the signs, Sador," Arafinwë said quietly and Sador paled somewhat at that. Arafinwë leaned over and patted him on the knee. "I will not press, but I do want you to know that I am here, as are Eärwen and Netilmírë, if you need us. Don’t think you have to do this alone, hinya."

"I... I wasn’t really frightened until I saw... he was going to cut off my ear... and... if the Maia hadn’t come, I might... I might...."

Arafinwë rose and took the ellon into his arms and held him tightly, rocking him gently and crooning something soft and comforting, though he spoke no real words. Sador wept and once started could not seem to stop. He clung to Arafinwë as to a lifeline but eventually his sobbing lessened and the tears slowed. He felt at peace, floating gently in an ocean of love as Arafinwë continued holding him. So quiet had it become that Sador felt himself almost falling asleep. He sighed deeply and cuddled closer into Arafinwë’s arms, enjoying the feeling of being ‘safe’. Eventually, though, he came back to himself and stepped out of Arafinwë’s embrace. His atar smiled at him.

"Feeling better?"

Sador nodded and Arafinwë kissed him on the top of his head before releasing him entirely. "Ingwë and I will be having further discussions about what is happening on Tol Eressëa," he said as they resumed their seats. He poured out some wine for them both. "I also plan to speak to Olwë about it as well. We need to address what is happening, what has happened. Too long have we of Aman ignored our brethren, consigning them to further exile by our indifference and neglect."

"I liked it there," Sador said quietly, staring at his goblet of wine, so he did not see Arafinwë’s expression. "As soon as I heard Sindarin being spoken all around me it was as if a great weight had lifted from my shoulders. I hadn’t realized until then what a strain it is, thinking in a language that isn’t my own."

"I know it’s been a difficult adjustment for you, yonya," Arafinwë acknowledged. "More so than for Glorfindel or even Findaráto. I think you’ve done remarkably well in the short time you’ve been here." He grinned. "So, did you like my little gift?"

Sador looked up for a moment, then blushed, murmuring a soft ‘thank you’ as he cast his eyes back down in embarrassment. Arafinwë nodded but did not pursue it any further. "I’m glad," he said gently. "It belonged to my daughter when she was an elfling."

Sador looked up again in wonder. "L-lady Galadriel?"

Arafinwë nodded. "I don’t think she will mind if you... borrow it for a while."

Sador hugged himself mentally. He had something that belonged to the Lady! He had never seen her, or her lord, but they had always been in the background of his life, first in Doriath, and then at the Havens. Their presence had always been felt even if not seen. He idly wished he could share the toy with his little sister, but at that thought he knew with sudden clarity that, if she were still alive, she would be older than he now. That revelation unnerved him and he stood up and ran out into the garden. Arafinwë, not understanding the cause of the ellon’s flight, followed him in alarm, finally catching up with him by one of the fountains where Sador had collapsed in tears.

"Yonya, whatever is the matter?" he asked and gathered Sador into his arms to try to comfort him, though the younger elf just wept the harder.

"Sh-she’s older than I am now... if... if she’s even a-alive," he stammered through his tears.

Arafinwë sighed and silently cursed Lord Námo for... well, he wasn’t quite sure what he should blame the Lord of Mandos for, though being the cause of Sador’s misery might be a good start. Sador needed answers and no one would give them to him. Arafinwë ached for the child in his arms. Lord Námo apparently was willing to allow the ellon to suffer in misery with the not knowing. How was this near-elfling to move on if he could not let go of the past for fear of losing even the little of his family that he had in memory?

Even as he was reflecting on these things he felt a shimmer in the air that always bespoke of one of the Valar making their presence known. He half expected Lord Námo to appear and was mildly surprised (and even disappointed) when he didn’t. Instead, before him stood one he never thought to see in his own gardens smiling at him with deep radiance.

He bowed as well as he could, considering that he still had a weeping ellon in his arms. "Lady, you honor us with your presence."

"And you were hoping for more prestigious company, weren’t you Pityahúnya?" Vána replied with a laugh, her hazel eyes dancing with mirth at the elf’s obvious discomfort. She was dressed simply in a spring green linen gown with only the barest amount of embroidery upon the hem. A wreath of niphredil and elanor entwined graced her auburn locks. Her feet were bare.

Taking Sador from Arafinwë, Vána cradled his head between her breasts. Sador had in the meantime stilled his weeping as the presence of the Valië impacted upon his consciousness. She looked down at him and gave him a kiss on the top of his head.

"Greetings, child. I am Vána, Oromë’s lady. You must not weep so, my beloved. All is well, truly. You must be patient. Everything happens for a reason." Then she looked at Arafinwë, her demeanor more sober, but the mirth still lingered in her eyes. "And you, Pityahuan, should know better, should you not?"

Arafinwë bowed again. "As you say, Lady," he replied respectfully.

Vána gave the Noldóran a knowing look. "Do not be angry at my brother, Arafinwë. Námo is as grieved as you that this child is bereft, but knowledge is a dangerous thing sometimes and it is best that Sador not know his family’s fate."

"B-but it’s MY family!" Sador practically shouted, pulling himself out of Vána’s embrace and facing her with anger. "Mine! I have a right to know what happened to them."

"No, child..."

"I DIED FOR THEM! That gives me the right!" He moved away, evading Arafinwë’s attempt to stop him. "I hate you, I hate all of you," he said in a hoarse whisper as he ran further into the garden, heedless of his path or the hurt in Arafinwë’s eyes.

Vána placed a hand on Arafinwë’s arm. "Do not be downcast, beloved. He speaks words he does not believe, in careless anger and hurt. It is we whom he hates at this moment, not you."

Arafinwë shook his head. "I don’t think he hates even the Valar, Lady. I think he hates the not knowing more and there is nothing any of us can do to help him."

Vána smiled then. "Of course there is, Arafinwë. Why do you think I’m here? My lord looks kindly upon the child and wishes to assuage his grief, if that is possible."

"Only by telling him the truth can that happen, I fear, Lady," Arafinwë countered.

Now Vána’s expression darkened to something undefinable. "He doesn’t want truth, Arafinwë, do you not yet see that?"

Arafinwë looked at the Valië in confusion. "I don’t understand. Why..."

She smiled again. "He fears the truth, or rather, he fears what might be the truth. What he is looking for is reassurance that his death was not in vain, that he didn’t die for nothing. He wants to know that dying was the only thing that would have saved his sister, the only option left open to him."

"Option?"

Vána nodded, looking sadly in the direction which Sador had fled. "He thinks he has no other worth in Eru’s eyes than to be a sacrifice for his sister’s life, that he was born for the sole purpose of being killed in her stead."

Arafinwë gasped at the implications of Vána’s words and felt dizzy for a moment. He wasn’t surprised to find himself being assisted into a chair that hadn’t existed before then. "Take a deep breath, child, and let it out slowly," Vána said quietly, rubbing his back until he felt the world righting itself and he could think clearly again.

The Valië smiled sadly down at him. "Now you understand why he cannot know what her fate ultimately was, at least not yet."

Arafinwë could only nod, not trusting himself to speak. Then, Vána bent down and kissed the top of his head. "You will be all right if I leave you now, hinya?"

"Go, Lady. I am well. Find Sador and give him what comfort you may. I fear I am inadequate to the task."

"No, Pityahuan," she said softly. "Never inadequate, just not the one he needs at the moment." Then she was gone and Arafinwë was left alone.

****

Sador ran heedlessly through the garden, nearly blind with tears, anger and sorrow warring within him. He finally stopped only when he found himself facing a high brick wall and suddenly realized he had no idea where he was. He was in an unfamiliar part of the garden. Looking about he saw he was alone. Only butterflies kept him company, floating in the late afternoon air above the honeysuckle climbing the arbors. All was still, not even a breeze. It was as if the entire world had gone silent.

He leaned against the wall, feeling suddenly drained of all emotion. Wiping the tears from his eyes he sat on the verge, wrapping his arms around his knees as he gazed disconsolately upon the serene indifference of Yavanna’s demesne.

"My older sister is quite good at what she does," Vána said softly as she appeared upon the path before him. "I prefer dancing myself."

Sador gazed at her but said nothing. Vána gave him a small smile and gazed around her in satisfaction. "Look," she said, pointing to the butterflies. "They dance a merry jig, do they not?"

Sador simply shrugged, not really caring, only wishing the Lady would go somewhere else and save her prattle about dancing and butterflies for others. He just wanted to be left alone in his misery. Vána shook her head at the ellon.

"That won’t do, child," she chided him. "Come, stand up and face me."

For all her ethereal lightness of tone, there was a tenor of command to those words that Sador found impossible to ignore and before he realized it he was standing with his back against the wall facing the Valië.

"That’s better. I never cared for sniveling children. My lord likes them even less."

In spite of himself, Sador found himself grinning. "Why then did Lord Oromë choose me for the Hunt?"

Vána smiled now. "Well, not for your hunting skills, at least." She laughed gaily at that and so infectious was it that Sador could not help but chuckle. "Truly, child, it was because he admires courage and those who willingly face down evil, as you have done more than once. My lord has great fondness for those who sacrifice themselves for the sake of others."

"My sister..."

"Whether your sister lives or not, you cannot know at this time," Vána said, then sighed, brushing a hand across the ellon’s forehead, attempting to smooth the look of rebellion on his visage. "Child, we do not withhold this information from you out of spite, but out of love. This knowledge is not yet yours to bear, for you have yet to embrace the worth of your own actions."

"I don’t..."

"Sador." She placed a finger lightly upon his lips. "You must not believe yourself worthless in Eru’s eyes. Your willingness to throw yourself before the sword that would have struck down your sister was a choice, one of many offered to you at that moment. Your dying was not the sole reason for your existence. Eru does not demand that from anyone. Your dying was merely a consequence of your choice. Your choice, child. Not Eru’s. Not ours. Yours and yours alone."

"But..."

Vána shook her head. "Do you not yet see, child? Nothing is ever created for a single purpose. Look about you." She turned her attention to the garden, sweeping an arm to encompass it. "Those butterflies, for instance. They were created for beauty, but that is not their sole purpose. They help to pollinate the very plants above which they dance, thereby allowing beauty to continue unto future generations. These trees here." She pointed to a stand of elms. "They provide us with shade on a sunny afternoon. But that is not their sole purpose. They also shelter the birds and make it possible for you to breathe. Without these trees, child, you would not be able to live."

Sador looked at her in amazement for a moment, then stared at the elms, their branches swaying slowly in a breeze that had suddenly come up, soft and fragrant with the scent of honeysuckle, roses, and lavender.

"You made a choice, Sador," Vána continued quietly, yet with great authority. "Whether it was a good choice or a bad one, you might never know. All you need to know is that you made it and must needs live with the consequences of it, trusting that Eru will see that the choice, however poorly made or perceived, will ultimately be the right choice, the only choice that you could have made."

Sador looked down at his feet for a moment. "I... I just want to know...."

"Even we Valar are not given that privilege."

"Huh?" He looked up in confusion to see the Valië smiling.

"Even we Valar are not given the privilege of knowing," she explained. "We may know more than you Children, but we do not know all. We stumble as much in the dark about some things as you do. The difference is, we stumble knowing that there is One Who is there to catch us. We have faith that it is so, faith and more than faith." She paused for a moment, staring out into the silent garden, contemplating something, then nodded, as if coming to a decision or acknowledging a command. She turned back to Sador. "Has it ever occurred to you, child, that we withhold the information about your sister and your parents because Eru wills it so at this time? Have you ever considered that we do this because we are enjoined to by One Who is above us all and not because we wish to see you in misery?"

Sador stared at the Valië in shock. Vána nodded, assured that what she needed to say had been said. It would take time for this Child to assimilate everything she had imparted to him, but she was confident that he would be able to do so. Her lord husband had high hopes for this one... they all did.

"Now," she said briskly, "it is time to dance."

Before he could protest, Sador suddenly found himself being dragged away from the wall towards where the butterflies still floated above the honeysuckle. Music, coming from somewhere or nowhere, came softly to his ears, the sound of it increasing somewhat until he could clearly hear it. It was beautiful beyond his experience. No elf had ever made such music. He found himself weeping and laughing at the same time and then Vána was twirling him around and it reminded him somewhat of the mad dance Finrod and Glorfindel had performed before Arafinwë’s court.

Then, he found himself in the midst of the butterflies and he could not afterwards decide if he had shrunk or they had grown for they were all about him, a riot of shades and hues, seemingly as large as he (or it might have been the other way around). Vána was there also and she laughed gaily and wildly as the tempo of the music, and therefore the dance, increased until Sador found himself dancing and singing with wild abandon himself, to the point that he lost all sense of self, allowing the music (and the butterflies) to encompass his very being.

How long this lasted, he never knew nor cared. A time came when he found himself lying on the lawn, still in the garden, his head in Vána’s lap. Stars glittered serenely above them. He was weeping again, but they were tears of joy, not sorrow. Vána ran a gentle hand through his hair, but otherwise said nothing, allowing him the space to express his emotions as he needed to. Then he reached up and placed a hand on her cheek and stroked it, as if reassuring himself of her presence. She smiled down at him.

"Yes, best beloved, I’m quite real. Go to sleep now." She bent down and kissed him on the forehead. In minutes Sador’s eyes became unfocused and he slipped gently onto the Path of Dreams where butterflies seemed to dominate the dreamscape.

****

When he woke the next morning, he was still in the garden. Vána was gone, but Arafinwë was there, sleeping beside him, his arms around the younger elf, protecting him.

****

Pityahúnya: My Little Hound. An affectionate nickname used by the Valar for Arafinwë. Huan become hún- before endings.

Notes: Vána and Yavanna are sisters in the Thought of Eru.

Butterflies are often seen as the personification of a person’s soul, whether they be living, dying or already dead. They also symbolize rebirth into a new life, as well as hope.

89: A Ceremony Revised

Arafinwë woke when he felt Sador stirring and smiled at his Ward. "How are you feeling, hinya?"

Sador blushed. "Embarrassed. I’m sorry... for what I said."

"I know you are," Arafinwë said as he rose gracefully from the ground and gave Sador a hand up. "Now, why don’t you go and bathe and break your fast, then spend the day with your anammë. Amarië’s Begetting Day is next week and I’ve decided to gift her with one of your exquisite vases. That blue glaze is especially lovely and will match the color of her eyes."

Sador gave the King a quizzical look. "Are you giving me a... commission?"

Arafinwë smiled. "Yes, I rather think I am. You will, of course, give me a family discount."

Sador sputtered at that and then laughed outright. "Anammë will have to be consulted, though. She’s in charge of the books. I’m still only an apprentice."

"There’s nothing only about you, child," Arafinwë said, taking the ellon into his embrace and giving him a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead before releasing him. "Now go, and I will see you this evening."

Sador went. When he arrived at Netilmírë’s workshop and told her what had happened with Lady Vána, she looked at him in amazement. "I’m glad that she was able to reassure you of your own worth, child," she said as they sat together in the small garden adjoining the workshop, drinking tea. "I feared the events on Tol Eressëa may have done more harm to your fëa than any physical hurt you might have sustained."

Sador nodded. "She made me see that I was of worth in Eru’s eyes just for myself, just for having been born, and not for anything I might or might not have done."

Netilmírë leaned over and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. "I’m glad to hear that, child. You should never underestimate your worth in either Eru’s eyes or in mine."

The ellon blushed and then, with a sly look, told her about Arafinwë’s commission. She laughed when he got to the part about the ‘family discount’. "Family discount indeed! He has a lot of nerve that one. Well, I suggest you get to work then, my apprentice. If this is to be a Begetting Day gift to one who will one day be a princess of Eldamar, we will want it to be extra special."

So the two of them spent the rest of the morning happily discussing designs and which clay would be the best to use and how much glazing should be used. By the time Sador was ready to return to the palace they had all the details mapped out.

"I’ll begin in a couple of days," Sador told Netilmírë. "Atar still needs to deal with the situation on Tol Eressëa and will need my help with that."

Netilmírë nodded her understanding. "Yes, that is something that needs to be addressed sooner rather than later. Come when you have the time, inyo. I’ll have everything ready for you."

****

True to his word, Sador returned to the workshop two days later. During the intervening time he and Arafinwë spoke about Tol Eressëa and the situation there. Nothing conclusive was decided except that Arafinwë had ventured the possibility of a royal visit to the island after the New Year. Sador wasn’t sure that would be a good idea, fearing for his atar’s safety, but Arafinwë assured him that all precautions would be taken.

"Would it ease your mind if I tell you that I think you, Finrod and Glorfindel should come as well?" Arafinwë asked him. "Between the three of you, I can’t imagine being any safer."

Sador blushed at that, but was somewhat mollified. He vowed to himself that he would write to his gwedyr and tell them of Arafinwë’s plans. He did not trust the Tol Eressëans overmuch, not after what had happened to him. He wanted to make sure that no one else suffered what he had endured.

He spent most of the rest of the following week working on Amarië’s Begetting Day gifts. Gifts, because he had decided to add to the collection with a few pieces of his own, including a fruit bowl cleverly formed as a cornucopia, glazed in green and ochre in honor of Lady Yavanna. He had decided that this would be a joint gift between himself and his two gwedyr, for he rightly suspected that Finrod probably did not remember that his betrothed’s Begetting Day was nigh. Netilmírë approved of his designs and gently corrected him when he became too enthusiastic at the wheel at times.

"You are a gifted potter, child," she chided him with a smile, "but you are still an apprentice until I say otherwise. Now, start again and do it right."

Sador ducked his head and blushed, but did as his anammë told him, remembering to call her "Mistress" only at the last moment. Sometimes the dual relationship between them became somewhat confusing for him, but Netilmírë never scolded him for any lapses. He was careful though to refer to her only as "Mistress" whenever customers came into the shop. Their real relationship they kept to themselves.

When Amarië’s Begetting Day came everyone was most impressed by Sador’s work. Amarië even wept as she stammered her thanks and said how sweet that he and his brothers had thought to gift her jointly. Arafinwë gave Sador an appraising look, knowing full well that neither Finrod, who should have remembered, nor Glorfindel, who wouldn’t have known, had commissioned any such gift from their gwador. Sador only smiled at Arafinwë and mouthed ‘family discount’. No one understood why the Noldóran suddenly started laughing.

****

Later that evening, after the celebration, Sador followed Arafinwë into his study where they sat for a while in companionable silence sipping on a light yellow wine. Arafinwë was the first to break the silence.

"The Merendë Andohrívëo is in a little more than a week," he said, gazing out into the dark. "Did you celebrate it in Endórë?"

Sador nodded. "Yes, though not quite the way it’s celebrated here from what I’ve been told. There was a special significance to this feast for us because we were surrounded by the Darkness of Morgoth and there were times when the Light seemed far away." He paused to sip some wine. Arafinwë did not speak, waiting for the ellon to continue. "After the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, we developed a ceremony that included the battle cry of the Noldor, as well as the words of Húrin."

Arafinwë shook his head. "I am not familiar..."

"Before the battle, Fingon cried out ‘Auta i lómë!’, to which the warriors responded ‘Utúlie’n aurë!’. When Turgon made his retreat, the Men under Húrin’s command held the rearguard. Turgon’s last sight of Húrin was of the Man surrounded by a pile of dead orcs shouting ‘Aurë entuluva!’. Since then, those three phrases have ever been a part of the ceremony for this particular feast. It’s really quite moving. I wonder if they’ve continued the tradition on Tol Eressëa?" Sador looked pensive.

Arafinwë sat for a moment watching the play of emotions that crossed the ellon’s face as Sador recalled the ceremony with which he had grown up. "Perhaps we can incorporate your traditions with ours, yonya," the King finally said. "I think it would be a good idea for my people to be reminded of what happened in Endórë and how those events have impacted on their lives, little though they realize it."

Sador looked at the King in amazement. "Do you think they will appreciate the change in the ceremony?"

"Perhaps not," Arafinwë conceded, "but that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t do it anyway. It’s time the Amaneldi realize that what happened, however tragic it may have been, was a necessary consequence of all that had happened before. There are times when I think that the Valar were wrong in releasing Melkor from Mandos. Yet... I know that if that had not happened, you would not be sitting here with me and I cannot bear the thought of you never existing. Some sorrows are worth the price they exact when there is joy unlooked for afterwards, and you, child, are one of those joys for me."

Sador blushed but did not say anything, not sure what he should say. Arafinwë smiled gently at him. "Why don’t you tell me the details of the ceremony and then tomorrow we will speak with Axantur," he said, referring to the court Master of Ceremonies.

Sador looked up at Arafinwë and seeing the sincerity in the King’s eyes, nodded and began describing the ceremony. The two of them spent the next few hours discussing how best to incorporate the traditions of Endórë with those of Aman before they retired.

****

Axantur stared in dismay at the Sinda standing next to his king as Sador explained the change in the ceremony that was only a week away.

Arafinwë gave him a sympathetic smile. "I realize it’s short notice, but the changes are rather minor and occur only at one point in the ceremony. Everything else will remain the same."

The Master of Ceremonies nodded dispiritedly. He had always prided himself on his ability to ensure that all ceremonies within the palace ran smoothly. Now, he was being asked to throw out centuries of hard work on a child’s whim (as he saw it). Nevertheless, he recognized the look on Arafinwë’s face and knew that the King would brook no arguments, so he smiled as best as he could. "Perhaps you would be good enough to explain it to me again, so I understand perfectly," he said to Sador, mentally gritting his teeth at the thought of all the work he’d already put into the upcoming ceremony going out the window.

Sador happily went over the modifications again, either not recognizing or refusing to acknowledge the steely look in the other elf’s eyes, though Arafinwë raised an amused eyebrow at Axantur’s discomfort. He had thought the older ellon to be somewhat staid and unbending in making even the slightest changes in some of the ceremonies that the King was forced to endure. Arafinwë was not above exacting revenge on Axantur for all the tedium the Master of Ceremonies had put him through over the centuries.

This ceremony, at least, would be different enough to actually be fun, however solemn the occasion. But of course, it shouldn’t be solemn, Arafinwë reflected. Melkor had indeed been vanquished and Day had indeed returned to Arda. That was not to say that other evils would not appear, but at least this one great evil had been dealt with and all should rejoice in that and gladly.

"There is one other change I would like seen made," Arafinwë said when Sador had finished speaking. As he explained, Arafinwë was rewarded with a gasp of disbelief from Axantur and a gasp of amazement from Sador. The Noldóran smiled. Just the reactions he’d been looking for.

****

When Arafinwë explained his plans to Eärwen and Amarië that night during dinner, the Queen gave her husband a long-suffering look, rolled her eyes and bent over to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"You’re enjoying this too much, dear," she whispered in his ear. "I may have to punish you for that."

Arafinwë found his heart racing in an unexpected way as he struggled not to react to Eärwen’s words. His wife’s ‘punishments’ were... imaginative, to say the least, and he both dreaded and anticipated them. He would have to remember to tell the guards that they were not to be disturbed for any reason by anyone, not even by the Valar themselves. Not that the guards could do anything about that last, he reflected ruefully, but so far the Powers had seen fit not to make an appearance when he and Eärwen were...er... enjoying themselves. He hoped they continued practicing discretion.

Amarië’s reaction was less... evocative, though more typical. She frowned.

"I do not understand why we need to change the ceremony," she said. "It’s a lovely ceremony just the way it is."

"Yet, it only tells half the story, Amarië," Arafinwë said. "It’s time to hear the entire story, one that only Sador’s people have kept all these years."

Amarië gave Sador a measured look. "Is it really that important to you?"

Sador shook his head slightly. "I remember when Húrin’s son, Túrin, was brought to Doriath for fostering. We were playmates for a while until he grew to a man’s estate in the manner of the Secondborn years before I would reach my majority. I remember hearing tales of him and his tragic end. I was there when Húrin came to Doriath, broken and bitter, to be healed by Queen Melian of Morgoth’s malice." He looked at Amarië directly and his eyes were dark with inexpressible pain and anguish.

"We were besieged by Morgoth’s evil at every turn," he said with little emotion. "We were surrounded by Darkness and Light was a precious gift." He paused again, something in his expression easing and there was a look of wonder in his eyes. "I have seen Eärendil’s star in the sky since my re-embodiment. Gil-Estel he is called in the language of my people, the Star of Hope. I only wish I had lived long enough to have seen his first rising. That must have been absolutely glorious."

"It was, hinya, it was," Arafinwë said softly, leaning over to place a comforting hand on the Sinda’s arm. Sador smiled at him in gratitude. He turned back to Amarië.

"Morgoth is vanquished, but his legacy of evil did not die with him. Night has indeed passed and Day has come, but ever does Night come again and we are left with only the promise that Day will follow. We must never forget that. Aman may be blessed but it is not free of all evil, as recent events have proved. I think we need to remember that and this ceremony should help."

Amarië pondered Sador’s words for a moment or two, then nodded, looking pensive. "Yes, hanno, I rather think you are right."

Sador gave Arafinwë a surprised look and the King merely raised an eyebrow in amusement. It was the first time Amarië had called him ‘brother’. Sador found he couldn’t stop grinning.

****

The ceremony took place in the Paca Ñaltatilion, where the Silver-white Tree that was the image of Telperion stood under the Mindon Eldaliéva, the high white Tower of Ingwë. Though the High King and the Vanyar no longer lived in Tirion, the tower was still referred to as Ingwë’s Tower. A silver lantern was housed in the highest part of the Mindon, its light shining far across the darkling Sea and along the night-shrouded shores beneath the Pelóri. While the Tree did not shine with a light of its own, still there was a pale shimmering glow about it as Sador joined the royal family in the courtyard, a reflection, perhaps, of Isil now riding the midnight sky.

The night was cold and brilliant with stars. Earlier that day snow had fallen, blanketing the city in white silence until elflings were allowed out to dance in it, laughing gaily. Now, however, all was quiet. The courtyard had been swept clear of the snow and those standing there were waiting patiently for the ceremony to begin.

Arafinwë stepped away from his family gathered by the Tree and spoke to the crowd. "Tonight is the Merendë Andohrívëo, in which we celebrate the longest night of the year. Tomorrow, Light will return once more unto Arda in all its glory. Yet, darkness has its place and proper sphere, as well, and so we honor it tonight." Then he paused for a moment. So far, all had been said according to tradition, but what would follow would not be.

"We will not celebrate this ceremony as we have done in years and centuries past," he said quietly and allowed the soft murmur of surprise to continue for a space before raising his hand for silence. "It has come to my attention that there are other traditions that need to be celebrated tonight." He turned to Sador and gestured for the ellon to join him.

The Sinda did so, feeling suddenly unsure. It was one thing to talk about changing the ceremony, another thing to actually do it and this would be the first time he had ever led this part. There was an expectant hush among the elves as he stepped to the King’s side. He swallowed nervously before speaking and took comfort in Arafinwë’s presence.

"Before the great defeat that was the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, Findecáno, High King of the Noldor-in-Exile, cried out ‘Auta i lómë!’ and all who heard him responded with ‘Utúlie’n aurë!’ They hoped to defeat the Darkness that day, but Darkness defeated them instead. Yet, one there was, an Atan named Húrin of the House of Hador, who refused to admit defeat and served as the rearguard for Turucáno, King of Ondolindë and now High King, for Findecáno had fallen, allowing the surviving elves to escape. The last sight Turucáno had of Húrin was of the Man surrounded by a pile of dead orcs shouting ‘Aurë entuluva!’ even as he was taken alive to be Melkor’s prisoner for the next twenty-eight years."

He paused for a moment to take a deep breath. There was absolute silence in the courtyard. "We of Endórë honor the memory of that day when Darkness reigned supreme, for the hope that a Mortal gave us that the Light would return once again, as it finally did. Yet, though Melkor has at last been defeated, his legacy of evil still remains. Darkness may once again prevail, yet always there is the promise of Day to follow."

Then he closed his eyes and began to sing. The words were in Quenya and he had spent some time carefully translating them from the Sindarin of his youth. Yet, he only got as far as the first few words when suddenly the courtyard became too small for all of them as several of the Valar and Maiar appeared. In spite of knowing what to expect, Sador gasped at the sight along with everyone else. Manwë, Varda, Oromë and Vána stood beside him and Arafinwë in regal splendour, while the Maiar stood in a ring around the courtyard, some with swords of light in their hands. Sador saw from the surcoats that were worn by the Maiar that each of the other Valar had sent a representative. Manwë nodded at him and smiled.

*Begin the song again, child,* he heard in his mind.

Sador glanced at Arafinwë. The Noldóran gave him an almost imperceptible nod. He turned back to look at the crowd of elves standing there in shocked silence. Having some of the Valar and Maiar show up for this ceremony was the last thing anyone had expected. He was somewhat disappointed that Lord Námo had not made an appearance but decided it was probably for the best. The Lord of Mandos did seem to have a knack for dampening people’s mood with his presence. He took a deep breath and started the song again, but this time he was accompanied by the Valar and Maiar and the song took on a timbre of beauty that smote the hearts of every listener.

     "Utúlië i lómë ar orutúrie’n aurë,

     mal er sillúmen.

     Tule’n aurë ar auta i lómë,

     er entuluvas, ve aurë tuluva.

     Á tulë Aurë ar á orturë Lómë.

     Á lavë Cala orturë Mornië.

     Á lavë Estel orturë ilya."

As the last notes of the song died Sador was not surprised to feel tears running down his cheeks. He felt Varda lean over and gently wipe them away, giving him a brief, sad smile. Looking around he noticed that many there were weeping quietly. Then Manwë spoke.

"Darkness has indeed fled, my Children," the Elder King declared in solemn tones that nevertheless contained great joy, "yet never forget that it will come again. Remember this night and rejoice that the Fallen One is no more. Remember still the sacrifices that were made by your brethren from Endórë that this night might be celebrated in peace by you who are of Aman. Estel lemya, Híni Ilúvataro, qui himyalmë melmessë Eruo."

Then the Elder King and his entourage were gone, leaving them all feeling stunned. Axantur, standing to the side, had gone white at the sight of the Valar, not having truly believed that the Noldóran would be able to convince any of them to attend the ceremony, and to have the Elder King and his Spouse themselves attend.... Never had such a thing happened before and he stared at the Sinda standing beside the King and wondered. Perhaps the change in the ceremony had been a good thing after all.

****

Auta i lómë!: "The night is passing!"

Utúlie’n aurë!: "The day has come!"

Aurë entuluva: "Day will come again!"

Mindon Eldaliéva: Lofty Tower of the Eldalië, that was built by Ingwë when the High King lived in Tirion before removing to Vanyamar.

Paca Ñaltatilion: The Court of the Silver-white Tree. Ñaltatilion is the Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin Galathilion, the name given to the Silver-white Tree that was an image (a living tree not giving light of its own) of Telperion that Yavanna gifted to the elves of Tirion. Galathilion is the name given in The Silmarillion. The White Tree of Gondor is a descendant of this tree. The name means "Radiance of Tilion".

Sador’s song: "The night has come and has conquered the day, but only for this hour. The day comes and the night passes, yet it will return again, as will the day. Come Day and conquer the Night. Let Light conquer Darkness. Let Hope conquer all."

Orutúrië: present perfect tense of *ortur-: ‘to conquer’, reconstructed from the Sindarin orthor-.

Estel lemya, Híni Ilúvataro, qui himyalmë melmessë Eruo: "Hope remains, Children of Ilúvatar, if we (inclusive) abide in Eru’s love".

90: After the Ceremony

The next morning Sador was assaulted, though he didn’t really mind. As he was walking towards the royal dining hall to join the family for breakfast, two ellith and an ellon belonging to the king’s household approached him from behind.

"Sador, wait up," one of the ellith called out.

Sador turned to see Rúmilion, Serindë, and Mardillë coming towards him. It had been Serindë who had called out and she and her sister greeted the Sinda with saucy kisses while their cousin looked on with amusement. All three were centuries older than Sador, but they had befriended him shortly after his arrival in Tirion. Their parents were members of Arafinwë’s court and they themselves held important positions within the Noldóran’s government. Mardillë worked in the Exchequer. Rúmilion would one day sit on the High Bench as one of Arafinwë’s best magistrates, though for now he helped adjudicate minor (and sometimes not so minor) court cases. Serindë was a junior diplomat, and had been asked to mentor Sador once his diplomatic training had begun. She had been initially reluctant, but had come to admire the Sinda Reborn and soon they had become good friends. It was only natural that Mardillë and Rúmilion would become his friends as well, for the three cousins were of an age and inseparable.

"Are you going to breakfast?" Serindë asked, "May we join you?"

Sador nodded. "Yes. I would enjoy the company," he said, giving the ellith shy smiles as the four made their way down the corridor.

When they entered the dining room, Arafinwë noticed them and was glad to see Sador looking relaxed and obviously enjoying the company of his three friends. His ward was no longer shy and diffident around the other ellyn and ellith of the household and held himself with easy grace, nodding to those around him who gave him greetings. Arafinwë was glad that Serindë in particular had befriended Sador, for the elleth was very wise for one who had yet to see her first millennium, and she was open-minded enough to see Sador’s worth and be willing to foster his diplomatic talents.

Too many of the Eldar, Arafinwë reflected as he watched the interplay between the four friends, were too hidebound to traditions that may have served them well in the past, but could no longer serve them in the present. The presence of the Exilic Noldor, who perforce had abandoned many of the cherished traditions of "knowing one’s place", made that impossible. These Noldor and their descendants saw themselves as having earned their more exalted places in Endórëan society and were not about to abandon them because they did not fit in with Amanian views. Sador’s grandmother was a case in point; Haldir was another.

Arafinwë frowned to himself. Hallatiro Pelendurion had fled Aman against his atar’s wishes, joining Turucáno’s troops. Pelendur had been one of the few Noldor in Arafinwë’s court who had refused the summons to arms during the War of Wrath, declaring that he would not help rescue those who deserved their fate for defying the Valar. Arafinwë did not dispute him, for in truth, not all could follow him to Endórë, and in the King’s absence, Pelendur had proven a wise and capable administrator. It grieved Arafinwë that the elf was so bitter against the Exiles that he had refused to welcome his own son when the ellon was finally released from Mandos. The King made a silent vow that he would see that Hallatiro — or rather, Haldir, as he preferred to be called — and his wife lacked for nothing. He would not interfere with what was a family situation, but he would show by his own actions that he did not approve of Pelendur’s treatment of his son.

New lives, new identities...

He suddenly wondered about his daughter, still in Endórë. He had met with her briefly during the War, she and her Sindarin husband. There had been little time for them to foregather during the endless battles and at the end when all was confusion and chaos, there had been little they could say to one another. Artanis had been denied the right to return to Aman and in truth she had proudly announced that she was not yet ready to abandon Endórë. She had been haughty and needlessly disrespectful, though Arafinwë had recognized her fears and insecurities behind her arrogance. Celeborn had watched the two of them interact, wary of him, obviously besotted of her, though not so much so that he did not recognize her faults. He had been rather short with her and Arafinwë had been surprised to see her blush and acquiesce to Celeborn’s demand that she apologize for her arrogance, which she did, though reluctantly. At that particular moment Arafinwë had no doubt that his daughter had chosen wisely in marrying Olwë’s great-nephew.

His thoughts returned to the present when he noticed Mardillë shyly touch Sador’s single braid and ask a question, though he did not hear what was said. He saw Sador go pale and hoped that whatever had been said did not unduly upset the ellon. Then he noticed a sly look steal across his ward’s face as he pulled on his braid rather hard and, with hands in motion, began telling his three friends something that set them all laughing. Arafinwë hid a smile when he realized that Sador was describing how he had chased Glorfindel around the High King’s garden after Glorfindel had insulted him about the braid.

Then something happened, something that Arafinwë should have anticipated but had not.

Haldir and Gwilwileth had remained in Tirion at Arafinwë’s behest and later had come to Vanyamar to act as witnesses to the trial of Glorfindel’s kidnappers. Arafinwë was determined that the elves of Tol Eressëa be told the truth about the Valar and Judgment and planned on making Haldir and his wife his ambassadors in that endeavor. In the meantime, they were royal guests and Arafinwë had encouraged the couple to join his family for the more informal meals if they so desired.

Most of the conversations around the various tables that morning centered around the ceremony of the night before. When Haldir and Gwilwileth entered the dining hall they gravitated towards Sador. Sador looked up with a smile as the Tol Eressëan couple approached. Then Haldir did the most unexpected thing — he knelt before Sador, Gwilwileth right behind him.

All conversations stopped as everyone looked on in stunned wonder. Even Arafinwë was nonplused and had stopped in the midst of reaching for a sticky bun. Sador went white, but he remained composed.

"Haldir, what is the meaning of this?" he asked quietly, but such was the absolute silence around him that all heard his words.

Haldir took hold of one of Sador’s hands, bent over and kissed it before looking up. His expression was a mixture of joy and sorrow and tears glittered in the corners of his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered.

Sador shook his head. "Haldir..."

"The Darkness came for us in Gondolin," Haldir said in a rush, ignoring everything and everyone. Arafinwë saw the nearly blank look of pain in the ellon’s face and wished he could go and comfort him. "It came and I... I was lost... I fought in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears beside Lord Glorfindel and Lord Ecthelion of the Fountain... the horror... the... I remember Húrin... I remember his words... his words..."

Now Haldir was crying, and Sador went to his own knees and embraced the ellon, rocking him gently. No one moved or spoke, frozen by the tableau of pain before them. Then, in the corner of his eye, Arafinwë saw Pelendur stand up where he had been sitting with his wife further along the high table, his face white with fury.

"Why do you weep, Hallatiro? Death was what you deserved. Death is what you got. Get off the floor, you sniveling Etyangol!"

Three things happened almost simultaneously. Arafinwë rose with a shout of denial, his eyes ablaze with a fury of his own at Pelendur. Haldir’s amillë, Lady Lossellë, rose at the same time, gave her husband a hard slap in the face, then collapsed in tears. Haldir also rose to his feet. Then in four quick strides he was standing before his atar. Without a word, he reached over, grabbed the elf by his tunic and pulled him across the table, dishes flying, until Pelendur was lying on the floor with Haldir kneeling over him. Haldir’s face was red with anger and his eyes held the same "light of Mandos" that Arafinwë had seen in his own son’s eyes at least once.

"Deserved death, atar?" Haldir shouted. "You are right in that, my lord. I did deserve death and more. In fact that is what I got. More. I stood in the Máhanaxar before all the Valar and they Judged me. They Judged me, every last one of them. Do you know what that’s like, atar? Have you ever stood before even one of the Valar in all their wrath and glory... and ... and mercy? Yes, mercy! You have no idea of what you speak. You speak from ignorance. I speak from fact. Whatever my sins, they have been forgiven by Eru himself. How dare you do any less!"

He pushed Pelendur hard against the floor and stood up, turning to where his amillë still sat, crying on her neighbor’s shoulder. He went to her, took her face in his hands and kissed her gently on the brow. "I’m sorry, emmë," he whispered, then he stalked past his atar, who had not moved from the floor, to where his wife still knelt. He helped her up and the two left without a backward glance.

Arafinwë was about to speak when Sador rose gracefully from his knees, walked over to the still supine Pelendur, and offered his hand. It was a long moment before Pelendur accepted it and allowed the ellon to help him up. Once-born and Reborn stared at one another, then Sador began to speak, his voice quiet and non-condemnatory.

"At the end of every Judgment, Lord Námo speaks these words: All judgments have been rendered, all debts paid. It is a sign to us who have been Judged that Forgiveness is now at hand, that Healing and Reconciliation is now ours by right of Judgment. Haldir had his life ripped from him by orcs and valaraucar, leaving his new bride to survive as best she could for centuries after until they could be reunited once again. Your contempt, your denial of your own son, is an affront to the Valar who have welcomed him back into their graces. Do not follow in the footsteps of Fëanáro, who sneered at the mercy of the Valar, my lord. You will not enjoy the consequences."

The absolute sincerity of those words and the weight of authority with which they were spoken convinced Arafinwë that Someone Else spoke through his ward at that moment. Pelendur must have felt the same, for he took a step or two back, his expression one of complete terror as he saw something in Sador’s eyes that should not have been there.

"Sador," Arafinwë said quietly and was relieved that when the ellon turned he saw only his ward looking back at him. "Go and make sure Haldir and Gwilwileth are well."

"Yes, Atar," the ellon said, and, with a short bow to the King, began to leave.

"And Sador," he added. Sador turned and gave Arafinwë an enquiring look. "When you have seen to Haldir, come find me." The ellon nodded. As he turned and started past his friends, Rúmilion stood up to bar his path, a look of concern on his face.

"Would you like us to go with you, Sador?" the older ellon asked and the two ellith nodded their heads.

Sador smiled and shook his head. "No. I think Haldir will respond better with just me around. Come you later if you will. I will invite him and Gwilwileth for luncheon at my suite. It would be well for all of you to get to know one another."

Rúmilion nodded. "Luncheon it is then." He stepped aside and Sador left.

"Pelendur," Arafinwë then said and the councillor looked up, a dazed expression on his face. "We value your council but We think you would benefit from a period of... rest and meditation. You have Our leave to retire to Our summer lodge until the New Year. Your wife may join you if she so desires and anyone else of your household. Calandil will see that you are provided with a suitable escort."

Pelendur went white at Arafinwë’s words, but understood that the King would brook no dissent and gave him a bow of acquiescence. He stared briefly at his wife, who gave him a slight shake of her head, nodded mutely and walked out of the room, two guards following him at Arafinwë’s signal.

Then Arafinwë went to Lady Lossellë, who sat there quite forlorn, and took her hand. "Fear not, lady. We are not banishing Pelendur, only giving him time to think things through. He will be welcomed back to Our court at the New Year. We hope that in the ensuing weeks before that he will take what Haldir and Sador have said to heart. We would see you both reconciled to your son, but We will not force it upon either of you."

Lady Lossellë stood then and gave the King a respectful curtsey. "I thank you, my lord, for your generosity of heart. Please, allow me to retire."

"You have Our leave, daughter," the Noldóran said formally and gave her a kiss on her forehead. She turned to go, then stopped and gave the King a confused look.

"My son’s name is Hallatiro... why will he not use it? It’s a good name. Why will he not use it?"

Arafinwë sighed and gathered the elleth into his arms as she started weeping again. "New lives, new identities, my daughter. Your son found a life and purpose and even a wife that he did not have here in Aman. Hallatiro... Haldir... does it really matter? Can you not rejoice that he has been returned to you, whole and happy?"

Arafinwë released the lady and with an encouraging smile gave her over to one of the guards with orders to see that she made it to her apartments without incident. By now, Eärwen had ordered the mess on the floor where dishes lay scattered about to be cleaned up. It was the signal that breakfast was over, and in truth, Arafinwë found he no longer had an appetite. Giving his wife a peck on the cheek, he excused himself to attend to the business of the day with his other councillors, who followed him out of the room in silence.

****

Arafinwë looked up with a smile when he heard the knock on the door and saw Sador standing there. It was now late afternoon. The wheels of government grind slowly, but they do grind and Arafinwë had spent the better part of the day attending to it. Even now, he was pouring over some documents concerning the income being generated by the royal farms and wondering how they could best be used for the benefit of the Tol Eressëans. He realized that the Sindarin guildmasters had been clever to pass on the higher prices through their own merchants since the Amaneldi merchants were strictly monitored to avoid price gouging on their part. It pointed to the need for a stronger and more central government on Tol Eressëa. Under one of the kings, this would never have happened.

The King motioned for Sador to enter and gratefully put the documents away, pouring some wine into a couple of goblets for them. "How are Haldir and Gwilwileth?" he asked as Sador sank into a chair and accepted the goblet with a smile.

"Better. Haldir was cursing, Gwilwileth was crying, but neither were attempting to climb a tree."

Arafinwë chuckled, then sobered somewhat and sighed. "Things are more complicated than I ever suspected. When Findaráto came back to us, I had no idea what was happening with him. I’m afraid I had very little patience at first, but at least I did not reject him outright."

Sador stared out of one of the embrasures onto the garden beyond, now dormant with the winter and sighed. "None of us were meant for death, yet, do you not find it curious that Lord Námo built the Halls of Mandos long before any of the Children ever appeared in Arda? To build it for the Secondborn, that is one thing, for death is Eru’s gift to them, but he had halls built for us as well, long before death ever became a part of the fabric of our lives."

Arafinwë stared at his ward with wonder and respect. Such thoughts had never occurred to him. Yet here was one who was accounted young by the standards of the Eldar, one who was barely out of elflinghood, who exhibited such wisdom and depth of thought.

"Lord Námo is known for his prescience," Arafinwë said softly, taking a sip of wine.

Sador nodded. "I wonder if he wept as the Halls were being built, knowing why?"

The King shivered at those words, though he could not have said why, even to himself. Sador seemed to gather himself together and gave Arafinwë a clear-eyed look.

"What did you wish to see me about, Atar?"

Arafinwë forced himself to smile. "I think last night’s ceremony went off rather well. I would like to see some of our other ceremonies incorporate the traditions of those from Endórë, if you are willing to help Axantur with redesigning them. The New Year will be coming up soon and then there’s the Merendë Andolairë at Midsummer."

Sador nodded. "I would be glad to help. Perhaps I can convince Haldir and Gwilwileth to join in the project. I’m sure they will have ideas that Axantur can use."

"Good idea. It will give them both a purpose while they are here. I’ve already told them that I would like them to remain until the New Year."

Sador gave Arafinwë a strange look. "Told them or ordered them? They do have lives of their own, you know, Atar."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow at his ward’s tone. No, not diffident at all. He hid a smile behind his goblet as he took another sip of wine before answering. "I know they do, yonya. I also know they came seeking answers. Those answers are still here to be found. I assure you that neither one voiced any objections to staying here. Had they done so, I would have given them leave to depart whenever they wished."

Sador nodded, obviously mollified, but did not attempt to apologize and Arafinwë had to hide another smile. His ward was finally growing up and he could see Findaráto’s influence there. "Beyond that," he continued, "I still would like to organize a royal visit to Tol Eressëa along with Olwë. I think it’s very important that we make our presence known to the elves living there."

Sador frowned. "You know well my objections to this plan, but I will admit my views of Tol Eressëa have been colored by my own experiences. If this is your desire, my lord, I will do what I can to help you to organize it. Lord Gilvagor would be a good liaison for this."

"As will you," Arafinwë said. "Your experiences notwithstanding, this is a perfect opportunity to put into practice what you have been learning as my son’s diplomatic aide, though, I admit, he has not been in a position lately to use you in that capacity."

Sador nodded. "Finrod told me something about becoming Lord Irmo and Lord Námo’s apprentice, though he did not go into details and I did not press for them. I told him that whenever he needed me, however he needed me, I would be there for him."

"I am glad, yonya," Arafinwë said with much feeling. "I am glad that you are my son’s trusted otorno. In the task he has pledged himself to he will need your love and support." He smiled slyly. "Now, why don’t we put aside all this talk of diplomacy and such and spend the rest of the afternoon until dinner in more enjoyable pursuits. You still owe me a game of chess. I mean to beat you this time."

Sador gave him a saucy grin. "Hah! That’s what you said the last time, Atar."

Then they both laughed as they left the study in search of a chessboard.

91: Running With the Wolves

Vanyamar seemed terribly quiet and dull with Ingwion gone. The excitement of the trial was over and the Noldorin fosterlings were busy with their studies. With Ingwion away, and Vorondil no longer there, Ingwë asked Valandur to be Glorfindel’s tutor.

"Valandur is looking forward to mentoring you, Glorfindel," Ingwë informed him when they returned to the city. "He will teach you much and perhaps you will teach him something along the way as well."

Glorfindel merely nodded, and that in itself was telling as far as Ingwë was concerned. Valandur, when he met with the Reborn ellon, gave him a penetrating look, which Glorfindel returned with equanimity.

"I was rather impressed by your conduct during the trial," Valandur said when he and Glorfindel met in the loremaster’s study. "Your testimony was something of an eye-opener."

Glorfindel’s only comment was a raised eyebrow. Valandur frowned. "What is it, Glorfindel? Since returning to Vanyamar you’ve been very... subdued."

Glorfindel sighed as he stood, going over to an embrasure to look out into the garden, now beginning to fade somewhat with winter, though still beautiful to look upon. "I have no real purpose."

"What do you mean, son?" Valandur asked quietly, suddenly noticing Glorfindel nervously fingering his ring and wondering at its significance.

Still looking out onto the garden, Glorfindel attempted to explain. "I only came to Vanyamar because Atar... the Noldóran ordered me to come. Now... now I know why, and it wasn’t to be a court fosterling."

"Why, then?"

Glorfindel turned to look at the older elf, his expression blank with emotional pain. "I was the bait, did you know that? That’s all I am to them... bait." His voice started to rise as suppressed anger began to come to the fore. "Finrod and Sador get to go on the Hunt. I get to spend my time in a cave as Manwë’s prisoner, after being beaten half to death for my troubles."

He turned back to the garden. Valandur remained perfectly still, not wishing to interrupt. Glorfindel would never know that Ingwë wasn’t the only person who had asked Valandur to keep an eye on him. His first report to Lord Námo would include this particular conversation.

"Although, come to think about it," Glorfindel continued, "I shouldn’t be surprised. They’ve treated me with contempt all along, refusing to answer my questions concerning my king. They won’t even let me go up to Taniquetil. No doubt they don’t want me to sully their precious abode with my Reborn presence, seeing as how I’m nothing but a rebel Noldo. I’m surprised Manwë didn’t just leave me in that damn cave!"

He pounded the stone wall with a fist. Valandur never stirred, watching with fascinated horror as the younger ellon spewed forth his anger. It was telling that twice Glorfindel had refused to give the Elder King a proper title.

Glorfindel sat on the edge of the embrasure staring at his feet. "They beat me," he said without emotion and the starkness of his words pierced Valandur’s heart. "Even after I lost consciousness, they continued to beat me... and Tulkas just stood there and let them!" He laid his head on his knees and began weeping silently.

Now Valandur understood. Glorfindel had been violated. He was at a loss to know what to do about it, though, and briefly wondered if he shouldn’t send for Findaráto. The loremaster suspected that the once King of Nargothrond would have had an acquaintance with such matters. This, frankly, was beyond his own experience. He half hoped that one of the Valar would show up with a solution, but realized that was ridiculous. The Eldar couldn’t go around expecting the Valar to solve all their problems for them. He sighed and went over to sit beside the still weeping ellon and put an arm around Glorfindel’s shoulders.

"So let me get this straight," he said, trying to evince a nonchalant air. "You’re upset because your brothers got to play while you were stuck indoors."

The statement was so utterly outrageous that Glorfindel was shocked out of his self-pity. He stood up and stared at Valandur in dismay. The older ellon merely sat there with an expectant look, waiting for an answer.

It was not long in coming. Glorfindel uttered an oath in Sindarin that was particularly vicious. Then, he stormed out of the room. For a long moment Valandur sat there, then sighed. "I thought it was a reasonable question," he said to no one in particular.

"Did you, indeed?"

The Vanya looked up to see Lord Námo standing there with an amused expression on his face. The Lord of Mandos crooked his finger and Valandur slowly rose to give his obeisance, wondering if he was about to receive one of Lord Námo’s famous lectures.

****

Glorfindel stalked blindly through the palace, the need to keep moving driving him. All he could think about was that he’d been beaten even after he’d lost consciousness. That knowledge alone sickened him and then, suddenly, he was physically retching, the enormity of what had been done to him finally impinging upon his hröa’s consciousness. He hung weakly to a doorjamb as wave after wave of nausea and disgust filled him and so lost in misery was he that he never felt the cool hands supporting him through the ordeal.

Finally, he came to himself and found a goblet of water being thrust into his face. "Drink this." It was a command he could not ignore. He drank and the last sense of queasiness left him. He looked up to see who was there.

She was dressed in yellows. Her sleeveless overgown of light wool was dyed a bright yellow with sprigs of green embroidered on it. The front was split to just below her breasts so that the undergown of heavy muslin showed through. This was a deep buttercup yellow. The sleeves of the undergown were tight to the wrist with fine embroidery in shades of gold. Her dark hair was wreathed with roses in shades ranging from sun yellow to peach. Her feet were bare and she wore no jewelry.

She was smiling as she helped him stand. "Hello, Glorfindel. I am Nessa, Lord Tulkas’ lady."

Glorfindel dropped the goblet he was holding and started backing away, shaking his head and looking angry. "No! No! Just leave me alone, all of you!" he wailed and then turned away to escape from the Valië’s presence but he was stopped when he ran into someone. He started screaming then, shouting out curses in Sindarin as he struggled in the person’s embrace, but he could not escape. After awhile he collapsed, exhaustion taking him. Still the arms held him and other hands caressed his hair and a voice murmured softly, though he could not hear what was being said. A wave of fatigue swept through him and he slept for a time.

When he woke again he was still in someone’s embrace but no longer standing. They were seated sideways on a bench with Glorfindel being supported from behind. He looked about and saw that they were in a garden that was unfamiliar to him. He glanced backwards and found Lord Tulkas sitting there smiling at him. Then, Lady Nessa was there, kneeling beside them on the lawn.

"Feeling better, beloved?" She asked, her voice soft and sweet, reminding Glorfindel of the lightest of bells ringing in the Mindon Nyellion in Valmar.

He wasn’t sure how to answer that question, so he elected not to answer at all. Instead, he sighed and closed his eyes, allowing himself to sink further into Tulkas’ embrace. He had a sense that neither Vala was about to let him just walk away, and so he waited for them to take the next step.

He felt Nessa stand up. "What you need is a good run." She sounded more business-like and Glorfindel opened his eyes in confusion. She was holding out her hand and Tulkas was pushing him forward, releasing him from his embrace.

"Excellent idea, my love," the Vala boomed, laughing at Glorfindel’s bemused look. "Let us go for a run with our elfling."

With that Nessa grabbed Glorfindel’s arm and pulled him up. Tulkas was there beside him. The next thing he knew they were no longer in the garden but standing in a field with trees in the distance where a dark forest stood. Glorfindel had no time to voice any complaints. Tulkas grabbed one arm and Nessa continued holding the other and they began running.

He tried to protest, but to no avail. Tulkas did not laugh, but had a grim look on his face. Nessa smiled at him sweetly but her eyes were aglow with a light that was more appropriately seen in a fell warrior about to go into battle. Glorfindel felt suddenly afraid. A dangerous sense of wildness took him and he feared to lose himself in it. Even as they continued running, heedless of their path, Glorfindel felt himself slipping further away. When a herd of red deer suddenly appeared, surrounding them as they ran through a forest of old oak and birch, Glorfindel finally gave a great cry and then his mind blanked out. He became one with the deer. He sensed the forest through them, the smells and sounds, so different from what he was used to. No longer did he run in near darkness, Anar having long set. Instead, it was bright with starlight. He reveled in the swiftness of the deer, the bunching of muscles, the smooth, effortless gait, the taste of leaves on his throat as one of the herd stopped to graze.

Somewhere along the way he lost his clothing and the touch of the night wind upon his skin was like a balm to his soul, caressing and cleansing him of all the sorrows and shame he had felt earlier. He suddenly raised his arms to the sky, threw back his head, and laughed gaily and long.

And still he ran.

How long it lasted he never really knew, though hours had passed since waking in the garden in Tulkas’ arms. At one point he found himself gazing intently at his reflection in a pool where the deer had stopped to drink. Stars were reflected in the calm dark waters, seemingly making a wreath around his head like a crown. Nessa and Tulkas had long disappeared and he did not know where they might have gone, caring not that they had apparently abandoned him.

Then, the deer were gone. Glorfindel looked up in confusion to find himself surrounded by a pack of silver-grey wolves, the largest of which stood nearly to his chest at the shoulder. The elf sat there, afraid to move, trying not to look any of the creatures in the eye, knowing it would be seen as a challenge. The wolves moved about him, coming to the water’s edge to drink. He could feel their hot breath and the softness of their fur as they passed him. He remained completely still. Then, he felt, rather than saw, the pack leader lope over to him and calmly licked his face.

Some hours later Glorfindel found himself huddled against the flank of one of the sleeping wolves, having run with them for a time. It was nearly dawn now and he was exhausted. He lay with his head against the alpha-female with her four pups sleeping contentedly against him, providing him with warmth. He lay there gently stroking a hand over one of the pup’s brindled fur, waiting for sleep to take him. He was not sure what was happening to him, but he was no longer concerned.

He was at peace again, perhaps for the first time in a long while. He did not want it to end, though deep inside he knew it would not, could not, last. As the first hints of dawn blushed the eastern sky with rosy fingers, Nessa was there before him, holding out her hand. Wordlessly, he held his own hand out and allowed the Valië to lift him to his feet. She was smiling as she held his head between her hands and kissed his brow.

"Did you have a good run, beloved?" She asked softly.

He nodded, feeling suddenly shy. Nessa led him away from the sleeping wolves and they walked for a time in silence, enjoying the dawn. Eventually, they came to another clearing where there was a pool. Tulkas was waiting for them. Glorfindel hesitated on seeing the Vala and even started to turn away, but Nessa held him in place with a glance and Tulkas came and wrapped his brawny arms around the elf, rubbing his back to comfort him.

"You are a very angry elfling, Little One," the Vala said. "Time to put the anger aside."

He began to rub harder and then to knead his strong fingers into the elf’s muscles. Glorfindel gave an involuntary gasp and collapsed to the ground as Tulkas continued to massage him. He was nearly unconscious with relief as tension he never knew existed within him began to melt away. Nessa, meanwhile, knelt beside him, gently stroking his hair, murmuring softly though Glorfindel did not know what she said, even as Tulkas continued his ministrations. He felt the Vala’s healing power massage away the sense of shame from the beating that was held in his hröa’s memory so that he was left with only a feeling of well-being that sank into the depths of his fëa, cleansing and restoring his sense of wholeness of self.

Eventually, Tulkas stopped and Glorfindel felt someone place a light blanket over his nakedness and he fell asleep to the sound of the two Valar singing softly an ancient lullaby.

****

He woke around noon, feeling refreshed. He raised himself up to find that he was alone. Near the pool he saw a pile of clean clothes and all the paraphernalia necessary to effect a decent bath. Glorfindel wasted no time in taking advantage of this. To his delight, the water was surprisingly warm and he assumed the pool must be fed by hot springs. He did not linger in his bath but was quickly dressed in a simple tunic of worsted wool dyed brown and breeches of heavy unbleached muslin. His feet remained bare.

Once dressed he looked around and noticed a path leading away from the pool through a copse of elm trees. A tantalizing smell wafted through the air and Glorfindel followed it down the path to another glade where a table was set in its midst. Tulkas and Nessa were seated at the table waiting for him.

"Come and break your fast, Little One," Tulkas said with an inviting wave and Glorfindel complied, giving the Valar a respectful bow in greeting before taking a seat. Without speaking, the elf began eating the repast and the two Valar sat in patient silence waiting for him to finish.

As Glorfindel sat back, sipping on a cup of rose-hip tea, Tulkas started speaking. "I trust your little run yesterday was to your liking, Little One?"

Glorfindel nodded and blushed. "Though I don’t have very clear memories of it, especially with the wolves."

"Just as well, beloved," Nessa said with a small smile. "Such memories can be dangerous, but I think you will be able to accept them in due time. If so, the deeper memories will emerge. For now, be content with what memories you have."

"You are feeling very put upon, aren’t you?" Tulkas asked shrewdly. "You think we are merely using you, that in our eyes you are of no more use than to be bait for those unworthy to be called elves."

Glorfindel scowled. "Something like that."

Then Tulkas started laughing, his golden locks shimmering in the afternoon light. "And you would be correct, Little One."

Glorfindel slammed his teacup down and stood up, the scowl on his face deepening as he started to move away. Tulkas called out to him, no longer laughing.

"Come back here, elfling, unless you want to go on another run." It was not a threat.

Glorfindel shivered with something that was more delight than fear and turned back, the light of anticipation on his face. "Yes, please," he said hoarsely. "C-could I run with the... the wolves, again?"

The two Valar exchanged surprised looks and then Nessa was wrapping her arms around the ellon, cradling his head against her breasts, stroking his hair to calm him. "It’s too soon, beloved," she whispered, "and too dangerous. Come and sit with us. Shh. No tears, beloved." She wiped the tears that had begun to trickle down his cheeks with her hand and kissed the top of his head. "Such an elfling you are," she said with a light laugh.

"Yes, indeed," Tulkas said with his own booming laugh as he stood and joined them. He took Glorfindel out of his wife’s embrace and gave him a hug that left the elf gasping for air, but before he could properly catch his breath he found himself being flung up into the air and caught again as if he were indeed an elfling. Tulkas laughed even harder at Glorfindel’s shocked shriek and refused to listen to his protests, but threw him up into the air again.

The Vala did this several times until Glorfindel was too breathless to offer any more resistance and then he stopped, planting the ellon’s feet on the ground. He did not allow Glorfindel time to collect himself, however, but began tickling him with ruthless abandon, laughing as the elf began shrieking once again, but this time with mirth. Glorfindel writhed on the ground begging Tulkas to stop but the Vala only laughed louder and his questing fingers always found the most sensitive spots on Glorfindel’s body, especially just under his arms.

When he thought he must pass out from the exquisitely delightful torture, Tulkas stopped and began rubbing Glorfindel’s upper chest. "Take deep breaths now, Little One," he said with a smile on his face. Glorfindel complied, slowly feeling the dizzy darkness receding from the edges of his consciousness, moaning slightly at the protesting chest muscles as he tried to draw in enough air. Eventually his breathing slowed and he became still, slipping in and out of consciousness as the warmth of the afternoon sun crept into his bones and he relaxed completely.

He might have fallen asleep at one point though it could not have been for very long, as the sun had not moved very far. He came to with something tickling him and, focusing his eyes, found Nessa sitting on his right, dandling a flower in front of his face. It reminded Glorfndel of an elanor, except this flower was reddish in color. Tulkas sat on the other side of him, an amused expression on his face.

"Ah, our elfling wakens once again," he said, then his demeanor became more sober and his tone was one of great authority. "Now listen to me carefully, Glorfindel. You played a necessary role in recent events, but it is not the only role you will play in your life. Bait you were, but that is no dishonorable thing. You have always been bait, you always will be."

Glorfindel stared up at the Vala with an expression of disbelief, but Tulkas only nodded, looking strangely grim.

"Think about it," he continued. "You made yourself bait when you attacked the Balrog so others could escape to safety. This was no different, except that here you became bait to flush out the evil that had woven its web within the very fabric of your society." The Vala paused and gave Glorfindel a penetrating look. "I suspect that in the future you will allow yourself to be bait again, drawing evil to you, to flush it out, so as to protect the innocent. It is, after all, what it means to be a warrior, does it not — to draw evil to oneself so as to protect the innocent who are unable or unwilling to protect themselves?"

Nessa spoke then. "You think we treat you with contempt, but that is not true, beloved. We have the utmost respect for you, more than you can ever know. Few would we trust to play such a dangerous role as you have played recently." Here she paused and gave him a smile that smote him with its simple beauty and he almost wept again but just managed to stop himself. "And do not think that Lord Manwë would bother to spend endless days listening to you whining if he did not love you as much as he does."

"I never whine," Glorfindel said with slight affront and the two Valar started laughing.

Tulkas stood up and Nessa with him. Then the Vala reached down and offered Glorfindel a hand up which the elf accepted. The two Valar each gave him a kiss. Nessa pointed to a path that wended its way through another part of the woods. "There is your road back to Vanyamar. Remember what we’ve said, beloved."

Glorfindel found himself alone. Even the table and chairs were gone. With a sigh he went along the path and soon found himself back in the gardens of the High King and there, waiting for him with an air of amusement about them, were Valandur and Lord Námo.

92: Sword-Brother to the Maiar

"Did you have a good run, best beloved?" Námo asked as Glorfindel approached.

"Yes, I did," the ellon said somewhat shyly. Then, he turned to Valandur. "Sorry about that. I shouldn’t have called you... what I did."

Valandur nodded. "And I’m sorry that I... upset you the way I did. It was not my intent... well, not solely my intent," he amended giving a glance at Lord Námo that Glorfindel could not interpret.

Námo merely nodded. "That’s settled then. I think, Glorfindel, you should try to forget what happened and concentrate on why you are here in the first place."

Glorfindel gave the Vala a somewhat sour look. "Why am I here?"

"To learn," was Námo’s only reply.

"Learn what?" Glorfindel practically shouted in frustration, all his good humor fled at what he saw as Valarin intransigence in refusing to give answers that made sense. Valandur gave the ellon an appraising look.

If the Lord of Mandos was upset at the elf’s histrionics, he didn’t show it, instead he smiled (smugly, Glorfindel would have said had anyone asked him). "That is for you to find out." With that, the Vala faded away, leaving Glorfindel seething. Valandur decided it was time to take matters into his own hands.

"The first thing you need to learn, my young friend," the older elf said as he put an arm around the ellon’s shoulders and pulled a reluctant Glorfindel towards the palace, "is not to antagonize a Vala. They’re a touchy lot at best. Never know which way they’re going to jump."

Glorfindel found himself snickering in spite of himself, some of his previous humor returning. "That’s what they say about us."

Valandur smiled knowingly. "Do they now?"

Glorfindel nodded, then stopped, his expression guarded. "What am I suppose to learn?"

"What do you want to learn?" came the surprising reply.

Glorfindel shrugged and looked down, suddenly unsure of himself. "I don’t know."

"Well, why don’t you think about it," Valandur said encouragingly, "and, when you’ve decided, you let me know."

Glorfindel looked up and seeing the warmth of understanding and acceptance in the older elf’s eyes, smiled back and nodded. "I’ll do that."

****

Over the next few days Glorfindel did think about it but came to no real conclusions. In the meantime, he was expected to join the other junior courtiers in attending Ingwë when the High King held court or during those council sessions when the topics of discussion were not of a sensitive nature. It was very much like Arafinwë’s court in that respect and Glorfindel fell into the routine of it readily enough.

He was often seen in the company of Elessairon, Lómion and Alassiel, though the elleth’s own duties as a member of Ingwë’s family kept her too busy to be with him as often as they would both like. This was especially so since her grandparents’ arrest and Ingwion’s absence. Ingwë began to rely on her and her mother more and more. In fact, Lirulin seemed to thrive now that her husband’s parents were no longer about and she proved to be a shrewd administrator and councillor and Ingwë welcomed her to his councils.

Glorfindel also began to take on more responsibilities, his memories of his days in Gondolin as one of Turgon’s trusted councillors coming more and more to the fore. That was not always a good thing, though. One day, while listening to a council session with the other junior courtiers, he suddenly found himself back in Turgon’s high council chamber that overlooked the city and the Court of the Trees. Late spring had replaced early winter. Turgon had summoned his captains to discuss a matter of security some time after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, for Turgon knew that Morgoth was now aware of him and would be searching for him and his hidden kingdom.

"No, Turgon," Glorfindel said, leaping from his chair, beginning to pace around the council chamber in his agitation. "I do not trust in Maeglin’s words. There has been greater activity of orcs roaming the Echoriath searching for us, not less. Has not Thorondor said as much? We need to strengthen our defenses and keep better vigilance."

"What do you propose then, my lord Glorfindel?"

That was Ecthelion, sitting near the King. Glorfindel glanced at his friend and smiled. "What I have always proposed, Ecthelion: trust in Lord Tuor’s words, for did not Lord Ulmo send him to us for a purpose? I fear that we will all rue the day that we ignored the words of the Lord of Waters." He looked pointedly at Turgon at that and was surprised to see a grim smile on the king’s face, for always before, whenever Glorfindel mentioned Lord Ulmo and his message, Turgon’s expression had darkened, though he never reprimanded the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower for voicing his views.

Turgon smiling wasn’t what had happened on that particular day, though, Glorfindel suddenly realized. Turgon had actually...

A wave of dizziness swept through him and then he felt arms holding him up and he found himself staring into Ingwë’s concerned face. He looked about him in confusion to see expressions ranging from mild consternation to downright disgust on the faces of senior councillors and junior courtiers alike. He turned back to Ingwë, suddenly unsure what had happened.

"M-my lord?" he whispered.

"That was quite a speech you gave, youngling," Ingwë said with a smile.

"S-speech?"

Ingwë nodded, releasing Glorfindel. "Luckily, Valandur understands Sindarin and was able to translate for us."

Glorfindel turned to see his mentor sitting where...

"Ecthelion," he said in a hoarse voice. "I called you Ecthelion."

Valandur nodded. "So it seemed. You were obviously not here and when you suddenly stood up and began speaking in Sindarin, addressing the king by a different name..."

"Turgon," Glorfindel said, turning white, his expression becoming blank with memory. Ingwë grabbed his elbow to steady him. "I... we were in a council session. It was some years after the Dagor Nirnaeth Arnediad and Turgon was concerned about security. Maeglin..."

Glorfindel, lost again in his memories, was unaware of the fell light that emanated from him as he spoke the traitor’s name and did not see the looks of alarm on many of the faces in the room. Ingwë gave the ellon a gentle shake to bring him out of his fugue. Glorfindel blinked a couple of times.

"I’m sorry, my lord," he said faintly, "I seem to be..." but he couldn’t complete the thought, for he wasn’t sure what he was feeling, except confusion as past and present collided with one another within him. He felt a frisson of panic begin to rise inside him and had a sudden need to be away from everyone. Then there was a shimmer in the air and Manveru and Erunáro were there, looking equally concerned. Ingwë stepped away from Glorfindel to give the two Maiar room.

"Carefully, sword-brother," Manveru said, taking Glorfindel into his embrace. "Take a deep breath and let it out slowly... and again... that’s it. All is well now."

Glorfindel could feel himself becoming more connected to his surroundings with every breath taken. Finally, the world seemed to steady around him and the Maia released him, giving him an encouraging smile.

"Better?"

Glorfindel nodded, smiling shyly back, then looked about and gave the Maia a rueful look. "I seem to have made a spectacle of myself again."

"But it was entertaining while it lasted," Ingwë laughed, not unkindly. "I wonder, though, what stopped you."

Glorfindel grimaced. "You were smiling, my lord, and on that particular day Turgon was not smiling. In fact..." he sighed and closed his eyes for a brief moment before addressing the High King again. "That day I went too far and... my king and I had a falling out." He shook his head at that and gave Ingwë a chagrined look. "We never fully reconciled before... before the end."

"I am sorry to hear that, yonya," Ingwë said sadly, suddenly divining Glorfindel’s... obsession with Turucáno.

Glorfindel gave a small shrug, a look of defeat on his fair countenance and Ingwë was at a loss how to offer him any comfort. Then, surprisingly, Alassiel, sitting with the royal family at the council table, stood up and came around to give the ellon a warm hug. "But someday you’ll be able to reconcile with your king, won’t you, ammelda? That is something to which you may look forward."

Glorfindel gave her a grateful look and smiled. "Thank you," he said softly.

Then Erunáro clapped him on the shoulder. "You are well now, sword-brother?"

Glorfindel gave the Maia a confused look. "Why do you call me that?"

"Why should we not?" Manveru retorted. "Did you not fight against and defeat one of our Fallen Brethren even as we have?"

"Not to mention pitting yourself against the seven elves who attacked you," Erunáro added with a grin. "Though, mind you, that stunt was rather stupid of you."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And pitting myself against a balrog wasn’t?"

Now Erunáro laughed. "I didn’t say that."

Manveru joined his brother in the Thought of Eru in laughter. "We will leave you now, sword-brother. Be well." With that, the two Maiar gave Ingwë respectful nods, then faded from sight.

For a long moment no one moved or spoke. Then, Ingwë bestirred himself, giving himself a mental shake. "Where were we?"

****

The storm that had raged across the Pelóri, keeping Glorfindel confined to the caves, had, oddly enough, missed Vanyamar completely. However, a couple of days after the incident in the council chamber, the denizens of the city woke to find a thick blanket of snow had fallen overnight. An informal holiday was declared and many people were seen enjoying the snowfall, especially the elflings. Glorfindel and his friends went outside the city after the noon meal to engage in a snowball fight — ellyn against ellith. Glorfindel hung back, standing against the city wall and watching his friends with a wistful look, for they were climbing the mountain to where the snow was deeper and away from the little ones playing by the gate. He was still unsure how far up the mountain he could safely go without arousing the wrath of the Valar.

Then, out of nowhere, a snowball hit him square in the face and he heard the sound of laughter from high above him. When he cleared the snow from his eyes he could see Elessairon and Alassiel, among others, pointing at him, obviously highly amused. At that moment, all thought of mountains, prohibitions and the Valar themselves fled from Glorfindel’s mind as he scooped up some snow and made his way purposefully towards the group of friends, bent on revenge.

It was a merry chase.

Manveru, unclad and leaning against the city wall as he watched the antics of the Children, little and not so little, looked up at his brother, who was brushing snow from his hands and smiling smugly. "Good throw," he said.

Erunáro laughed. "I have my moments."

Manveru nodded towards where Glorfindel was now being pummeled by snowballs thrown by three very determined ellith. "Just what he needed to bring him out of his self-pity."

"Our sword-brother just needed an... incentive," Erunáro said with a laugh. Manveru joined him.

****

High on Taniquetil, Manwë and Námo exchanged grins of their own.

"Métimavë!" Manwë said with some feeling.

"Násië!" Námo said, rolling his eyes towards the heavens.

They heard a faint echo of laughter come from beyond the Circles of Arda and then they were both laughing themselves.

****

Ammelda: Best beloved, literally "most beloved".

Métimavë!: "Finally!"

Násië!: "Amen!"

93: Lessons

Some days after the snowball fight, Glorfindel was exploring a part of the palace grounds he had not seen before. He was accompanied by Elessairon, Lómion and Alassiel. They came upon a building where Glorfindel detected a familiar sound.

"What’s going on?" he asked no one in particular and before anyone could respond, he opened the door.

They found themselves in a training salle where several ellyn were engaged in mock sword fights and going through certain drills. Glorfindel gave his friends a bemused look.

"There’s been sword practice on a regular basis throughout Aman since everyone returned from the War of Wrath," Elessairon explained with a shrug. "The High King and the Noldóran insisted that the older ellyn be trained with the sword."

"Why?" Glorfindel asked, feeling confused. "There are no enemies in Aman."

It was Alassiel who answered, speaking softly and somewhat uncertainly. "I think they are preparing for the Mahtalë Mahtalion."

Glorfindel just stared at her in shock, then turned back to the salle. There was a visitor’s gallery to their right, accessible by a set of stairs. Making their way up, they found others had come before them. To Glorfindel’s surprise Valandur and Findis were there and they greeted him joyfully and invited the four younger elves to join them.

Glorfindel sat and watched the drills with interest, remembering a similar training salle in Gondolin. He noticed one ellon in particular, one of Ingwë’s junior courtiers named Aldarion. Glorfindel knew him slightly, a typical Vanya who was somewhat disdainful of Glorfindel for being a Reborn, but not antagonistically so. Still, Glorfindel tended to avoid the ellon’s company. The Noldo cast a critical eye over Aldarion’s fighting technique and shook his head.

"Move your feet, Aldarion," he called out, surprising everyone. "You look like you’re shuffling through molasses."

Aldarion looked up in surprise to see Glorfindel staring down at him, his expression one of professional interest, and frowned. "And I suppose you could do better, Etyangol?"

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, giving those sitting around him an amused glance, and then slowly smiled. "Oh, child, you just said the wrong thing," he proclaimed loudly enough for all to hear.

Then before anyone could stop him, he leapt over the railing, landing lightly upon the ground, moving cat-like across the salle to where Aldarion stood with his sparring partner, another member of Ingwë’s court named Vëantur who was a friend of Ingwion’s. All around them, everyone had stopped to see what was happening. Glorfindel did not see Valandur motion to one of the nearby guards and whisper something that saw the guard hurrying away.

When he came to stand before Aldarion, Glorfindel quietly asked Vëantur for his sword, which the ellon gave him with a slight bow and a smile, willingly stepping back to give Glorfindel all the room he needed.

Glorfindel gave Aldarion a disdainful look. "Are you ready, child?"

Aldarion just stared at him for a moment, unbelieving. "What? You mean to spar with me? You’re not even properly attired. And who are you to call me a child?"

Glorfindel merely shrugged. "If I’m stupid enough to allow you to get inside my guard, Aldarion, I’ll deserve whatever injuries I sustain, and unless you can claim to remember the Light of the Two Trees, you are indeed a child. Now, shall we get on with it?"

Then, without warning, Glorfindel raised his sword and with a single cutting motion fell upon the ellon, who gave a startled yell even as he scrambled out of Glorfindel’s path and raised his own sword just in time to block the downward sweep. After that, the two began sparring in earnest, or rather, Aldarion did. Glorfindel’s expression deepened to something undefinable and Aldarion suddenly felt afraid.

"Fight, damn you!" Glorfindel suddenly shouted. "You’re not dancing with your sister here." The Noldo’s attacks came more furiously and Aldarion realized that Glorfindel was not jesting. The Noldo moved with consummate grace, no stroke going wide, every motion economical and deliberate. It was a dance of deadly beauty that he wove about Aldarion and all who saw it watched with stunned horror and delight, for never had they seen anything like it.

Aldarion did his best, and he was actually quite good, once he got over his initial shock, but Glorfindel was even better and at last, with a single twist of the wrist, Glorfindel disarmed him and sent him to the ground, the Noldo’s sword point only inches from his throat. Aldarion looked up in terror, fully expecting to have Glorfindel kill him, but Glorfindel merely smiled and stepped back.

"You lose," he said smugly, then he threw the sword into the air and caught it as it came down, laughing joyously, spinning around in an impromptu dance of delight, his braids swinging and glittering by the light of the lamps. "Oh, that was fun. Who’s next?"

Aldarion just lay there, panting, looking on in disbelief. "Y-you’re not even... winded," he finally managed to gasp out as Glorfindel reached down and offered him a hand up.

Glorfindel gave him an innocent look and a shrug. "Why should I be? I was trying to be as gentle as I could with you. I wasn’t fighting at my full strength. This was supposed to be a friendly match, wasn’t it?"

Aldarion just stared at him, gaping, and all around them was absolute silence at the implications of the ellon’s words.

"Glorfindel."

Glorfindel turned to see Ingwë standing in the gallery beside Valandur, the High King’s expression one of amusement, and ran over to him laughing.

"My lord! Did you see? This is so much fun, but next time I want to spar with real warriors instead of with these children. Perhaps Finrod can come and play with me sometime, or even Ingwion."

Ingwë was hard-pressed not to laugh at the ellon’s elfling-like manner and simply smiled. "Give Vëantur back his sword, child. It’s time to go."

Glorfindel nodded, willing to obey the High King in this, too ecstatic at having discovered the salle in the first place to much care. He practically skipped back to Vëantur, giving back the sword to the bemused ellon before returning to the gallery, where Ingwë waited at the bottom of the steps with Valandur.

The High King looked over the salle at the stunned expressions on everyone’s faces and nodded to the training captains. "Carry on, my lords," he said gravely, then he steered Glorfindel out of the salle with Valandur right behind them.

"I wish I hadn’t given Lord Námo my sword," Glorfindel said as they left, practically bouncing with enthusiasm, "even if it was only within a dream. Perhaps I can convince him to give it back. I haven’t had this much fun in ever so long."

Ingwë gave up and started laughing. "Glorfindel, Glorfindel, you are such a delight. No wonder Lord Námo finds you so amusing. I think, however, we will let the Lord of Mandos decide if you should have your sword back." He paused and laid a hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder in a kindly manner. "In the meantime, I’ll see that you are properly outfitted and provided with a practice sword. There are a few elves who fought in the War of Wrath who might do as sparring partners if you promise not to hurt them overmuch."

"I promise," Glorfindel said with a laugh and hugged himself with glee. "Oh, wait until I tell Finrod and Sador. They’ll be so jealous."

Ingwë and Valandur looked at each other over the ellon’s head and started laughing. Valandur clapped the younger ellon on a shoulder. "I’m sure they will be."

*****

True to his word, Ingwë ordered appropriate gear made for Glorfindel and for the first time since his death, the ellon possessed armor and a sword. True, the sword was merely a practice sword and not his own, which had been buried in the ocean-drowned barrow where his first body lay, but it was well made and Glorfindel was pleased with it.

Ingwë also introduced him to two or three older elves who had been captains under Arafinwë during the War of Wrath. They proved to be worthy opponents for Glorfindel, though none could match him in skill. Yet all were open-minded enough to learn from him. Glorfindel suddenly found he enjoyed instructing others who were genuinely interested in learning what he had to teach.

"I’d forgotten how satisfying it is to see someone learn from you and take the lessons you’ve given them to heart," the ellon commented to Valandur one day as they sat in the loremaster’s study.

Valandur nodded and smiled. "I’m pleased that you are enjoying the experience. Perhaps you would consider helping out with the younger ellyn from time to time. The training captains would welcome your expertise."

Glorfindel shook his head. "I don’t think so. Aldarion still hasn’t forgiven me for trouncing him the way I did." He shrugged. "I merely gave him a better excuse to hate the Reborn than the one he had before."

Valandur frowned. "We need to address this antagonism against the Reborn sooner rather than later."

"But how?" Glorfindel asked. "My brothers and I have gone over it and we still haven’t come up with a solution. How do we convince the Amaneldi that the Reborn are worthy of their respect?"

"You don’t," came the surprising answer from Valandur.

"Huh?"

Valandur shook his head. "You cannot convince the Amaneldi of anything, but you can convince one person at a time. Think small, not big."

Glorfindel looked thoughtful at those words and remained silent for some time. Valandur gave him the space and time he needed to think things through.

****

"Aldarion."

The ellon turned to see Glorfindel standing there and tried not to grimace. They were in an anteroom of the council chamber where the courtiers were gathered for refreshments between council sessions.

"Glorfindel," Aldarion said, sounding coldly polite.

"Alassiel was telling me you are one of the best archers in Aman, especially with the great War Bows."

Aldarion struggled to keep his expression neutral. Was this... this Reborn elf going to now challenge him to an archery contest? He nodded reluctantly, almost warily.

Glorfindel smiled. "I was wondering if you could teach me how to use one."

Aldarion blinked. "Teach?"

The Noldo nodded. "Hunting bows I know but I never had a need to use one of the Altaquingar. My heart warns me that I should learn and I would consider it an honor if you would teach me."

Aldarion could only stare at Glorfindel with bemusement. He wondered briefly if he were being made the butt of some jest, yet he could detect nothing but sincerity in Glorfindel’s tone. He suddenly noticed that silence had descended upon the room as soon as Glorfindel had begun speaking to him and swallowed somewhat nervously, aware that the High King himself was looking upon him with interest, waiting for his answer. After a moment of staring at the Noldo standing expectantly before him, he nodded.

"Are you free this afternoon?" he asked, almost hoping that Glorfindel would say no, but the Noldo nodded. "An hour after the noon meal, then? The archery salle is next to the one where we train in swords."

Glorfindel smiled. "Thank you."

Then it was time to return to the council chamber. Aldarion did not see the High King nod approvingly as he walked past him, nor did he see Valandur give Glorfindel a wink as the ellon gave both his mentor and the High King a cheeky grin.

****

It seemed as if half the palace ended up crowding the visitor’s gallery that ringed the archery salle on three sides. Ingwë and several members of the royal family, including Alassiel and Lirulin sitting next to Findis and Valandur, occupied the royal box. Even Ingwë’s queen, Elindis, who normally eschewed such things, had elected to join them. She had recently returned from Lórien where she had been visiting her sister-in-law, Indis.

All through the noon meal conversations centered around the upcoming "lesson", though many suspected that the Noldo was simply setting Aldarion up for another tumble down the slippery slope of humiliation. Some opined that such a game appeared to be one of Glorfindel’s favorite pastimes, though the ellon in question would have been shocked and hurt had he heard anyone say such a thing in his hearing. Glorfindel knew he had many faults, but he also considered himself an honorable elf and would never have thought to stoop so low. Neither Ingwë nor Valandur, when they realized the tenor of some of the conversations, were pleased by what they heard but elected to allow things to play out as they would. They were both confident that Glorfindel’s own actions would put the lie to many of the Vanyar’s assumptions.

When Aldarion and Glorfindel appeared, there was an expectant hush. The two ellyn, when they entered the salle and saw everyone there, shared a mutual look of disgust that was almost funny. Then Glorfindel shrugged and said something that none heard, but they saw Aldarion smile. Aldarion was carrying his own bow and quiver while Glorfindel had found one in the armory where all the training weapons were stored.

"The Altaquinga is different from the usual hunting bow," the spectators heard Aldarion explain to Glorfindel as the two ellyn went about the business of setting up the field to their liking. Ingwë had instructed a couple of pages to help them. "For one thing it’s nearly twice as large and the draw is therefore heavier. Both the bow and the arrows used are made from nessamelda wood rather than yew and the arrows are fletched somewhat differently to allow for greater distance of flight."

Glorfindel nodded, aware of all this but willing to let Aldarion teach him in his own way.

"Because of the bow’s greater size," Aldarion continued, "most archers will have their own bows made specifically to match their height, but your practice bow will do for now. If you are serious about learning its use, you may eventually wish to have your own bow made."

"As to that, we will see," Glorfindel said. "I do not know whence comes this need to learn the use of the Altaquinga, for ever has my strength lain with the sword." He shook his head. "I have learned the hard way to trust my inner most feelings about such things." Glorfindel declined to add that it had been a sudden vision that had taken him.

He’d been wandering through one of the gardens pondering on how he could convince even one elf about the worth of the Reborn when he’d been overcome by the foretelling. He’d been unsure where he was or why he was using a bow rather than a sword, but he had found himself racing on horseback across a wide plain with two others, a young Adan of all things and another elf whose features looked vaguely familiar, but he could not place them. Behind them came the howls of wargs and orcs. They had stopped their flight to take a stance upon low hills and Glorfindel had stood there calmly with a war bow in his hands waiting for the wargs and orcs to approach. Then the vision had faded.

When he had asked his friends if there were any who were proficient in the use of the Altaquinga, Aldarion’s name was often the first one mentioned. That had surprised Glorfindel, but on one level he knew that this was no coincidence and had accepted what was being offered him.

Aldarion merely nodded at Glorfindel’s words and proceeded to show him the proper stance, correcting his hold on the bow slightly. He then gave a demonstration, placing the arrow firmly inside the center ring. Glorfindel attempted to do the same but the arrow ended up missing the target completely. He uttered an oath in Sindarin and scowled. Some few elves in the galleries were heard to snicker. Ingwë frowned and whispered something to Valandur, who nodded before getting up and leaving.

"Try it again," Aldarion said quietly, his expression that of a captain evaluating the skills of one of his warriors under his command. "You were putting too much weight on the draw. Take a deeper breath and let it out slowly as you release the arrow."

Glorfindel complied and this time he actually managed to hit the target though it was in the outer ring. Aldarion nodded his approval and there was clapping from the spectators, mostly from Glorfindel’s friends. "That’s better," Aldarion said. "I think with a little more practice you might do quite well." Then, unable to resist, he stepped forward and calmly proceeded to place arrow after arrow into the center ring without even bothering to pause between sending one arrow off before reaching for another. Glorfindel stood there, silently gauging the ellon’s movements, a small smile on his lips.

When the last arrow was spent there was a general acclamation from the spectators and many rose to give the ellon their ovation. Glorfindel gave Aldarion a wide grin, which the other elf returned and when the Noldo held out his hand, Ingwë was pleased to see Aldarion clasp it without hesitation. Once the cheering died down, Glorfindel turned to Ingwë and gave the High King a bow.

"If my lord will permit," he said loudly enough for all to hear, "we would open the field to any who care to join us in practice."

At Ingwë’s nod there was a mad scramble as several ellyn and not a few ellith began racing through the galleries to come down to the training field, many of them with their own bows in hand, having hoped for a chance to join in the lesson. Glorfindel gave Aldarion a sardonic look and the ellon laughed, issuing orders to those joining them and organizing them into teams. More targets were set up and the arrows began to fly in earnest. Even Elessairon and Lómion joined in the fun, their skill at the bow somewhat greater than Glorfindel’s, but the Vanyar were definitely the masters. By the time the session ended an hour later Glorfindel’s archery skills had improved dramatically, but more importantly, friendships were formed between him and the Vanyarin archers. When the young Noldo finally left the salle with Aldarion, several Vanyar surrounded them, talking enthusiastically about archery and sword fighting.

Many of the spectators had already left by then, but Ingwë had remained where he was, watching the practice with professional interest. Valandur had returned at one point and the two were seen speaking quietly with one another, though not even those in the royal box knew of what they spoke. As he watched Glorfindel and Aldarion leave the salle together, Ingwë nodded to himself, a considering look on his face. He and Valandur were now alone except for the usual guards, the queen and the rest of the family having left some time before, though Alassiel had lingered until duty had forced her to leave.

"Invite Aldarion to attend you the next time you and Glorfindel meet for one of your sessions," Ingwë said quietly to Valandur. "Tell him he will be joining Glorfindel in his tutorials."

Valandur responded with a raised eyebrow. "Aldarion is no longer an elfling, Uncle, to have to endure such a thing. He is young, of course, but already holds great responsibilities within the government. Do you seek to humiliate him by such a request?"

Ingwë gave his niece’s husband a shrewd look. "Nay, my son, that is not my intent. I want Aldarion to help you with Glorfindel. In due time I expect Aldarion to take over mentoring our young Balrog-slayer, but he will need some training along those lines first."

"Ah," Valandur said with the light of understanding in his eyes. Then he gave his uncle and king a wicked grin. "Has anyone ever told you what a devious bastard you really are?"

Ingwë laughed as he stood up, Valandur following him. "Not in so many words, no, but I thank you for the compliment."

Valandur laughed uproariously at that and even the guards were smiling as the High King and his loremaster finally left the gallery.

****

Mahtalë Mahtalion: Battle of Battles; the Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin Dagor Dagorath.

Altaquingar: Plural of Altaquinga: Great Bow; the war bow of the Eldar.

Nessamelda: Beloved of Nessa; the name of a species of tree that grows in Aman.

Note: The full tale of Glorfindel’s vision can be found in my story, Tâd Edhel a Firion, Chapter 4, "Orcs Get In Your Eyes".

94: Vanda Envinyanta

Aldarion was not pleased when Valandur informed him of the High King’s decision, but put a good face on it. So, he was rather surprised when he walked into Lord Valandur’s study a couple of days later to find Glorfindel in a corner standing on his head while the loremaster sat at his desk calmly reading a court document. Valandur looked up with a smile when he saw Aldarion and chuckled at the ellon’s expression.

"Don’t mind Glorfindel," Valandur said. "He’s being punished. Come and sit down... and Glorfindel, wipe that frown from your face."

"I’m not frowning, my lord," Glorfindel retorted, crossing his eyes as he tried to look at them. "I’m smiling upside down."

Valandur rolled his eyes and Aldarion hid a smile. "Just for that," Valandur said, "you can stay there for another five minutes." He gave Aldarion a grin and winked. "Glorfindel tends to get overly excited at times," he explained. "Lord Námo gave me some pointers on how to... er... curb his enthusiasms."

Aldarion gave Glorfindel a sideways glance and saw the ellon stick his tongue out and started laughing in spite of himself.

"All right, Glorfindel," Valandur relented. "You may join us."

Glorfindel sighed with relief and stood up, giving himself a shake before taking a chair, grinning impishly and looking not at all repentant.

Valandur gave the two younger ellyn an appraising look. "How go the archery and sword-fighting lessons?"

The two ellyn gave each other brief glances, then both shrugged noncomittally. Valandur was hard-pressed not to laugh at their antics. Aldarion was much older than Glorfindel if one did not take into account the fact that Glorfindel remembered the Two Trees whereas Aldarion was born after the rising of Isil and Anar, but at this moment he was acting much like Glorfindel in the face of authority.

"Well, I’m glad to hear it," the loremaster said sardonically and was pleased to see both ellyn blushing at the implied reprimand. "His Majesty reminded me the other day that the Merendë Andohrívëo is coming up and he has in mind to have a tournament the day after to show off our warriors’ skills in sword and bow. He would like you, Aldarion, to organize the archery competition and you, Glorfindel, the sword-fighting." He paused for a moment to allow the ellyn time to take in his words, then turned to Glorfindel, who sat there looking a bit stunned. "Did you not tell me that Turucáno often commanded such tournaments to be held in Ondolindë?"

Glorfindel nodded, swallowing nervously. "It’s one reason why more people survived Morgoth’s attack than should have. Most of the warriors had already donned armor, intending to compete in the summer tournament that would be held just after sunrise once the ceremonies were over, else none of us would have been armed when the orcs came for us."

Valandur and Aldarion remained silent at Glorfindel’s description of his last day in Gondolin. Valandur sighed. Aldarion stared at Glorfindel with dawning respect, beginning to understand at last this Reborn Noldo.

"I’m sorry I’ve brought such a painful memory to light, youngling," Valandur said quietly.

Glorfindel shrugged. "Painful, yes, but it’s just a memory and can no longer harm me." He paused and licked his lips, taking a deep breath and releasing it, as if letting go of whatever pain the memories had conjured. "What exactly did the High King have in mind?"

Valandur smiled approvingly at the ellon. "As to that, something small. Perhaps a combination of demonstrations as well as actual competitions, but nothing too serious or elaborate. If it works out well, I think he would like to see a larger tournament held at the New Year and invite all the warriors of Aman to compete, even those from Tol Eressëa."

"And the prize?" Glorfindel asked.

Valandur raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Prize?"

Glorfindel nodded enthusiastically. "There’s always a prize, something for the competitors to pin their prowess on. Turgon usually had some gift — a bag of gold, or a piece of jewelry, nothing extremely expensive, more a token of esteem for fighting so well than anything else. And of course, Lady Idril would be the one to give the prize to the winner, which was an even greater incentive to do well in the lists." Here he grinned wolfishly. Valandur and Aldarion laughed.

"Very well," Valandur said once they all calmed down. "I will speak to Ingwë about a suitable prize and who should give it. I think we should spend this time hashing out any other details. The High King wants to see what you’ve decided by tomorrow so he can make the necessary arrangements."

The two younger ellyn nodded and soon all three of them were busy planning the tournament. Aldarion found his estimation of the Noldo rising as Glorfindel spoke authoritatively about the logistics involved in seeing that a tourney ran smoothly and with little mishap.

The next day, when Ingwë listened to them outlining their plans and watched as Aldarion bowed to Glorfindel’s expertise in the matter without evincing any rancor, he smiled to himself, pleased that his little gambit in throwing these two together was paying off.

****

The Winter Solstice arrived and preparations for the upcoming ceremony and the tournament the next day became somewhat frenetic, though it was a controlled chaos. Glorfindel and Aldarion finished their preparations early in the day, assigning roles to others whom Ingwë had ordered to help out. There was much excitement over the tournament and many elves wanted to compete. The size of the tourney and its limited scope, however, meant that not everyone would be able to join in the fun, but all were mollified by the idea that an even larger tournament was being planned for the New Year and the lists would be opened to all with the requisite training.

In the meantime, as the hour for the traditional solstice ceremonies drew nearer, many noticed Glorfindel becoming more withdrawn. Valandur observed with some concern that the ellon was constantly rubbing his peridot ring and wondered what he should do, other than to tell Ingwë. He was unaware that Manveru, presently on "sword-brother watch" as he and Erunáro called it, had already alerted Lord Manwë about Glorfindel’s rising agitation and the Elder King had placed his people on high alert.

Then, after the noon meal, Glorfindel went missing. Ingwë ordered his guards out to find him.

"Be sure not to threaten him or do anything to alarm him," the High King warned them, "but let him know that he need not attend the ceremony if he does not so desire. I just want to know that he is well."

"And if any of the Maiar appear, do not interfere," Valandur added. "They will know better what is to be done."

A search of the city, however, found no Glorfindel and Ingwë became thoroughly alarmed. "Search the mountain," he ordered grimly as he went to prepare for the ceremony, loath as he was to do so, for he would much rather have joined in the search for the missing Noldo.

When the ceremony was finished Ingwë found the captain of his guards waiting for him with a report. Glorfindel was not on the mountain.

"I went even unto my Lord Manwë’s abode," the captain said. "None there had seen him and Lord Manwë was not there."

Ingwë dismissed the captain with his thanks and sank dejectedly to sit on the top step of the dais before his throne, wondering what he should do now, but there were no answers forthcoming.

****

Glorfindel thought stealing a horse and leaving the city through the southern gate too easy, for no one stopped him and he was halfway to Valmar before he felt himself relaxing enough to enjoy the ride. The horse was not Asfaloth, but it was a fine steed nonetheless. It was past sunset now and he would not reach the city of the Valar for some time, though hopefully before midnight. The night was clear and the sky was brilliant with stars. Snow lay upon the ground in virginal silence. Nothing broke the serene whiteness that covered this part of Aman, not even animal tracks.

As soon as he had cleared the city walls his sense of unease had lessened and now he found himself singing softly one of the songs he remembered from his previous life. He was not sure why he was doing what he was doing and without the High King’s permission, but it felt right and he refused to think any further about the possible consequences of his actions. He wondered briefly if he should have left a note, but decided that it was a good thing he hadn’t, else they would have found him too soon.

Eldamas came into view a couple of hours later. The city was ablaze with lights as the citizens set out to celebrate the Solstice. No one paid any attention to him. Glorfindel stopped at the edge of the town, climbed down from his horse and whispered his thanks into an equine ear.

"Return now to your master, my friend," he said, giving the horse a rub between its ears. "I am grateful for your assistance. Namárië."

The horse gave a soft whinny and a nod before turning and heading back towards Vanyamar. Glorfindel watched him go for a bit before continuing through the town towards Valmar and what lay beyond. He paused briefly before Lord Manwë’s mansion, all lit up, but did not linger overlong, making his way down the Landemallë. When he reached Lord Námo’s mansion, however, he stopped and knelt before its gates, trembling, constantly rubbing his gift-ring, though he was unaware that he was doing so.

After some moments he rose unsteadily and made his way to the west gate, his steps slowing, as if now that he was there, he was unsure if he should continue. Then he shrugged, pulled himself together and continued on. He thought his ultimate destination was the Máhanaxar, but when he reached the Ezellohar, he found himself stopping and stared up at the dead husks of the Two Trees. For the longest time he simply stood there and then with a stifled sob he knelt, pulling out a white-hilted knife from its sheath, staring at the cool deadly blade gleaming in the winter starlight. He found himself trembling again.

He raised the knife to his lips and kissed the cold metal with an air almost of reverence. Then in one swift motion he sliced the palm of his right hand, dropping the knife as blood, black in the starlight, welled up and dripped upon the pristine snow. As he held his bleeding hand with the other he started speaking, his voice hoarse with tears.

"H-here do I, Glorfindel, L-lord of the House of the Golden Flower, swear... swear fealty unto thee, m-my king. That I will come when thou sayest 'come' and go when thou sayest... sayest 'go'.... Thou hast my life... thou hast my life..."

He was crying in earnest now, unable to complete the words of the oath he had spoken so many centuries and a lifetime ago. How proud he had been at that moment when he had given his life into his liege’s keeping. The glad solemnity of his King as he spoke the words and the sense of belonging he had felt when Turgon had accepted his oath had nearly overwhelmed him...

"Tenn’ Ambar-metta. Valar valuvar."

Glorfindel looked up, giving a startled gasp even as he grabbed the knife, rising somewhat shakily to face the person before him. It was a Maia, but one he had never seen before. He stood taller than the elf, with flowing white hair. Unlike the other Maiar, he did not wear the usual white robe and embroidered surcoat. Instead, he was dressed in a knee-length hauberk of mithril mail, shining coldly in the night, its links reflecting snow and shadow. A fell sword, nearly as tall as Glorfindel, hung from his belt and a mantle of pure white wool trimmed with white rabbit fur flowed from his broad shoulders. He wore a mithril diadem upon his head where a single heart-shaped laurelaiquamírë gemstone shone dully green. Yet the most surprising thing was the large leather-bound book that lay open in his left hand while in his right he held a quill.

The Maia gave the ellon a smile, his silver-grey eyes shining in the darkness. "Greetings, Glorfindel. I am Eönwë of the People of Manwë."

"L-lord Manwë’s Herald," Glorfindel whispered in awe and felt himself trembling again, though he was not sure why.

Eönwë looked upon the elf with great benevolence and nodded. "But tonight I act as Oathkeeper to the Valar."

Glorfindel shook his head in confusion. "I don’t understand."

"Every oath uttered wherein the Valar or Eru are called upon as witnesses, I record in this book," he said, pointing to the open pages with his quill. "Every oath. Even yours, child." Then he bent down and turned the book so Glorfindel could read it.

There in flowing script were the words he had just uttered, but they were not the only words. Glorfindel swallowed hard, feeling faint. Somehow every oath he had ever uttered throughout his life was there on that one page. Even the simple oath he had spoken as an elfling when he and his cousins had played at being warriors. He remembered that day suddenly. He could not have been more than twenty-five at the time. How seriously he had taken their game and the oath he had given to be the best warrior there ever was. He smiled faintly at the memory and at the naiveté of his youth. And there, further down the page was the oath he had given to...

He found he could not breathe properly and the world did a slow spin as the stars blanked out. He was on his knees when he came to himself with Eönwë standing over him, one hand placed lightly upon his head. He felt someone else behind him and heard the familiar voice of Manveru speaking quietly to him.

"Breathe deeply, sword-brother. All is well. There is naught to fear here."

The quiet, familiar tone helped relax him and soon he was feeling himself again. He started to stand and Manveru helped him up. It was then that he noticed the cut on his palm was no more. Eönwë gave him a compassionate look.

"Why did you feel the need to respeak your oath, Son of Gondolin? Know you not that such an oath as this is irrevocable? Not even your death or Turucáno’s death could sever it. There was no need to renew it."

Glorfindel swallowed and looked down at his feet. "It... it was on this night that I gave him.... I just wanted Turgon to know that... that I hadn’t forgotten... that I hadn’t abandoned...."

He was weeping again and twisting the peridot ring, his voice full of sorrow, regret and anguish. Manveru took him into his embrace, stroking his hair. "Hush now, sword-brother. You must not weep so. Your oath still stands and you have been faithful to it. There is no need to feel shame or sorrow. Hush now. See, Eönwë has recorded your oath again and Eru has ratified it."

The Maia pointed upwards and Glorfindel gasped. High above hung curtains of shimmering red lights that seemingly encircled them. There was an eeriness about them as they fluttered and danced in silence above the snow-covered fields. Glorfindel gave Eönwë an awed glance which the Maia returned with a nod, his eyes full of solemn joy.

"All oaths to the Valar and to Eru are recorded, child. Thy oath is deemed acceptable to Ilúvatar, for though it was unnecessarily given, it was given in all humility and Eru and the Valar honor thee for it. Á lelya séressë, Yond’ Ondelindëo. Know that when the time is meet, thy king shall hear of this night and thine oath given once more and he shall be glad."

With that, Eönwë closed the book, which then faded from sight. The Herald of Manwë and Captain of the Host of Valinor bent down and kissed Glorfindel on either cheek and then on the brow. "Tenn’ Ambar-metta. Valar valuvar," he whispered and then faded from sight.

For a long moment Glorfindel just stood there, glancing up to where the lights still danced, then Manveru kissed the top of his head. "Come, sword-brother. I will escort you back to Vanyamar."

****

They arrived at dawn and when the city guards saw the ellon walking towards them with Manveru they gave glad cries and someone ran and rang the city bells. Ingwë rushed from the throne room where he had paced the night and ran into the street. Many there wondered at the sight of the High King weeping as he took Glorfindel into his embrace and gave him a kinsman’s kiss of welcome. Glorfindel attempted to stammer an apology but Ingwë waved it aside.

"You may apologize later, yonya," the High King said, smiling now that he was assured that Glorfindel was safe. "For now, we have a tournament to see to. Go you and rest for a time."

He gave the ellon one more kiss. Glorfindel bowed, gave Manveru a warm smile and left. Ingwë stood there before the Maia, his expression one of relief.

"Thank you," he said simply.

Manveru smiled. "He does grow on you, doesn’t he?"

Ingwë could only nod as he both laughed and cried. He did not mind at all when Manveru took him into his embrace and held him through his tears, humming softly an ancient melody until the High King had calmed down. Neither Maia nor High King paid much attention to those who passed by them, giving the two considering looks.

****

Vanda Envinyanta: An Oath Renewed.

Laurelaiquamírë: What we would call chrysoprase, an apple-green form of chalcedony. It helps to make conscious what was unconscious. It encourages hope and joy and helps clarify problems. It is also used as a shield or protector against negative energy and has more power when carved in the shape of a heart [Chrysoprase, from chryso "gold" + prase "leek"; laurë "gold" + laiqua "green" + mírë "jewel"].

Á lelya séressë, Yond' Ondelindëo: "Go in peace, Son of Gondolin."

95: Apology and Punishment

Three hours later Glorfindel stood before Ingwë in the throne room tendering his apologies. They were alone. The High King had decided that as a punishment, Glorfindel would not be allowed to participate in the tournament. It was a measure of Glorfindel’s increasing maturity that not only did he not offer any protest when Ingwë informed him of his decision but actually agreed with the High King and even went so far as to suggest that he not be permitted to attend the tournament at all.

Ingwë shook his head with a slight smile. "I would not go that far, yonya. You are, after all, one of the administrators of the tourney and I will not punish Aldarion by denying him your expertise. When your duties do not require you to be elsewhere you will sit with me and tell me your thoughts about the way in which the participants fight. I would see their fighting skills improved. We have no way of knowing when the Final Battle will commence and so I would have my people better prepared. We lost too many ellyn in the opening maneuvers of the War of Wrath."

Glorfindel’s mien was sober at that and he gave Ingwë a bow. "It will be as my lord commands." He turned to go, but Ingwë stayed him.

"You will also explain to me before the entire court what happened last night. That explanation will be given before tonight’s feast."

Glorfindel paled and Ingwë noticed him twisting his ring, but the ellon merely nodded and gave the High King another bow before leaving to find Aldarion, departing by way of the main doors. Ingwë sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It had been a harrowing night fraught with worry. When a riderless horse appeared before the southern gate in the middle of the night, Ingwë’s worst fears were realized and he would have ridden out right then and there in search of the missing ellon, but prudence dictated that he at least wait for dawn. Glorfindel appearing when he did had been a relief for all. Ingwë had not been the only one in the city who had not gotten any sleep that night.

He gave a sigh, then motioned to the lone guard standing by a side door leading to one of the antechambers to the throne room. "Send him in, Sérener."

The guard bowed and opened the door, motioning for the one waiting there to enter.

****

The tournament, which commenced at noon, proved quite successful and Ingwë was pleased with the outcome. Glorfindel spoke to Aldarion and offered the ellon an apology as well, explaining his punishment.

"The High King will not permit me to participate in the tourney," he said with equanimity, his eyes clear of any anger. "He wishes me to sit with him and evaluate the other fighters. I think it best that I turn my duties over to someone else."

Aldarion nodded. "Who do you suggest?"

Glorfindel thought for a moment, then offered a name and Aldarion nodded again. "Vëantur is a good choice. He already told me that he would be willing to forego competing and give me a hand if for any reason you were not available."

Glorfindel blushed at that. "He should not be denied the pleasure of competing. I will take over whenever he is in the lists, but Ingwë is correct in wanting my help in evaluating his warriors. Not even the Valar know when the Final Battle will occur. It is best we are all prepared for it."

So it was decided and when the tournament began all there saw Glorfindel sitting on Ingwë’s left in the royal box overlooking the tourney field. He was dressed formally in a new robe of dark green velvet that fell to mid-calf. It was brightly trimmed with gold-thread embroidery. The undertunic was a fine linen dyed bright yellow, its bloused sleeves showing through the slits of the outer tunic sleeves that were tight to the wrist. He wore the chaplet gifted to him by Ingwion and Indil. Around his neck, on a silver chain, was a tear-drop hawk eye and carnelian pendant.

It was a gift from Ingwë — "A very belated Begetting Day gift, yonya," the High King had said when he presented it to Glorfindel upon his return to Vanyamar after the pronouncement of the doom against Ingoldo and Tinwetariel at the Máhanaxar. Glorfindel would never know that Ingwë had commissioned its making during the time the ellon had been recovering from the series of psychic breaks he had experienced before his kidnapping. Ingwë, in turn, would never know that the míretanë who had come before him to receive the commission found herself before Lord Aulë shortly thereafter with specific instructions from the Vala as to how the pendant would be made and with what materials. Aulë then imbued the pendant with certain properties that he did not bother to explain to anyone.

All Glorfindel knew about it was that it was a gift from the High King, whom he loved, and that wearing it made him feel better about himself and his situation, though he didn’t know why.

The tournament was a resounding success, though there were a few mishaps. One of the competitors broke an arm and two others sustained head injuries, though Ingwë was assured by the healers that neither injury was life-threatening and both ellyn were expected to make full recoveries. During a recess between the sword fighting and the archery competition several elves approached the royal box to offer their congratulations to the High King, who graciously accepted them, pointing out that Lord Glorfindel and Lord Aldarion had done all the hard work.

"All I did was nod my head," Ingwë said with a laugh.

"Except, of course, when you were shaking it," quipped Glorfindel with a wicked gleam in his eyes and the High King laughed even harder.

Afterwards, when all the competitors had had an opportunity to change into court garb, they met in the throne room so that Queen Elindis could present the prizes to the two winners. Like all Vanyar, she was tall and comely, her hair a rich summer gold, her eyes a sparkling green with flecks of gold. She was somewhat shy but the people loved her, for she was ever about the city seeing to their needs. Nor was she so haughty that she disdained an honest offer to sit in some elleth’s garden dandling a sleepy elfling on her knee, talking of child-rearing and husband-caring while said elleth hung out the laundry.

Now, she stood beside her beloved lord and husband in regal splendour, with her daughter and son-in-law and their four children ranged around the dais. She gestured to her two youngest grandchildren, Ingaranel and Ingalaurë, who were twins, to stand next to her. They were elflings, about thirty-five years old, and wore court livery. Later, they would be serving the high table, but for now they were acting as their grandmother’s pages. Each held a satin pillow upon which sat a silver circlet. Ingaranel’s circlet was fashioned with a single beryl cabochon while her brother’s circlet was fashioned with a sapphire. The chamberlain called for the two winners of the tournament to come forward.

Glorfindel, standing to one side of the throne dais with Aldarion and Alassiel, watched with interest as an ellon and an elleth approached their Majesties, giving them their obeisance. Both Ingwë and Elindis smiled upon them.

"Ninquelótë Manwendiliel," Ingwë said, "you have shown yourself a true Child of the Vanyar in your puissance and courtesy upon the field of chivalry. Your abilities with the sword We have seen and have delighted in this day and so We gift you with this token of Our esteem that all may know that you have Our benevolence."

Elindis then took the sapphire circlet from Ingalaurë’s pillow and placed it on Ninquelótë’s head. "Know ye that Ninquelótë Manwendiliel has this day proved victorious upon the field of battle against all comers and this is Our token unto you that she is Our Beloved Macilarátë." Elendis then gave the elleth a kiss upon her brow, stepping back to allow Ingwë to do the same. Ninquelótë was blushing prettily as everyone cheered.

When the acclamations had died down, Ingwë turned to the ellon. "Elessoron Aranwion, you have shown yourself a true Child of the Vanyar in your puissance and courtesy upon the field of chivalry. Your abilities with the bow We have seen and have delighted in this day and so We gift you with this token of Our esteem that all may know that you have Our benevolence."

Elendis then took the emerald circlet from Ingaranel, who gave the Champion a saucy grin, making the ellon blush. Everyone around the thrones laughed good-naturedly, though Ingwë was seen to roll his eyes and give his beloved granddaughter his best grandfatherly glare. She was too busy flirting with Elessoron to notice.

"Know ye that Elessoron Aranwion has this day proved victorious upon the archers’ field against all comers," Elindis said with an indulgent smile for her granddaughter as she placed the circlet upon the ellon’s head, "and this is Our token unto you that he is Our Beloved Quingaráto." She gave him a kiss on the brow and everyone cheered. Ingwë stepped forward and offered the ellon a warrior’s embrace, bending down to say something that only Elessoron heard. The ellon was seen to blush even more than before but the smiles the two exchanged between them were full of genuine warmth and camaraderie.

The two Champions then bowed to their Majesties and stood to one side of the dais at Ingwë’s behest. Silence then reigned in the court as they waited expectantly for the words of dismissal, for there was, as far as any knew, no other business. Ingwë gave Elindis a wry glance and the queen smiled. Then he turned to the court.

"There is one other piece of business before Us that must be addressed," he said, turning to look at Glorfindel, who stood pale but composed beside Aldarion. He saw Alassiel squeeze the ellon’s arm in encouragement. "Come here, Glorfindel."

There was a murmur of surprise that was quickly quieted as the Noldo stepped forward and gave Ingwë and his queen his obeisance. For a moment High King and Reborn stared at one another, though there was no sense of animosity between them. Glorfindel stood straight, his hands clasped behind him, fingering his ring. Ingwë nodded.

"When you are ready, son," he said softly though all there heard him.

When Glorfindel spoke it was barely above a whisper at first, though his voice gained in strength as he went on. "When Lord Valandur mentioned that the Winter Solstice was nigh and you wished to hold a tournament, I was suddenly reminded of two things." He paused for a moment and everyone saw him swallow nervously before he continued. Ingwë never moved but kept his eyes on Glorfindel. "I was reminded of the last day of my... my life, though then it was the Summer Solstice. Turucáno had declared a tournament on that day. It... it was never held...."

Silence reigned throughout the throne room at the implications of the ellon’s words. Glorfindel continued, speaking a little more quickly. "The second thing of which I was reminded was the fact that it was on the night of the Winter Solstice that I... that I gave my oath to my king."

Now Ingwë closed his eyes, understanding fully what Glorfindel meant and sighed. He opened his eyes. "Go on," he commanded quietly.

"The closer it came to the Solstice the... the more restless I began to feel. I do not know how to explain it, Sire. I just know that I could no longer remain in the city. I had to get away, so I... I stole a horse." There was a murmur of surprise at that but it was quickly suppressed by Ingwë’s glare. Glorfindel had hesitated between ‘stole’ and ‘borrowed’ and elected at the last moment to use the latter word as being the more truthful (to his mind). Ingwë did not bother to dispute him.

"I stole a horse," Glorfindel reiterated, "and rode to Valmar. I made my way to the Ezellohar and kneeling in the snow before the Trees I... I renewed my oath."

He then went on to describe the appearance of Eönwë and the Book of Oaths. All there stared in amazement at the ellon’s words, but when he spoke of the shimmering lights in the sky several people, including Valandur disputed him.

"There were no lights in the sky last night, Glorfindel," Valandur said gently. "I should know. I spent most of last night in my garden."

"Besides which," one of the other loremasters interjected somewhat testily, "we are too far south to see the formenyára. It is impossible for it to be seen from Valmar."

Glorfindel stared at Ingwë with some confusion. "I do not lie, my lord," he protested. "The lights were there. I know what I saw. I’ve seen them before, while crossing the Helcaraxë. They were ever around us, shimmering with implacable, watchful silence. Indeed, many of us thought that they might actually be... be Maiar making sure we did not turn back."

Ingwë raised a hand to still any further protests from anyone. "We do not doubt you, my son," he said gently. "We do not doubt that Eru Ilúvatar did indeed grant you a sign of his acceptance of your oath. Do not be dismayed. That none other saw the lights merely means that to you alone was granted the vision and that is all that matters."

He paused for a moment before continuing. "Nevertheless, you left without Our permission and you deprived one of Our faithful subjects of his property, though the horse has since returned to its owner safely. The next time you feel a need to leave the city, you will come to Us first." Then he turned to an older elf who stood in the front row of spectators and motioned him forward. The elf was plainly dressed and Glorfindel assumed he was an artisan of some sort. "This is Master Martandur," Ingwë said by way of introduction. "It was his horse that you stole. We have decided that for your punishment you will go with Master Martandur as his bondsman."

Glorfindel went stark white at that as he turned disbelieving eyes upon the High King. Ingwë nodded, though his expression was compassionate. "Between now and New Year’s you will do as Master Martandur bids, though he has been warned by Us not to command from you anything shameful or illicit. You will begin your indenture this night and you will begin by apologizing to Master Martandur here and now."

Glorfindel stared at the High King for a moment before turning to the waiting elf, who looked somewhat nervous and obviously feeling out of place. He bowed to the artisan and uttered as sincere an apology as he knew how. Martandur accepted the apology as graciously as he could. He was at a loss as to what he was supposed to do with this highborn ellon for the next three months. Ingwë appeared satisfied and nodded.

"You have Our leave to go and pack what you will," he said to Glorfindel. "My guards will escort you and Master Martandur back to his home when you are ready."

Glorfindel nodded mutely. So, he was not even being allowed to attend the tourney feast. So be it. He bowed deeply to Ingwë, then without a further glance at anyone, turned and walked out of the room, acutely aware of all eyes on him and the two guards who now flanked him.

Master Martandur followed, looking decidedly unhappy about the entire business. He had been happy enough to have his horse returned to him little worse for wear and cared not for punishing wayward ellyn, but the High King had spoken to him earlier and at length and he had reluctantly agreed to Ingwë’s plan. It didn’t mean he had to like it.

A half an hour later, when he and Glorfindel left the palace under guard, Master Martandur still didn’t know what he was supposed to do with his new thrall or how he was supposed to explain him to his wife.

****

Hawk eye: Also known as Tiger eye or Cat’s eye. A honey-brown striped gemstone. It promotes clear thinking and insight. It also heals self-criticism and self-worth problems and is considered a grounding stone.

Carnelian: Besides easing fears about rebirth in the Eldar, it also protects against negative energies and promotes a sense of humor in the wearer, calming the temper.

Míretanë: (Female) Jewel-smith. The masculine counterpart would be Míretano. This is the Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin Mírdan.

Macilarátë: (Female) Champion of the Sword. The masculine counterpart would be Macilaráto.

Quingaráto: (Male) Champion of the Bow. The feminine counterpart would be Quingarátë.

Formenyára: The Aurora Borealis or Northern Lights [formenya "northern" + ára "dawn", the literal meaning of the Latin].

96: Mallessë Míretanoron

"He’s our WHAT!?"

That was Mistress Míriel. Glorfindel stood white-lipped in the corner of the main room of his Master’s home, clutching his one bag. He had taken the time to change out of his court garb and into the plain grey tunic he had worn at the trial. At the last minute he had ruthlessly undone his braids. After all, I’m not a warrior any more, but a thrall, he had thought bitterly to himself as he grabbed his plainest cloak before leaving the palace. Now he stood watching his Master and Mistress arguing over him. Both had apparently forgotten his existence for the moment in the heat of their argument.

"What, by all that’s holy, are we supposed to do with a... a thrall?" Míriel demanded.

Glorfindel found himself flinching at the word. Coming from someone else it sounded.... He sighed inwardly, remembering how the unfortunate elves who had escaped Morgoth’s thralldom had often been treated by their fellow elves... and then there had been Húrin....

"It’s only until the New Year," Martandur said apologetically.

"As if that makes all the difference," Míriel snarled, her expression becoming angrier by the minute.

Well, it does to me, Glorfindel said to himself, feeling somewhat exasperated by the entire situation. He wondered if he should say something, but one look at his Mistress’ expression convinced him that attacking a balrog with a kitchen knife would be safer and ultimately less painful. Lord Námo must be laughing himself silly seeing me in this position, he thought sourly.

Martandur looked pleadingly at his wife. "The High King..."

"The High King can..."

Glorfindel felt his eyebrows lift off his face at the expletive the elleth uttered and then, in spite of everything, he started laughing. That someone like his Mistress would even know that word, much less use it in a sentence! His Master stared at him and then glanced back at his wife. The absurdity of the situation finally became manifest and Martandur felt himself smiling for the first time in hours. Míriel merely fumed.

"Why are you laughing?" she demanded sharply.

"Forgive me, Mistress," Glorfindel gasped, unable to curb his mirth, "but I never thought to hear the High King spoken of in quite that fashion."

Míriel finally had the grace to blush. "Well, just you don’t go telling him what I said," she admonished him, trying to look stern but finally relenting in the face of the ellon’s laughter. She gave him a wintry smile. "Well, we’ll straighten this out tomorrow. Meanwhile, you can sleep in the workshop. Have you eaten yet?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "No, Mistress."

Míriel nodded and turned to her husband. "Well, while you show Lord Glorfindel..."

"Just Glorfindel, Mistress," the ellon said calmly. "I’m not a lord any more, at least not while I remain under your roof."

The elleth looked somewhat taken aback at that but recovered quickly enough. "Glorfindel then. I’ll just put dinner together for us while my husband shows you around."

Glorfindel bowed and Martandur gestured for the ellon to follow him down a short hallway to the back of the house where the elf’s workshop was located.

"You are a jewel-smith, Master?" Glorfindel asked when he saw the workshop. There was an alcove along one wall that was curtained off. Martandur threw back the curtain and Glorfindel could see a built-in bed. Martandur gave him an apologetic smile.

"Yes, I am. I’m afraid we have only this bed to offer you. I have often used it while working on a project late at night and did not wish to disturb Míriel. There is space beneath for you to store your clothes. The privy is through that door there and the kitchen is the second door on the right as you go back up the hallway past the bathing room. Our bedroom is the door to the left."

Glorfindel nodded, placing his bag with its meager contents on the bed as he looked around. It was a small workshop with an entrance to the street beyond for customers. The instruments of the craft were neatly arranged around a large wooden table where Martandur obviously worked. The smith gave the Noldo another apologetic look.

"I... I regret this has happened, my lord," he stammered. "When the High King told me what he planned... I did not wish to..."

Glorfindel shook his head. "There is no need to apologize, Master. I accept Ingwë’s decision in this. I would have been willing to make just recompense to you for the use of your horse, but the High King’s solution is a bit more... well, let’s just say that the next time I feel the urge to steal something, I’ll remember this little lesson." He gave the jewel-smith a deprecating smile. "And my name is Glorfindel, Master, as I said."

Martandur nodded. "I will try to make your... servitude as painless as possible, Glorfindel."

"Well, you better not make it too painless," Glorfindel rejoined with a wink. "It is, after all, supposed to be a punishment."

Martandur laughed at that. "In that case, I’ll let Míriel order you about. She’s a harder taskmaster than I could ever be."

"So I noticed," Glorfindel said, raising an eyebrow.

"Come," Martandur gestured for them to leave. "Let us see what my wife has prepared for our dinner. Míriel has many faults, but her cooking is superb."

Glorfindel followed the smith back to the main room, which also contained a small dining alcove, to find that the table was ready. In a short while they were eating, though it was not a comfortable meal. Martandur was embarrassed for Glorfindel, while Míriel was still somewhat angry. Glorfindel also felt awkward and at first had thought he should be waiting on his Master and Mistress before eating himself, but Míriel put all thoughts of that out of his head with a single gesture.

"Sit down, Glorfindel," she said, not unkindly. "For tonight, you are merely a guest in our house. Tomorrow is soon enough to continue with this charade of you being our thrall. Whatever was the High King thinking? I expected better from him than to humiliate someone in this fashion over a horse."

"It is more than my stealing your horse, Mistress," Glorfindel said as he took some bread and dipped it into the stew that was the meal’s main dish, "and this is no charade. I fully expect for you and my Master to treat me as your thrall and I will do my best to obey you in all things save where my honor is threatened."

Míriel shook her head. "Well, as long as you don’t think your honor is threatened by scrubbing floors and such, I suppose we can live with the situation, but I intend for the High King to know precisely what I think about this entire affair at the earliest opportunity."

Glorfindel felt himself smiling wickedly. "Then, I hope, Mistress, you will allow me to be present when you do."

"Me, too, dear," Martandur added, leaning over to give his wife a husbandly kiss on the cheek and then both he and Glorfindel were laughing as Míriel blushed.

****

Later, Glorfindel attempted to get comfortable in what would be his bed for the next three months, the strangeness of the situation finally forcing itself upon his consciousness. He had studiously avoided thinking too much about everything that had happened while it was happening but now he was alone in an unfamiliar room lying on a bed that was not his and his thoughts would not leave him be.

He admitted to himself that while he accepted Ingwë’s right to punish him as he had, he still resented the public manner in which his punishment had been meted out and felt himself growing hot with shame at the memory of the looks of the courtiers as he had been escorted from the throne room. He also resented the fact that this effectively meant that he would not be able to compete in the New Year’s tournament as well, for he would have no opportunity to practice with either sword or bow during the time of his indenture.

Glorfindel sighed, adjusting his position somewhat on the bed that was just a bit narrower than he liked and wondered again what Lord Námo must be thinking about all this.

"Probably thinks I richly deserve being a thrall," he said out loud for no particular reason than to hear his own voice as he stared at the ceiling of the alcove waiting for sleep to come.

Erunáro, now on watch, shook his head, leaned over and placed an invisible hand on the ellon’s head and willed the elf towards the Path of Dreams. In minutes, Glorfindel was fast asleep.

****

"Ingwë did what?" Námo asked in disbelief.

The Vala was still at Nienna’s, having spent the day with Ingwion, explaining some of the ellon’s duties as his apprentice. The Lord of Mandos had, in fact, been quite aware of Glorfindel’s movements during the night before, especially when the ellon arrived in Valmar. Even as he had been accepting Ingwion’s oath he had kept half an eye on Glorfindel’s whereabouts, but had not paid much attention to anything or anyone but Ingwion all the next day. Now, with that ellon safely abed, he and Nienna were sitting in the cloister enjoying the evening. Or at least he had been until Manveru came with his report.

The Maia nodded grimly. "Until the New Year," he said. "Ingwë effectively banished Glorfindel for the next three months and reduced his status to that of a thrall."

"All for stealing a horse?" Nienna asked skeptically.

Manveru shook his head, looking unhappy. "Nay, Lady, for leaving without Ingwë’s permission or letting anyone know where he was going. The theft of the horse is a convenient fiction. Master Martandur would have been happy enough with a monetary compensation."

"Ingwë is angry," Námo said baldly.

Manveru nodded. "I have never seen him this angry before, and it’s all the more terrifying because he does not appear to be angry at all."

"How is Glorfindel handling it?" Námo asked with some concern.

Manveru actually smiled. "Better than some others. Lady Alassiel actually called the High King a bloody tyrant and stormed out of the throne room declaring that she would leave for Lórien in self-exile until Glorfindel was permitted to return and was reinstated to his former position as a lord of the Eldar."

Both Námo and Nienna raised amused eyebrows at that.

"Ingwë looked rather hurt at the elleth’s outburst," Manveru said diffidently, and Námo snorted.

"Well, my main concern is Glorfindel," the Vala said gruffly. "Ingwë can take care of himself."

Manveru nodded. "You should know that Glorfindel undid his warrior braids before leaving the palace."

"On Ingwë’s orders?" Nienna asked.

Manveru shook his head.

"Did he now?" Námo asked with a slight smile, feeling pride in his favorite Balrog-slayer. "Who’s with him now?"

"My brother, Erunáro," the Maia answered and Námo nodded.

"I want two of you with him at all times. Ingwë in his anger may not have thought out all of the ramifications. There may be some who will see Glorfindel’s fall from grace as a license to take advantage of the situation and do the ellon an injury."

"You will not take Ingwë to task over this?" Nienna asked curiously. She knew how protective her brother was toward any of the Reborn.

Námo shook his head. "This is an internal matter between the High King and one of his subjects. Ingwë is free to discipline Glorfindel as he sees fit, though I admit I’m somewhat disturbed by his actions. The punishment seems to be out of proportion to the crime."

"Nevertheless, we will abide by the High King’s decision in this."

They all looked up to see Manwë there. Manveru gave him a deep bow while Nienna and Námo merely nodded their heads in greeting.

"It sounds as if there’s more to this..." Námo began but Manwë raised a hand to interrupt him and when he spoke his expression was solemn.

"Whether there is or not is not your concern, my son." The Elder King gave the Lord of Mandos a penetrating stare. "If memory serves, you have a new apprentice. I suggest you concentrate on him for the time being."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment and then Námo nodded. "It will be as you say, my lord," he said softly, acknowledging Manwë's suzerainty over him.

"Glorfindel is fine where he is and does not need rescuing," Manwë continued, "but I agree that Ingwë may not have thought things out as fully as he should have." He glanced at Manveru. "Do as Lord Námo says: two Maiar at all times." The Maia bowed and faded to join his brother in watching over their sword-brother. Manwë also started to leave then turned to Námo. "Ingwion is not to know of this from you, my son," he admonished his fellow Vala. "He will learn soon enough from others what has transpired in Vanyamar. We will see how this little drama plays itself out."

Nienna gave the Elder King a shrewd look. "Glorfindel’s still the bait, isn’t he?"

Manwë gave them a brilliant smile. "He has always been the bait, my dear." Then brother and sister were left alone in the cloister to ponder the Elder King’s words.

****

When Glorfindel awoke it was just barely light. He suffered a momentary panic when he couldn’t remember where he was or why, but then memory of the previous day came rushing back and he grimaced even as he stepped out of bed in search of the privy. He quickly dressed and made his way to the kitchen. His Master and Mistress still slept, so he stoked the fire and put the kettle on the boil, setting the table for two. When Míriel came in a while later, she was surprised to see him up and about.

"Why have you only set the table for two?" she asked after he greeted her with a short bow.

"I will eat later, Mistress," Glorfindel answered.

Míriel shook her head. "Thrall you may be, but you are my husband’s thrall, not mine. While you are under my roof you will eat your meals with us. Now set another plate, then you may go to the bakery and pick up some fresh rolls. I’ll tell you where to go. It’s not far."

Glorfindel hesitated for a brief moment then bowed again. "Yes, Mistress," he said quietly and went about carrying out her orders. The bakery was indeed not far and Glorfindel had no trouble getting what was needed, paying for it with money his Mistress had given him.

"You’re new here, aren’t you?" asked the baker’s assistant.

"I am staying with the jewel-smith, Master Martandur, and his wife," he answered, not inclined to explain the real relationship. No doubt, the news about what had happened was already flying and it wouldn’t be long before the entire city knew about him.

The assistant merely nodded as she handed him his package and bade him a good day. He found himself feeling somewhat strange after that and by the time he returned to the smith’s house, he was becoming disassociated with his surroundings. Martandur, who was helping his wife with breakfast, took one look at him and ordered him to sit down on a bench, which he did, though reluctantly.

"What is wrong?" Míriel asked, looking concerned. "Has something happened? Is there bad news?"

Glorfindel shook himself, trying to gather his thoughts, but found it difficult to focus. Both Martandur and Míriel noticed him fiddling with the peridot ring that was his only jewelry, except for the sword pendant around his neck. Martandur, especially, noticed the fine craftsmanship of the ring and knew instinctively that no elf had fashioned it. He felt a frisson of wonder at that, but forced himself to concentrate on the ring’s owner, who apparently was in shock for no reason that he could fathom.

"Glorfindel?" he said quietly, not wanting to alarm the ellon.

The Noldo glanced up and the look he gave them was so heart wrenching that Míriel felt tears coming. "I... I’m a... a thrall... I’m a... thrall," was all he could say and then he was crying and both Martandur and Míriel found themselves sitting on either side of him, taking turns holding him in their arms and trying to comfort him. Míriel gave her husband an angry look.

"I think we need to see the High King."

Glorfindel was shaking his head, trying to stop the tears. "No. No, please. It’s all right. I... I just need to get used to..." and then he felt an overpowering need to flee and almost made it to the door before he was stopped.

Míriel screamed at the sight of two sword-bearing Maiar suddenly appearing in her kitchen and grabbing a now yelling Glorfindel. Then a third Maia showed up. This one was not wearing a sword, but a frown.

"Glorfindel!" the Maia shouted over the ellon’s yells. "It’s all right, child. Calm down. That’s it. Let me see you now." The Maia took Glorfindel into his embrace and sat down on the bench. Martandur and Míriel were standing against the wall, both of them white-faced at the presence of the Maiar. Glorfindel had finally calmed down to the point where he was merely weeping, clutching at the Maia as if to a lifeline. The Maia looked up at the two elves, compassion in his eyes.

"Greetings Martandur, Míriel. I am Olórin of the People of Manwë. Fear not, my children. All is well now. Come. Sit and we will talk."

The elves gave the two other Maiar nervous glances and Olórin chuckled. "Do not be concerned, children. Manveru and Erunáro are here by Lord Manwë’s orders." The Maia turned to Manveru, his tone deepening to one of authority. "Inform the Elder King and Lord Námo. Erunáro, stay here, just in case." Both Maiar bowed and Manveru left. Erunáro took up a guard position by the door.

Martandur gave Olórin a bemused look. "What’s happening, lord?"

By now, Glorfindel had quieted completely and they could see that he was nearly asleep. Olórin chuckled. "None of that, my elfling," he said gently, giving the ellon a slight shake. "Wake up, now. Míriel, perhaps you can get us some tea."

Míriel looked almost relieved to have something ordinary to do. Meanwhile, Glorfindel’s eyes began to focus again and he looked about him with a bemused expression.

"Olórin? What are you doing here?"

The Maia smiled. "Inviting myself to breakfast, it would seem."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at that and then noticed Erunáro by the door. The warrior Maia nodded at him. "Sword-brother."

Glorfindel turned an anxious look at Olórin. "Did I..."

"Not quite, but it was a near thing."

The Noldo grimaced and uttered something in Sindarin that had both Maiar laughing. "Now that’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time," Olórin said. "Not since you were first re-embodied." He gave Glorfindel a wink and the ellon blushed.

Míriel came over then with the tea and Glorfindel gratefully accepted a mug of the hot beverage.

"Now listen to me carefully, child," Olórin said as Glorfindel sipped his drink. "You are not a thrall, except in your own mind... and Ingwë’s."

"The High King thinks of me as a thrall?" Glorfindel asked in dismay.

Olórin shook his head. "Ingwë loves you, Glorfindel, but at the moment he is furious, and rightly so, I might add." Glorfindel paled at the reprimand and Olórin nodded. "Unfortunately, he does not realize that in many ways you are still very much the elfling and your actions of the other night should not be interpreted as a deliberate flouting of his authority, which is how he sees it."

Glorfindel looked chagrined. Olórin gave him a hug. "In the meantime, I suggest you think of yourself as Martandur’s temporary apprentice and not as his thrall. I’m sure he would much rather treat you that way himself."

Glorfindel looked at Martandur and Míriel and found them both nodding. Míriel gave the Maia a meaningful look. "I still intend to tell the High King just what I think of all this at the earliest opportunity," she said with a slight huff.

"You may have to get in line, Míriel Artamiriel."

They looked up to see Manveru there grinning at them, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Right behind the Elder King and Lord Námo," he added dryly.

Míriel looked a bit nonplused at those words. Glorfindel, seeing her expression, actually snickered. "Well, at least you’ll be in good company, Mistress."

Everyone laughed. Míriel stood up and gave the Maiar a long-suffering look and sighed. "Well, as long as you’re all here, you might as well stay for breakfast. Glorfindel, set three more places."

"Yes, Mistress," the ellon said as he stood, giving Olórin a shy smile. The Maia nodded encouragingly and then turned to Martandur and began asking the smith about his work, while Manveru and Erunáro took up positions by the door and watched as their sword-brother set the table.

****

Mallessë Míretanoron: On the Street of the Jewel-smiths.

97: Fallout

Ingwë was beginning to regret his decision about Glorfindel.

First, Alassiel carried out her threat and left the next morning in high dudgeon for Lórien with her amillë. She refused to speak to him. She also sent a message to Arafinwë when she stopped at Valmar for the night. Then, Aldarion, Elessairon, Lómion and several other ellyn lodged an official protest by way of Lord Valandur. They threatened not to participate in the New Year tournament if Lord Glorfindel (everyone within Ingwë’s hearing contrived to stress that particular title when mentioning the ellon’s name) was not permitted to join them in the practice fields even if he must remain banished otherwise.

As for what several heart-broken and enraged ellith threatened to do....

"They are appalled by your judgment against him," Valandur said to Ingwë when they met a couple of days later to discuss the fallout from Glorfindel’s "trial", as everyone was calling it, even though there had been no official adjudication.

Ingwë responded to Valandur’s words with a grimace. "I want them to be appalled."

That rather surprised the loremaster. "May I ask why, Sire?"

"Reborn or not, hero or not, Glorfindel violated my trust," the High King retorted somewhat angrily.

"Not deliberately," Valandur ventured carefully. "Between his kidnapping, the trial and then his memories about his oathtaking to Turucáno...." He shook his head and sighed. "Most of us would not have functioned as well emotionally as he has."

Ingwë eyed his chief loremaster sourly. "Do you disapprove of my decision as well?"

"Actually, I don’t," Valandur replied candidly. "I think that in the long run, this will prove beneficial to Glorfindel, but with all respect, Uncle, I don’t think you have thought out all the possible ramifications. There is still resentment towards Glorfindel in certain quarters, some who no doubt blame him for Ingoldo’s fall from grace. They will seek to take advantage of the situation if they think Glorfindel no longer has your friendship and protection."

Ingwë remained silent for a bit, then gave Valandur a feral grin. "I certainly hope so," he said fervently.

Valandur raised an eyebrow as he finally understood. "The Valar help us," he whispered with equal fervor.

Now Ingwë sighed. "I certainly hope so."

****

When Arafinwë received Alassiel’s missive he sat for the longest time in contemplation. Then, he stood up, went to the fireplace and carefully placed the letter on the flames, never moving until he was sure there was nothing left but ash. Then he returned to his desk, pulled out a sheet of vellum, sharpened a quill and proceeded to write a letter of his own.

An hour later one of the royal messengers was seen taking a fast horse east towards the Calacirya. Many who saw him assumed the messenger was going to Alqualondë. All of them would have been shocked had they known the messenger’s actual destination.

****

In Lórien, Alassiel attempted to speak with Findaráto and Laurendil to apprise them of their otorno’s plight. She could not understand why she was unable to find them. It seemed that she had just missed them or no one had seen them. Her frustration reached a critical turn when she came across Vorondil changing the bedding in her pavilion, humming a wordless tune as he worked. She noticed he was wearing an apprentice’s tabard, which surprised her even more than the fact that the ellon seemed actually happy.

"Vorondil," she said somewhat shortly, "where is your Master?"

Vorondil looked up from his task and gave the elleth a respectful bow, though his expression was wary. "I do not know, lady," he answered quietly. "He and Lord Laurendil have been in deep discussions with Lord Irmo and Lady Estë for the last few days. I have not seen either of them since the Solstice."

Alassiel gave the ellon a disbelieving look. "You’re lying!" she suddenly shouted. "You stupid little thrall, you’re lying. You know where he is. Take me to him! Take me to him!" She grabbed the hapless ellon by his tabard and started shaking him.

"I’m not lying, lady," Vorondil protested, fear in his voice. "I promise you..."

"Liar! I don’t believe you!" Alassiel screamed, anger and frustration taking a toll on her reason. Without thinking she raised her hand and smacked him hard across the face and would have done it again, but Vorondil managed to escape her grasp and run out of the pavilion with Alassiel following. She was incensed beyond anything he had ever witnessed in an elf and he was not in any position to reprimand her.

Vorondil ran towards a certain grove, sobbing with shame and fear, for Alassiel had truly frightened him with her fury. He could still hear her screaming invectives behind him and hoped he could reach safety before she caught up with him. He entered the grove and was relieved beyond measure to find that the person he needed the most at that moment was actually there.

"Lady! Help me, please," he cried as he ran straight into Melian’s arms.

"Vorondil, my child," the Maia queen said in surprise as she wrapped comforting arms around the shaking ellon, "whatever has happened?"

Before he could answer her, though, Alassiel entered the grove, walked up to Vorondil without really seeing who else was there, grabbed him by the shoulders and began shaking him.

"How dare you run from me you miserable excuse for a thrall! Now tell me where Findaráto is or so help me..."

"That’s quite enough, Alassiel!"

The force of Melian’s words brought Alassiel out of her fury as nothing else could have. She blinked stupidly, as if waking up, and seeing the Maia standing before her, glowing with something other than benevolence, she finally realized what she had done. She released her grip on Vorondil, who cowered back into Melian’s embrace, and stepped back, her expression now one of shock... and fear.

Melian stared at the elleth for several painfully silent minutes, all the while rubbing Vorondil’s back and sending soothing thoughts to calm him, as he sobbed quietly in her arms. When she spoke, her tone was deceptively mild but it brooked no dissent. Melian was every inch the queen of Doriath at that moment, but even more, she was every inch a Maia, and one of the most powerful Maiar at that.

"You have shamed yourself and your family, Alassiel Intarioniel, by your reprehensible behavior towards this child. Your actions are those of a harridan and a shrew. You will return to your pavilion and you will remain there until such time as I or Lord Irmo send for you."

Alassiel attempted to stammer out an apology, but Melian was not willing to hear it. "Go," she said as coldly as she had ever spoken to anyone. Alassiel went absolutely white and found herself stumbling out of the grove and back towards her pavilion before she understood what was happening.

Meanwhile, Melian continued comforting the elfling, stilling his sobs. After a few minutes Vorondil calmed down enough to explain what had happened. Melian assured him that he had done nothing wrong and told him he could spend the rest of the afternoon helping her with her garden.

"I’m... I’m supposed to be doing the bedding, lady," he said hesitantly.

Melian smiled warmly. "The bedding can keep. My garden is more important. Fear not! I will explain everything to Lord Irmo and your Master and all will be well. Now, why don’t you start with these flowers here?" She pointed to some roses and in minutes Vorondil was happily deadheading them. Melian smiled to herself when she heard him start humming a tune while he worked.

****

Finrod entered Melian’s grove with Laurendil and Lord Irmo later that afternoon to find Vorondil sitting next to the Maia queen with a slate on his lap, working his way through a Sindarin lesson.

"....tôl...telim...telinc...telilir...telir."

"Very good, Vorondil," Melian said encouragingly. "See, you’re not as stupid as you think. I know Sindarin is difficult for you, but if my nephew can learn it anyone can."

"Thank you for that vote of confidence, Aunt," Finrod said laughingly as he greeted her with a kiss and gave Vorondil a wink. "You’re never going to let me forget my... gaffe, are you?"

Melian laughed. "But it was too funny, my child, and you endeared yourself to Elu that night... and to me."

Finrod smiled and turned to Vorondil who had been listening to the exchange with unabashed interest. "I’m told you had something of a fright earlier, child."

Vorondil paled somewhat and nodded, clutching the slate.

"I’m sorry to hear that," Finrod said, "but you are well now, are you not?"

Vorondil nodded, giving Melian a quick glance, as if seeking her approval. The Maia queen smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder. "Yes, Nephew, all is well with this Little One. You need not concern yourself there."

Finrod nodded. "I’m glad to hear it. Vorondil, Laurendil tells me that Manwen is returning to Lady Nienna’s house for a few days. Would you like to go with her? You can continue your Sindarin lessons with her and she and Lady Nienna will teach you how to make healing draughts and tinctures while you’re there."

"Truly?" the ellon asked, giving Laurendil an excited glance. Laurendil nodded, hiding a smile at the ellon’s enthusiasm. Who would have thought that beneath that arrogant elfling exterior lay a child hungering for a chance to learn the healing arts. Vorondil had donned his apprentice’s tabard with obvious delight and had accepted his duties, however menial, with something akin to joy. It had taken so little to bring him around. Laurendil was still amazed at the change in attitude.

"Why don’t you go with Laurendil and start packing. You’ll be leaving early in the morning."

"Thank you, Master," Vorondil said, giving Finrod a hug before following Laurendil out of the grove.

Finrod watched him fondly, but the smile left his face the moment he turned back to Melian and Lord Irmo. "Send my cousin to me."

Had Alassiel been there to see Finrod’s expression at that moment, she would have had every reason to feel very afraid.

****

Alassiel looked up to see a Maia standing there. She had returned to her pavilion and had spent the next several hours simply sitting, staring at nothing in particular. Thankfully, Lirulin did not return to the pavilion during that time. Her amillë was spending the day with Lady Indis and was not expected to return until much later.

The Maia gestured silently and Alassiel rose and followed him outside where a second silent Maia waited for them. She began to understand the seriousness of the situation and felt faint, but forced herself to remain upright as her escort led her back to the grove where she had encountered the other Maia. Alassiel did not know who that personage was, but she feared that she was in a great deal of trouble with Lord Irmo.

When they entered the grove, she was surprised to see Findaráto there and, giving a glad cry, ran to him, throwing her arms around him. "Cousin! I’ve looked everywhere for you but no one would tell me where you were."

"So you decided to attack an innocent child instead?" Finrod asked quietly, disengaging himself from her embrace, his tone cold and unforgiving.

She stepped back in dismay, looking uncertain. "A thrall who..."

Alassiel was unprepared for the slap in the face Finrod gave her. She cried out more in fright than in pain, her expression disbelieving. Her cousin looked upon her with such cold disdain that she felt physically ill. "Y-you... hit me!"

"Punishments should always fit the crime, daughter," he said quietly and Alassiel dimly understood that this was not her cousin standing before her, but the once King of Nargothrond, and fear smote her.

Before she understood what was happening, she found herself on her knees stammering an apology, but no one apparently was ready to listen to her. Lord Irmo placed a hand upon her head and with a quiet word stilled her voice.

"It’s a little late for apologies, Alassiel," the Lord of Lórien said to her, not unkindly, "and so far you’ve tried to apologize to everyone but to the one person whom you offended. Vorondil may indeed be a thrall, or he may not, but in either case, he did not deserve what you did to him, especially when he’s still only a child."

"I... I just wanted to give... to give you a message, Findaráto," she said weepingly. "It’s about..."

"Glorfindel... I know," Finrod said. "My otorno is quite capable of taking care of himself, Alassiel, and he does not need you to rescue him."

"But he’s...."

"Presently a thrall to the jewel-smith, Martandur," Finrod said, nodding. "I know that, too. In fact, I know more of this than you suspect. You need not have bothered coming all the way here to tell me. You should have remained in Vanyamar."

Now Alassiel stood up, anger overcoming her earlier fear. "You cold-hearted bastard!" she screamed. "He’s your otorno and all you can do is say, ‘Go home, Alassiel’? What kind of brother are you?" She raised her fists to strike him but he held them in his implacable grip.

"Be still, daughter," he commanded, and such was the force of his words that she was surprised to find herself obeying him. Finrod continued to hold her wrists. "There is more going on than you suspect, Cousin. Do not concern yourself with what you do not understand."

"Then tell me, damn you!" she yelled in frustration. "What are you doing to Glorfindel? Why are you treating him this way? He’s your otorno! He’s your otorno!" She was crying now, unable to comprehend what was happening or why, only knowing that no one seemed to care that Glorfindel was in trouble.

"We care, child," Irmo said quietly, taking her into his embrace, rocking her gently until she began to calm down. "We care more than you can ever guess. We’re as concerned for Glorfindel as you, more so, even. Shh. Hush now, child. You are making yourself sick. Be still now. That’s it. Gently... gently."

The soothing tone of the Vala soon brought Alassiel to a state of suggestive calm and she gave a large sigh as she allowed herself to sink further into Irmo’s embrace. After a while she felt herself being passed from Lord Irmo to Finrod. She looked up at her cousin, his expression cold and remote, not at all warm and merry as it had been in the past.

"I’m sorry I slapped you," Finrod said quietly, stroking her hair. "You will find that when it comes to protecting my own, I tend not to take any prisoners."

"I... I’m s-sorry," she whispered, afraid he might reject her again, but he merely kissed her on the top of her head.

"I know you are, daughter. Now I suggest you return to your pavilion and think on your apology to Vorondil. He’s going to be away for a few days, but he will return before the week is out. That will give you plenty of time to think on how you wish to make amends."

Her cousin released her and with an abject curtsey she followed her Maiar guards out of the grove. Finrod gave a large sigh after she left and cast a rueful glance at Irmo and Melian, who returned his look with sympathetic ones of their own.

"That was harder than I thought," he said, rubbing a hand across his eyes, trying to ease the headache that threatened behind them. He felt rather than saw Irmo placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"It is very difficult to discipline someone you love, child, but an important part of the parenting process. As a Guardian of Aman you will sometimes find yourself in that role. Best to get used to it now."

Finrod nodded absently, then turned to Melian with a smile. "Thank you for your help once again, Aunt. I truly appreciate it. I’m glad I had the foresight to tell Vorondil to seek you out if ever he was in trouble and could not find me."

Melian smiled. "It was my pleasure, Nephew. Vorondil is a delightful child and very helpful around the garden."

Finrod gave Irmo an amused glance. "I better go see how the packing is coming along. Vorondil tends to be overly enthusiastic sometimes."

Irmo smiled indulgently. "That describes most elflings I’ve known... even you."

Finrod’s expression grew pensive. "I just hope Glorfindel..."

"He’s fine, child," Irmo said soothingly. "Do you truly think we would allow him to come to any real harm? He’s too important to us to allow that. Now, put all worries aside and go help Vorondil pack."

Finrod gave the Vala a bow and left the grove. He realized the truth of Lord Irmo’s words, but in spite of them, he couldn’t help wondering how Glorfindel was truly faring.

It would not have comforted him to know that others were wondering the same thing.

****

For two weeks Ingwë would not permit anyone from court to visit Glorfindel, much to the dismay of many. At the last, the High King relented and sent Valandur to see how he was faring. Thus, on a rather blustery morning, Valandur found himself entering Master Martandur’s workshop to find Glorfindel on his knees scrubbing the floor. He grimaced at the sight, then schooled his expression before the ellon saw him. Of the jewel-smith there was no sign.

Glorfindel looked up idly from his task to see who had entered, and paled at the sight of Lord Valandur standing there. He stood up somewhat hesitantly, the scrub brush in his hand.

"M-my lord?"

"How are you Glorfindel?" Valandur asked gently as he pushed the hood of his cloak from his head, shaking the snow from his shoulders.

"Well enough, sir," came the quiet reply. "Did... did you wish to see my Master? He’s only just gone out but will return shortly."

Valandur shook his head. "Nay, child. I came to see you."

Glorfindel went even paler and shook his head. "I... I have to finish scrubbing the floor." With those words he went back on his knees and began scrubbing, his expression set, refusing to look at the loremaster.

Valandur grimaced again, then sighed. "Glorfindel, stop what you’re doing and look at me."

Glorfindel reluctantly stopped his scrubbing, sat back on his heels and looked up at the loremaster, though Valandur noticed the ellon did not quite meet his gaze.

"What happened to your braids?" Valandur asked quietly.

"I undid them," Glorfindel said shortly and Valandur suspected that he would not give any further details.

"I see... How are they treating you?"

Now Glorfindel looked directly at Valandur and his expression was cold and distant. "As if any of you care."

"Glorfindel..."

The Noldo stood up abruptly, throwing the scrub brush to the floor as he stalked out of the workshop. Valandur was vacillating between going after the ellon or leaving when someone entered from the direction Glorfindel had gone. It was an elleth, clearly the mistress of the house. Her expression was polite but distant.

"Lord Valandur?"

Valandur nodded. "Yes. I’ve come from the High King, who..."

"You may tell Ingwë from me that, High King or no, neither he nor his lackeys are welcome here. Glorfindel is doing well enough and we are treating him with respect, which is more than I can say for others. He will return when his... punishment is over, though I doubt he will bother to stay in Vanyamar any longer than he has to. Now, please leave."

Valandur hesitated for a moment before bowing. "Please tell Glorfindel that Ingwë will allow him to join the other ellyn on the practice fields to prepare for the New Year tournament if he so desires."

"Hmmph. Well, as to that, I doubt the poor ellon would even want to be seen by any of you lot. I have the impression that he’s not planning to stay for the New Year anyway, but will leave as soon as his indenture is completed. I will, of course, relay your message. What he does with it is his business. Good day to you, my lord."

Valandur bowed again and made a hasty retreat. When he returned to the palace and told Ingwë, the High King bowed his head and would not speak to anyone for the rest of the day.

****

Aldarion was the next person to visit Glorfindel some days later. This time the Noldo was sitting on a bench carefully sorting various gemstones by color, placing them in separate trays. Martandur was also there, working on a piece of jewelry.

"...and when you’re finished with those, Glorfindel," Aldarion heard the elf say as he entered the workshop, "the instruments in that box there need cleaning and sorting."

"Yes, Master," came the quiet reply. Aldarion noticed that Glorfindel was subdued but not servile in his response.

At his entrance both Martandur and Glorfindel looked up. Martandur, seeing a richly dressed ellon, smiled and stood to greet him, then noticed how pale Glorfindel looked and turned to his servant with concern.

"Are you well, Glorfindel?" he asked when he saw how white-faced the ellon looked. Glorfindel could only stare at the elf standing uncertainly by the door.

"Why are you here, Aldarion?" he asked quietly. "Did Ingwë send you?"

Aldarion shook his head. "No, meldonya. I’ve come of my own accord. I would have come sooner but the High King wouldn’t..."

"You’d best leave, Aldarion," Glorfindel said tonelessly. "If Ingwë finds out..."

"I don’t care!" Aldarion shouted, suddenly angry. He strode over to Glorfindel and took him by the shoulders, shaking him.

"What did these people do to you, Glorfindel? You’re acting like a... a..."

"Thrall?" Glorfindel retorted sardonically and had the pleasure of seeing Aldarion blush and step away. "Because that’s what I am. Ingwë decreed it so, did he not? I am not a lord and I am not a warrior. I’m a thrall. For now."

"The High King’s given his permission for you to join us in the lists..."

Glorfindel shook his head. "I will not participate in the lists. I do not have the time nor the freedom and even if my Master gave me leave, I still would not go. My indenture ends on the eve of New Year’s. As soon as it does, I will be leaving the city and returning to Tirion, where I belong."

Aldarion stared at his friend in dismay, but Glorfindel’s gaze was steady and remote. There was no warmth in it and no joy. "I’m sorry. I wish..."

"What you wish is of no consequence here, Aldarion," Glorfindel said coldly. "Go now. Tell the others I am well. Tell them also that I do not want them coming here. Do not risk Ingwë’s anger on my account. I’m not worth it."

Impulsively, Aldarion took Glorfindel into his embrace and gave him a fierce hug, then kissed him gently on the cheek. "Yes, you are," he whispered before turning and leaving without a backward glance.

For a long moment neither Martandur nor Glorfindel moved, then Glorfindel put a hand to his mouth in an attempt to hold back a sob. Martandur opened his arms and welcomed the ellon into them, rocking him gently in an attempt to comfort his now weeping thrall.

It was some time before either one of them returned to their work.

98: Further Fallout

For the next week after Aldarion visited Glorfindel, life continued as usual. Glorfindel was finding that his indenture was less onerous than he first thought it might be. Martandur and Míriel were a warm and loving couple who took the ellon into their hearts and made him feel less like a thrall and more like an apprentice or their own child. When Martandur learned that Glorfindel had some knowledge of jewel-making he set out to instruct the ellon further, though Glorfindel opined that he really had no soul for such craftsmanship.

"I’m a warrior... or I used to be," he said to his Master one day. Martandur was explaining some aspects of the craft that rather escaped Glorfindel’s understanding. "I’m not sure what I am any more, but I know I can never become a jewel-smith. I’m just not that... creative." He sounded somewhat regretful at that and Martandur put a comforting arm around his shoulders.

"It takes no special skill to rejoice in beauty, hinya," the jewel-smith said in a quiet voice. "Knowing something of how that beauty was created will only help you to appreciate it the more."

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, Master," he said, but he still sounded doubtful.

"Speaking of warriors," Martandur said then, "you really should reconsider your resolve not to go to the practice lists and compete in the tournament."

Glorfindel gave his Master a surprised look. "Whyever would I do that, Master? My place is here, and I won’t give them the satisfaction..."

"Hush now, child," Martandur chided him gently. "Consider this: Ingwë gave you to me out of anger and he is probably regretting it now, but he will not rescind his command else he will be made to look the fool. Allowing you to join in the lists is just his way of trying to make amends."

Glorfindel stepped back from Martandur, his expression dark with anger. "I accept his right to do what he did, but I will never forgive him for it. Never!"

"Never is a very long time, Glorfindel, even for us."

The two elves turned in surprise to see an elleth standing by the door of the shop, smiling at them. She wore a warm cloak of marten fur over a gown of midnight blue worsted wool and carried a wicker basket. She could have been any elleth of the city out doing her shopping for the day, as Mistress Míriel was doing even now. She could have been, but she wasn’t. The soft glow of power emanating from her and the ancient light of her regard belied that image. Martandur gave a low bow. Glorfindel just stood there glowering.

"What do you here, lady?" he asked warily.

Vairë raised an eyebrow. "Why to see how you were faring, child. Why else would I be here?"

Glorfindel gave her a disbelieving look. "I’m sure the Maiar you have watching me are quite capable of giving you a report on my well-being. You needn’t have bothered coming yourself."

"Glorfindel," Martandur said somewhat sharply. "Show some respect."

"Peace, Martandur," Vairë said with a soft smile. "Glorfindel is showing more respect than you think." She nodded when the jewel-smith gave her a skeptical look. "For one thing, he still has his clothes on."

The mystified expression on the smith’s face and Glorfindel’s sudden blush set the Valië laughing lightly. "Now, as for the Maiar, child," she said, still smiling, "they are not watching you, they are warding you."

"Warding?"

Vairë nodded as she stepped further into the shop. "Yes, child, warding. The Elder King is concerned..."

"Obviously not concerned enough!" Glorfindel yelled back, then stalked out of the workshop. Martandur started to call him back, shocked at the ellon’s behavior, but Vairë stilled him with a gesture.

"Let him go, Martandur," she commanded softly. "He needs time."

Martandur shook his head. "He’s been here three weeks already, lady. My wife and I have done what we could to make his... punishment as mild as possible, but he won’t let go of the anger. He’s pushed away everyone, and now...."

Vairë nodded. "It is why my lord sent me. But do not fret for him so, child. He will do well. The Elder King is well aware of what is happening and why. Now, as long as I’m here, I have in mind to have a gift for my beloved made. Perhaps you would be so kind as to show me your wares."

Martandur just stared at the Valië for a long moment in disbelief, then pulled himself together and shyly began showing her around. To his eyes his workshop, which he’d always been so proud of, suddenly seemed much too humble and his skill as a jewel-smith much too ordinary for one such as she, but Vairë was never condescending in her attitude towards him and praised both his work and his workshop. Soon, he was feeling more at ease and when she finally left (by way of the door), he had a commission from her.

Of Glorfindel there was no sign.

****

Glorfindel stormed out of the workshop, up the hallway, into the main room and out the front door, grabbing his cloak as he did, heedless of everything and everyone. He was not even sure in his anger where he was headed but his feet seemed to know where they were going and before he really knew it he found himself before one of the side gates leading into the palace grounds. The guard there did not stop him, for this gate was for any who wished to wander through the High King’s gardens. Even in winter there were some who enjoyed the serene beauty of a garden in hibernation and so the gate stood open during the day. Glorfindel took no notice of either the guard or the gardens but made his way towards the part of the palace grounds where the training salles were located.

The archery salle was empty at that time of day, for which he was thankful. He quickly found an appropriate bow and a quiver of arrows in the armory and set up the target to his liking. Then he stood there, systematically putting one arrow after another into the target. At first the arrows went wide, his anger still controlling him, but as the rhythm of nocking an arrow and letting it go took over, his breathing slowed and his aim improved until he was placing the arrows closer to the center.

He was retrieving his arrows for the third time when he realized he had an audience. He turned from pulling an arrow out of the target and looked up. Sitting in the gallery was Lady Vairë, happily embroidering as she watched him. She looked down at him with a smile.

"Don’t stop, child. I’m enjoying this very much. You do need to adjust your stance slightly though. Try putting your left foot out a bit more."

He just stared at her in disbelief and then he started backing away, dropping the arrows from nerveless fingers. "Why can’t you all just leave me alone?" he whispered, shaking his head, the anger and humiliation he was feeling leaving him nearly faint and he was weeping now. "Why can’t you leave me alone?"

He found his legs would no longer support him and he was crouched against the salle wall lost in misery. Vairë sighed, put her embroidery back into her basket and went down to the floor. She crossed the salle and knelt before the ellon, though she did not try to take him into her embrace.

"Glorfindel, look at me," she said softly. It took a few minutes for him to calm down enough to obey her but finally he looked up, his eyes red and puffy from tears, his expression one of bleak hopelessness. Vairë smiled warmly. "Child, why do you weep? Should you not be screaming your anger instead?"

Glorfindel stared at her, not sure what she was saying. "If... if I get angry and yell, they come after me," he said. "Th-they don’t like me getting angry."

"Ah," Vairë said, suddenly understanding the ellon’s reticence. She sent a silent command and Manveru and Erunáro appeared, both looking chagrined. Glorfindel, for his part, cowered somewhat against the wall, watching them warily.

Vairë stood up and put a hand out to Glorfindel who reluctantly took it, allowing the Valië to lift him up. She gave them all a beatific smile. "Manveru, Erunáro, why don’t you play with Glorfindel for a while? I still have some shopping to do."

With that the Weaver of Arda faded away. For several minutes there was only silence between the two Maiar and the elf, then without a word, Manveru began to remove his sword belt and cloak and his brother did the same. Glorfindel just stood there, not sure what was going on as he watched them remove their hauberks as well so that they were now dressed only in linen tunic and breeches. Manveru smiled at his brother and some silent message passed between them for suddenly without any warning Manveru grabbed Glorfindel by the placket of his tunic and threw him at Erunáro who deftly caught him before throwing him back to Manveru.

Glorfindel shrieked in surprise and started to fight their grip, actually managing to land a punch when Manveru threw him back to Erunáro, though it wasn’t a very strong punch and Erunáro only laughed.

"You can do better than that, sword-brother," the Maia said and then he put Glorfindel down and grabbed his arms and started wrestling with him. Glorfindel uttered a vile oath as he allowed his anger to take over and with a deft sweep of his foot brought the Maia down, landing on top of him. Then Manveru got into the act by pulling Glorfindel off his brother. Now the ellon was incensed and began screaming invectives, though most of them seemed aimed not at the Maiar but at Ingwë. It didn’t matter. Soon the three of them were in a free-for-all with Glorfindel yelling and the Maiar laughing as they rolled about in the dirt.

How long it lasted, Glorfindel was not sure. He only knew that at one point he found himself straddling Manveru’s chest and pounding his fists into the Maia’s face still screaming curses at Ingwë. Manveru did not try to stop him and Erunáro merely knelt beside him, gently rubbing the ellon’s back, though in his fury, Glorfindel was unaware of this. Finally, the elf simply stopped, leaned over and grabbed Manveru’s head and began kissing him on the brow all the while weeping.

"I’m sorry... forgive me... Imsorryimsorryimsorry..."

Manveru wrapped his brawny arms around the ellon and began rocking him, crooning softly. "Fear not, little sword-brother," he said softly. "I still love you."

That set Glorfindel weeping even harder and for some time the two Maiar warriors sat on the floor of the salle taking turns rocking Glorfindel and assuring him of their love. Only Glorfindel looked the worse for wear, his tunic torn, a cut lip and bruises a testament of the rough and tumble of their "play". Eventually, his weeping stilled and suddenly he fell asleep. The Maiar continued rocking him, humming softly, waiting patiently for him to awaken.

****

"Where did you say he is?" Ingwë asked the guard.

"The training salle, Sire," the ellon said. "The one used for archery. He’s alone."

"Thank you. You may return to your post."

The guard gave the High King a salute and left. Valandur looked at Ingwë, trying to gauge his mood.

"It seems he’s forgiven you that much," he said softly.

Ingwë nodded. "I think I will go to the training salle. Alone."

Valandur started to protest but recognized Ingwë’s expression and simply nodded. "I’ll be here when you return."

Ingwë made his way through the palace to the archery salle, slipping in as quietly as possible, not wishing to alert Glorfindel to his presence. He needn’t have bothered. As he opened the door and stepped in he saw in the dim light not one person but four, two of them clearly Maiar and the third....

Lady Vairë faded from sight at that precise moment and then Ingwë watched in fascination as the two Maiar warriors began to strip. When Manveru grabbed Glorfindel and threw him, Ingwë almost yelled himself, but instead, made his way to the gallery and stood there, out of the way, and hopefully out of sight, as he watched the Maiar "play" with Glorfindel. He winced at the invectives that came from the ellon’s mouth, even though most of them were in Sindarin and incomprehensible to him. The invectives in Quenya, however, caused him to reel in shock as he realized they were directed, not at the Maiar, who were happily pounding Glorfindel to a pulp, but at him. He was unaware of the tears that flowed down his face as he stood there watching the wrestling match.

Then Glorfindel suddenly collapsed and Ingwë heard Manveru speak to the ellon of his love for him. That was too much for the High King and he found himself on his knees weeping quietly. It was some moments before he became aware of hands gently rubbing his back. Looking up, he found himself staring into the sympathetic eyes of Lady Vairë, who smiled at him, then placed a finger to her lips in a gesture of silence.

"Hush now, beloved," she whispered. "We don’t want to wake the elfling."

"H-he hates me," Ingwë whispered.

Vairë shook her head as she helped him to his feet. "No, child, he does not, but he is very angry nonetheless. Come. Let us away from here. Manveru and Erunáro have everything under control."

Ingwë allowed himself to be led away, casting a glance over his shoulder as they left the salle to see Erunáro lean over and gently kiss Glorfindel’s brow as the ellon continued to sleep.

****

Vairë continued to lead Ingwë back to his own study where they found not only Valandur but also Aldarion waiting for him. The two elves stood and gave their obeisance to the Valië, looking upon the High King in wonder.

"Is it true?" Aldarion asked, ignoring protocol. "Is he here?"

Ingwë nodded, disinclined to speak. Aldarion did not even bother to bow or seek permission to leave, but giving a gasp, ran from the room.

"Aldarion!" Valandur shouted, but Ingwë waved his hand.

"Let him go," he said quietly as he sank into his chair. His expression was bleak and Valandur became alarmed. The loremaster quickly went to a sideboard and poured some wine into a goblet and gave it to the High King. All this time Vairë stood by the door, watching with faint amusement.

"What happened?" Valandur asked as he sat in his own chair, casting a glance at the Valië.

"He hates me," was all Ingwë would say.

Vairë sighed and moved into the room. "I said before Ingwë that that is not the case. He is angry, but he does not hate you. His actions should tell you that."

Ingwë looked up in confusion. "What do you mean, lady? He was pounding on the Maiar and screaming curses directed at me."

Vairë nodded. "Yes, but then what did he do?"

Ingwë shook his head. "He... he started apologizing to... Manveru."

Vairë shook her head. "No, child. He wasn’t apologizing to Manveru. He didn’t even see Manveru or Erunáro at that point. He saw you. When he was beating on Manveru, he saw your face, not the Maia’s and when he kissed Manveru, he was kissing you and asking you for forgiveness."

Ingwë’s expression was one of deep shock and Valandur, listening, thought perhaps his own expression was probably not much different, for he could feel the shock running through him at the Valië’s words.

"Wh-what do you mean, he saw me?" Ingwë finally asked.

Vairë smiled gently. "Just what I said, child. In his anger, he didn’t see the Maia, he saw you. All his anger was directed towards you. When he finally stopped and began kissing Manveru, in his mind he was kissing you. The words Manveru spoke at that point, do you remember them?"

Ingwë nodded. "He said that he still loved Glorfindel."

"Yes, but it was not him saying it, it was you, or rather, it was your voice Glorfindel heard."

"My voice? Why my voice?"

"Because it was your forgiveness he needed to hear, child, not Manveru’s. Do you not understand? He needed to hear you forgive him. He needed to hear that you still love him. Manveru merely stepped into the role Glorfindel had assigned him in his own mind."

"But..."

"You still do love him, do you not?" Vairë’s tone hardened and Ingwë swallowed, nodding.

"Yes, lady, I do. I never stopped loving him."

"And he needed to hear it, even if only by proxy." Vairë paused and nodded as she saw that Ingwë now understood. Then she smiled again and, pulling out several bolts of cloth from her wicker basket (both ellyn wondered how she managed that), she asked, "Now do you think my lord husband would look good in this dark green or should I stick with the grey and black?"

Neither Ingwë nor Valandur had a clue how to respond to that question.

****

Aldarion did not go directly to the archery salle, but stopped along the way to gather some of his friends, including Elessairon and Lómion. It took some time to hunt everyone down so it was nearly half an hour after Aldarion left the High King’s study so precipitously before they all reached the salle. Throwing open the door they stumbled in, only to stop in amazement.

Glorfindel was there, but he was not alone. Two Maiar were also there. Glorfindel was standing with bow in hand speaking calmly with one of the Maiar, while the other Maia was retrieving arrows. It was apparent that the elf had just loosed an arrow at the target and was listening to the Maia critique him.

"...that’s much better," they heard the Maia say. "Try holding your breath for a second longer before releasing and see how that works."

Glorfindel nodded and accepted the arrows from the other Maia with a smile.

"Glorfindel," Aldarion ventured, still standing at the door with the other ellyn and ellith who had accompanied him.

The ellon turned and all could see that he no longer wore his warrior braids. His tunic was torn and smudged with dirt and he sported a bruise on his cheek and a cut lip. Glorfindel did not exactly smile but he gestured them to come forward, which they did, though they were somewhat leery of the Maiar who watched them with amused detachment.

"Wh-what happened to you?" Elessairon asked worriedly when he reached Glorfindel’s side.

Glorfindel shrugged. "Manveru and Erunáro decided I needed wrestling lessons," he said, nodding towards the two Maiar, both of whom gave them wide grins.

"And now that your friends are here, sword-brother," Erunáro said to Glorfindel, "we will leave you. Namárië."

With that the two Maiar faded away, leaving the elves standing there feeling bemused. Glorfindel smiled. "Anyone up for a little practice?"

****

When Ingwë and Valandur made their way to the archery salle some time later and peeked in they were heartened to see Glorfindel surrounded by his friends, laughing and joking, waiting for his turn at the target. The two older elves smiled at each other as Ingwë quietly closed the door and the two returned to the palace. None of the archers even noticed.

99: End-game

When Glorfindel returned to the jewel-smith’s, he found both his Master and Mistress waiting for him as he came inside. He stood somewhat hesitantly, wondering what kind of reception he was in for.

"Are you all right, Glorfindel?" Míriel asked worriedly.

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, Mistress. I am well. Forgive me, Master, for running out like that."

"What happened to you?" Martandur asked, pointing to the torn tunic and the bruise and cut lip. "Surely you did not get into a fight?"

"Actually, Master, I did," Glorfindel said with a smile. "I went to the archery salle and there met the Lady Vairë who then had Manveru and Erunáro... er... play with me. We were wrestling."

"Ah, yes, that would explain it," the jewel-smith said dryly. "So you went to the training salle."

"Yes, Master," Glorfindel said with a nod. "I decided to take your advice and begin training for the upcoming tournament. That is, if you still..."

Martandur raised a hand. "I think it’s an excellent idea. Perhaps that young ellon who was here earlier can come by tomorrow and we can work out a schedule. You are still technically my thrall so we should keep up the appearance of it to some extent."

Míriel stepped in then. "Why don’t you go clean up, dear. Give me the tunic and I will repair it for you. I also have some salve that you can put on that bruise and your lip. They must hurt."

"A little," Glorfindel conceded with a smile, "though I’ve received worse in my time."

Martandur nodded. "Yes, go and clean up. It’s almost time for dinner."

"Yes, Master," Glorfindel said with a bow and he went to find a clean tunic.

****

Glorfindel sent word for Aldarion to meet him at Martandur’s workshop the next day and the ellon was quick to comply with the request. The two sat together with Martandur and hashed out a schedule that would allow Glorfindel to join in some of the practice sessions for both sword and bow, but still leave time for his other duties.

"I’m afraid I have no choice but to punish you for yesterday," Martandur said at one point.

Glorfindel nodded. "I know, Master."

Aldarion eyed the two and grimaced. "This shouldn’t be happening in the first place. Ingwë had no right..."

"He had every right, meldonya," Glorfindel said serenely. "What’s done is done. Let us not speak of it again." He turned his attention to Martandur. "Have you decided what my punishment should be, Master?"

The jewel-smith nodded. "You went missing for four hours yesterday and neither I nor my wife knew what had happened to you, so for the next four days you will not only perform your usual duties but you will help Míriel with carding wool." He gave the ellon a wry look. "I understand she’s got quite a supply of wool ready to be carded."

Glorfindel grimaced but did not offer any protest. "Yes, Master."

Aldarion just stared at him in horror. "Why do you just take it so meekly? You’re a warrior, but you practically slink around like a whipped hound."

Glorfindel’s eyes blazed. "There’s a difference between subservience and obedience, Aldarion. I am obedient to both Ingwë’s will in this, and to the will of my Master and Mistress. I fully expected to be punished for what I did yesterday and do not shirk the responsibility for my actions. If my Master wishes to punish me that is his right."

"But..."

"Peace, Aldarion." Glorfindel raised his hand to still the ellon’s protest. "If I can accept it, you should do no less."

"You actually enjoy this?" Aldarion asked disbelievingly, looking between Glorfindel and Martandur. The jewel-smith raised an eyebrow but did not otherwise contribute to the conversation.

Glorfindel smiled thinly. "I said nothing about enjoying anything, child. I said I accept the situation. There’s a difference." Then he stood up and grabbed a besom from the corner. "Now, why don’t you tell me all the news from the palace while I sweep the floor."

Aldarion hesitated, not really willing to let the topic go, but Glorfindel asked again for news as he began sweeping, and he reluctantly complied. Soon though he forgot his reticence and was happily regaling the other two ellyn with the latest palace gossip, even as he found himself holding the dustpan for Glorfindel.

Martandur nodded to himself as he sat watching the two friends, pleased that things were finally going well for his thrall.

****

For the next couple of weeks life around Glorfindel seemed to settle into a routine. Most days he performed such duties as either Martandur or Míriel required of him. Twice a week, for two hours in the afternoon, he was at the training salles, alternating between practicing with the sword and practicing with the bow. Martandur insisted that Aldarion always come to the shop and escort Glorfindel to and from the salles.

"This way it can be seen that Glorfindel is not wandering freely through the city, since everyone knows that he’s my thrall," Martandur explained.

Aldarion sighed, shaking his head, but Glorfindel merely nodded and accepted the situation with equanimity. Ingwë studiously avoided the salles when he knew Glorfindel would be there, though he asked Valandur to go every now and then to see how the ellon was faring. The loremaster would slip into the salle before Glorfindel arrived and sit alone in a dark corner of the gallery, unseen but seeing everything. By the High King’s command, no visitors were permitted during those times when Glorfindel was there.

"He doesn’t need people staring at him out of morbid curiosity," he told Valandur. "Find out his schedule from Aldarion and see to it that only those actually there for practice are allowed in."

So, Valandur would have the gallery to himself, which suited him just fine. He would sit there and watch, taking note of Glorfindel’s mien and attitude. The ellon was more subdued than he had been before, less likely to joke or laugh, but he did not seem unduly dispirited nor did he seem to exhibit the level of anger that Ingwë had described witnessing.

One day he was surprised to see Martandur standing before the salle door speaking to the guard who was there because Glorfindel would be there.

"Master Martandur," the loremaster said, "I am Lord Valandur. Is something amiss?"

The master jeweler gave Valandur a bow. "No, my lord. I decided to come and watch Glorfindel practice today, but the guard won’t let me in."

"Ah, yes, well he’s only following orders." Valandur said, motioning for the guard to step aside. "Come, you may sit with me."

"Does Glorfindel know you are here, lord?" Martandur asked as they entered the salle and made their way to the gallery.

"No, and he is not to know," Valandur said shortly. Martandur gave the loremaster an appraising look then nodded. "Does your thrall know you are here?" Valandur asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, my lord," Martandur said with a chuckle, "and he is not to know."

Valandur snorted at that and then gave the smith a rueful smile as they found their seats. A few minutes later Glorfindel and his friends entered the salle from the changing room and began warming up for their training session. Today was sword-fighting and Martandur watched with interest as Glorfindel took turns sparring with the other ellyn and ellith. He felt his mouth drop open when Glorfindel attacked his partner with such controlled intensity yet never in anger. He nodded approvingly when Glorfindel would take the time to explain a move or to correct his partner’s technique. The others all watched and listened respectfully, recognizing Glorfindel’s superior skill and knowledge in this.

When the session was over, Martandur waited at the entrance of the gardens for Glorfindel to appear. Valandur had continued on into the palace proper in search of Ingwë. When Glorfindel came to the gate, he was thus surprised to see the smith. Aldarion and some of the other ellyn and ellith were with him.

"Master! What are you doing here?" Glorfindel exclaimed.

Martandur smiled. "I thought I would save Aldarion the trip and escort you myself. I need to see my cousin, who is also a jewel-smith. She has some gemstones for me that I need for a piece I’m working on and I thought you would like to meet her as she’s the one who made that pendant you were wearing at court when Ingwë made you my thrall."

"Truly?" Glorfindel’s eyes lit up with interest.

Martandur nodded, noting the looks that the others gave each other, and pulled out a couple of coppers, handing them to Glorfindel. "Here. I know you’re always hungry after one of these training sessions. Why don’t you run over to that bakery that’s across the square from the Bowman’s Rest," — naming a popular tavern near the palace — "and buy some sticky buns. You can get me one as well. I’ll meet you at the corner where Lómelindë Mallë comes into the square."

Glorfindel gave the smith a bow as he took the money. "Thank you, Master," he said, gave his friends a cheery wave and left.

"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?" one of the ellon accused Martandur once Glorfindel was out of sight and hearing.

"Peace, meldonya," Aldarion said before Martandur could respond. "No one said anything about enjoying anything. Master Martandur is merely treating Glorfindel as he would any apprentice. When you come right down to it, apprentices are little better than thralls anyway, except they get paid for their services and Glorfindel isn’t."

Martandur hid a smile at Aldarion’s defending him and merely nodded. "My wife and I have endeavored to make Glorfindel’s indenture as painless as possible. I’ve even been teaching him something of my craft as he has some experience in jewel-smithing. Now, if you young lords and ladies will excuse me, I had best find Glorfindel before he devours all the sticky buns."

The younger elves all snickered at that. "I will come by in two day’s time to escort Glorfindel to archery practice," Aldarion said with a bow and Martandur nodded.

When the jewel-smith met up with Glorfindel it was to find the ellon staring wistfully at the last sticky bun in the bag. Martandur smiled knowingly and gave him another copper, much to the ellon’s delight, and Glorfindel ran back into the bakery for more sticky buns before they continued on their way. Martandur’s cousin was an elleth named Sorondilmë. She greeted Martandur warmly and Glorfindel with interest.

"So you’re the ellon for whom the High King ordered that rather unusual pendant made," she said, giving Glorfindel an appraising look. "Did you like the gift?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Thank you, yes, though I only had a chance to wear it that one time." He shrugged somewhat ruefully.

"Perhaps you’ll wear it at the New Year," Martandur said encouragingly.

"Perhaps," Glorfindel replied but his tone was noncommital and Martandur wondered if the ellon was still feeling resentful over what had happened.

Sorondilmë then motioned them over to a worktable. "Here are the gems, Cousin. Hopefully, one of them will suit your purposes."

For the next hour Martandur and Sorondilmë discussed business while Glorfindel wandered idly about, admiring the shop, and occasionally contributing to the conversation. Eventually, however, business was concluded and Martandur and Glorfindel made their farewells. They were coming onto the street where Martandur’s house and workshop were located when Glorfindel suddenly stopped and looked warily around.

"Martandur," he said barely above a whisper but with much authority, "keep walking and don’t stop until you reach the house."

The jewel-smith was just surprised enough at Glorfindel’s tone that he obeyed without thinking and it was several minutes before he realized Glorfindel wasn’t with him. He turned around in time to see three cloaked and hooded figures fall upon Glorfindel, forcing him to the pavement. Martandur yelled and started to run back to help when someone grabbed him from behind and he found himself being held in Erunáro’s arms. The Maia whispered in his ear, "Do not interfere, child."

Martandur watched in fascinated horror as Glorfindel grappled with one of the figures while the other two attempted to hold him down. Glorfindel threw off the one attacker and managed to regain his feet just as the other two came after him. Martandur saw Glorfindel smile and it was both feral and arrogant and the smith felt a frisson of fear bordering on awe as he remembered that this was an elf who had fought and defeated a valarauco. Even unarmed, Glorfindel was extremely dangerous, perhaps even more so.

"Why do you not go to his aid?" he whispered to the Maia who still held him in his grip. "Three against one... why do you not help him?"

"My sword-brother is quite capable of protecting himself, child, never fear," Erunáro whispered back, "and who says we’re not helping?"

The last was spoken in a rather wry tone, and Martandur wondered at that. Before he could enquire further, though, he began to have a dim idea what the Maia meant. The third attacker whom Glorfindel had thrown off started to enter the fray again but Martandur watched in amazement as the ellon suddenly tripped over nothing and landed on his face, eliciting a yell of pain from the hapless elf. When the ellon attempted to rise, it was almost as if something or someone pushed him back down, but in such a way that the ellon crashed into one of his fellows so that they both went down, leaving only one attacker still facing Glorfindel. That ellon spared a surprised look at the two elves tangled up in each other’s arms, cursing one another as they tried to extricate themselves, before turning his attention back to the third attacker, who suddenly pulled out a rather long and wicked looking knife with a white-bone handle.

It was only upon seeing that knife that Martandur’s brain finally registered the fact that two of the ellyn were not Vanyar, but Noldor. That confused him because he was sure that the attack was related to Lord Ingoldo’s downfall. Why were Noldor attacking one of their own?

"Ingoldo has many sympathizers," Erunáro said, apparently picking up Martandur’s thought, "even among the Noldor who also resent the Rebels who have been reborn before those who remained faithful to the Valar."

All this time the attack had occurred in virtual silence. Now Glorfindel spoke. "Come now," he said sneeringly, pointing to the knife in the other elf’s hand. "You can do better than that."

The other two ellyn, meanwhile, finally extricated themselves from their tangle and each pulled out their own knives. One of them then launched himself at Glorfindel’s back. Martandur nearly screamed and struggled against Erunáro’s grip. Glorfindel never took his eyes off the ellon facing him. As the one elf launched himself at Glorfindel, the Balrog-slayer stepped back with his left foot, twisting his back slightly, grabbing the attacker by the arm and throwing him over his shoulder, right into the other ellon facing him. Someone screamed and Martandur watched in horror as the elf whom Glorfindel had thrown was inadvertently stabbed by his fellow.

Blood suddenly appeared and that completely unnerved the two remaining attackers as their fellow slumped either unconscious or dead upon the pavement. His partners stared in stunned horror at the fallen ellon for a moment before turning to run, but it was as if they both slammed into a wall, for they stumbled over nothing that Martandur could see and fell senseless to the ground.

By now the street was beginning to fill with people and Martandur suddenly realized that all this time there had been no other witnesses to the fight and wondered at that. He also realized that he was no longer being held, that, in fact, Erunáro was no longer there, or at least not visibly so. He ran to Glorfindel.

"Are you all right?" he called out and Glorfindel gave him a shrug.

"Well enough, Master, but my attackers seem a little worse for wear. Either they are the most hapless elves in history or I had some help." He paused and looked up, staring into thin air. "Not that I actually needed it, mind you," he said speaking somewhat loudly, "I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much."

"You’re welcome, sword-brother," came the disembodied voice that Martandur recognized as Manveru’s and Glorfindel gave a snort of amusement. Then he went over to the ellon who had been stabbed, kneeling to check his pulse, and grimaced when he saw that the elf was dead.

"That wasn’t supposed to happen," he muttered in disgust as he removed his cloak and covered the dead elf’s face.

"Many things are not suppose to happen, but they do."

Martandur looked around and felt the blood drain from his face. He dimly noticed that everyone else there was looking equally pale, everyone but Glorfindel, that is. Standing there in charonic splendour was the Lord of Mandos. He wore a black surcoat over a dark grey robe. The surcoat was embroidered with Námo’s emblem of the Sun-in-eclipse. A black velvet mantle covered his shoulders, sweeping to the ground. His blue-black hair was braided as usual and crowned with a wreath of morihelinyetilli and nieninqui entwined.

Námo stared about dispassionately. Only Glorfindel seemed unaffected by the Vala’s presence, giving him a brief wintry smile. "It took them long enough," the ellon said.

Martandur gave Glorfindel a strange look. "You were expecting this?"

"Not specifically," Glorfindel responded with a shake of his head, "but yes, we figured there would be an attempt on my life if certain people thought I was out of favor with the High King."

"Then... your being my thrall was just a... a ruse?" the smith asked in confusion, not really sure what was going on. The others congregating on the street listened with unabashed interest to their conversation, all the while, studiously not looking at Lord Námo standing so near.

"No, that part was real enough, though I only figured out the rest after Lady Vairë came to the shop. This will not change anything." Glorfindel gave Martandur a wry smile, shaking his head ruefully as he pointed to the dead elf and his companions who were only just then regaining consciousness. "I am still your thrall and you are still my Master, at least until the New Year."

"But why would Ingwë not tell you... or me, for that matter?" Martandur asked.

"Because I needed everyone’s honest reaction to my decree."

All the elves, including Glorfindel, bowed low when they saw the High King approach with Valandur by his side and a contingent of guards at his back. Word had been sent to the palace when the attack had occurred and Ingwë came as soon as possible. He gave the jewel-smith a smile.

"Glorfindel is correct. This changes nothing. My decree still stands, but it does not mean that he, or you and your wife, are not under my protection." He turned to Glorfindel, his smile wistful. "I apologize, child, for what I’ve put you through these last weeks. Arafinwë, Findaráto and I spoke of how we might flush these malcontents out using you as bait once again and when you stole Master Martandur’s horse I saw it as the perfect opportunity. I hope you can forgive me."

Glorfindel suddenly knelt before the High King, taking his right hand and kissing the signet ring that graced it. "My oath I have given to another, but thou hast my forgiveness and my love, Sire, if... if I have thy forgiveness as well."

Ingwë raised Glorfindel up and gave him the kiss of peace. "You have always had that, child, and my love. Nai maruvar sérë ar nilmë imbë met tennoio." He gave the ellon another kiss and then released him, turning to the guards and pointing to the two would-be assassins. "Remove them," he said coldly but Námo stepped forward with a shake of his head.

"Nay, Ingwë. These I claim for myself. You may have them back after I’m finished with them." The Lord of Mandos stared implacably at the now trembling ellyn and then two Maiar wearing black surcoats and looking grim appeared. Ingwë started to protest but thought better of it when he saw the Vala’s expression. Even Glorfindel went pale.

"I promise you, my children," the Lord of Mandos said in sepulchral tones as he addressed the two now in the custody of the Maiar, "before the end you will come to envy your companion who even now enjoys the hospitality of my Halls." Námo nodded to his servants. "Take them to the Elder King."

One of the ellyn tried to escape but was quickly caught and was simply carried away, screaming. The other ellon merely fainted. No one else moved and several looked as if they might faint as well. Ingwë swallowed nervously.

"There... there will be others..."

Námo shook his head. "We know who they are now, Ingwë. Lord Manwë will see that you are given the information you will need to effect a round-up of these malcontents. What you do with them is your affair, but those two are ours."

Ingwë nodded reluctantly. "Valar valuvar," he said faintly and Námo smiled gently.

"Yes, child, exactly." With that he gave Glorfindel a wink, then faded from view.

Ingwë ordered the body removed, dismissing the guards. Indicating that Valandur should remain with him, he turned to Martandur, who had kept silent all this time. "Perhaps we can retire to your home, Master Martandur, and I will explain everything."

Martandur nodded, looking a bit stunned. He turned to Glorfindel. "You had best run ahead and warn Míriel," he said in a strangled voice. "You know how much she hates surprises."

Glorfindel smiled and gave the smith a bow. "Yes, Master, at once." He ran towards the house while Ingwë and Valandur watched him go, smiling with amusement as Martandur gestured for them to follow.

****

Morihelinyetilli: Plural of morihelinyetillë: black pansy (Viola x wittrockiana "Black Prince"). In the language of flowers, it means "think of me", from the French pensée "thought", as well as "heart’s-ease", the meaning Tolkien associates with this flower. In alchemical circles the viola family is associated with the planet Pluto and with transformation, doorways, death and rebirth.

Nieninqui: Plural of nieninquë: snowdrop, literally "white tear"; the Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin niphredil, which actually translates as "little pallor". In the language of flowers, the snowdrop (Galanthus nivalis) means "consolation", as well as "hope". In alchemical circles, the snowdrop is associated with the planet Saturn and with time, boundaries and the knowledge thereof, as well as the grave (Earth of Saturn).

Nai maruvar sérë ar nilmë imbë met tennoio: "May peace and friendship abide between us (dual) forever." For those paying attention, these are the words of reconciliation Manwë spoke to Ingwë prior to the trial.

100: Míriel and the High King

Mistress Míriel was indeed surprised when Glorfindel burst into the house and announced that the High King himself was on his way. She had been unaware of the attack for she had been in the kitchen cooking.

"And does he expect me to feed him as well?" she muttered crossly as she put the kettle on the fire. Glorfindel just grinned and went to set out some cups for tea.

Shortly thereafter Martandur entered, ushering Ingwë and Valandur into the kitchen. Martandur looked decidedly embarrassed. Míriel gave the High King a curtsey but did not look too pleased by his presence, nor was she overawed. Ingwë raised an eyebrow and stole a quick glance at Valandur, who merely shrugged. Glorfindel still had a grin on his face and his eyes twinkled with barely suppressed merriment.

"Please be seated my lords," Martandur said softly, gesturing towards a couple of chairs, which Ingwë and Valandur gracefully took. Míriel sniffed and went back to the stove to check on the soup she was making and Glorfindel poured the tea, handing cups all around. There was an uncomfortable silence for several minutes.

"I think I owe you all an explanation," Ingwë finally said, after taking a sip of tea.

Míriel turned back from the stove, scowling. "You owe us much more than that, my lord king. You needlessly humiliated Lord Glorfindel before all of Vanyamar, compounding your folly by putting my husband and me in the untenable position of having to abet you with this charade of being the owners of a thrall. You should be ashamed of yourself. Glorfindel deserved better from you. You don’t owe us an explanation, Ingwë, you owe us all an apology."

Ingwë went white, his expression turning grim, but Míriel would not back down and she gave him stare for stare. Finally, the High King sighed, closed his eyes and nodded. "You are, of course, correct my dear," he said, admitting defeat. "I do indeed owe you all an apology. Glorfindel has already accepted it from me."

"So he’ll be returning to the palace," Míriel said with a nod, looking more satisfied than she had been.

Both Ingwë and Glorfindel shook their heads. "No, Mistress," Glorfindel answered. "The terms of my indenture remain. I will continue being your thrall for another month."

Míriel exploded then, throwing the ladle she happened to have in her hand over the heads of the High King and his loremaster, both of whom ducked with great alacrity.

"Pui-en-orch!" she screamed, borrowing one of Glorfindel’s favorite curses. "I won’t have it! If you want Glorfindel to remain a thrall, he’s your thrall, not ours. Take him and take yourself..."

What she said after that caused all four ellyn to laugh in shocked surprise. Such language coming from this proper elleth was just too funny in spite of the seriousness of the situation. Martandur went and wrapped his arms around his still fuming wife, rocking her and kissing her until she calmed down. Glorfindel retrieved the ladle while Ingwë and Valandur attempted to get themselves under control.

"Oh my," Ingwë said between gasps of laughter, wiping the tears from his eyes. "My dear, I should chuck my entire privy council and just come to you whenever I need advice. I wish all my subjects were as shockingly honest in their opinion of me as you. Not even Lord Manwë has ever deigned to speak to me in such terms."

"You should have heard what my Mistress called you the night I first came here, my lord," Glorfindel said with a wicked smile. "It was not nearly as polite as what she just said now."

That set Ingwë laughing again. Míriel was not amused. "It was not meant to be funny, my lord," she said with an affronted tone. "I am serious. Glorfindel will not stay here another night. You want him to be a thrall, you can take him yourself or find someone else who is willing to play out this charade of yours, for I am not, nor is my husband."

"Na quildë sinomë, melissenya," Martandur whispered, though all heard. "Let us hear what the High King has to say before we start making any rash statements we will all regret later."

Ingwë gestured to the bench by the door. "Please, child, sit and let me explain. I will not force you to do anything you are not willing to do."

Míriel hesitated for a moment, then, accepting the ladle from Glorfindel, gave the soup a good stir before settling on the bench. Her expression was closed and Glorfindel feared she was not going to listen to what the High King had to say with anything like an open mind and sighed inwardly as he sat down himself. Ingwë must have felt the same way for he spoke, not to the smith and his wife, but to Glorfindel.

"When did you suspect that things were not as they seemed?"

Glorfindel gave the High King a deprecating look. "When Lady Vairë showed up at the archery salle and had Manveru and Erunáro beat me to a pulp. Something about all that made me... suspicious, though I cannot really tell you why."

Ingwë nodded. "Well you may blame Arafinwë and Findaráto for this as well as me. We decided at the trial that if the opportunity presented itself, we would take advantage of setting you up as bait once again. I was never satisfied that Ingoldo was the only one involved in all this. We decided that if people thought you had somehow lost my friendship and protection you would be a likely target of some people’s hatred and need for revenge. I’m sorry I had to do this without your consent, child, but I needed your honest reaction to my decree."

Glorfindel nodded. "I suspected as much once I...got over my anger towards you and thought things through." He ducked his head in embarrassment.

Ingwë sighed. "And for that I truly do apologize, hinya. You will never know how terrified I was for you when you went missing that night, especially when Master Martandur’s horse returned without you. My heart nearly failed me at that moment."

"And I am sorry for that as well," Glorfindel said contritely. "I never meant to cause so much trouble. I... I just needed..." He shrugged, not really sure how to explain what he had felt that night of all nights.

Ingwë seemed to understand his reluctance and leaned over to pat him on the knee in sympathy. Míriel was not impressed. "Hmph. Well, I’m sure we’re all sorry for many things, but it doesn’t change the fact that I will not have Lord Glorfindel under my roof as a thrall for even one more night. This farce has gone on for too long and I, for one, have had enough."

She stood up to tend to the soup, muttering about the intransigency of neri as she gave it a vicious stir. Martandur reddened in embarrassment and the other ellyn looked a bit nonplused. Ingwë sighed and stood up, putting his hands on Míriel’s shoulders and turning her around to look at him.

"Daughter, I understand how you feel, truly, I do," he said gently, leading her back to the bench where she reluctantly resumed her seat. "I would like nothing better than to welcome Glorfindel back where he belongs, but if I rescind the order now.... Those who have set out to disturb the peace of our lands need to see that I will not hesitate to chastise even one whom I love, never mind those who deserve nothing but my wrath for what they have done. Do you understand, child?"

Glorfindel then spoke. "Please, Míriel. I do not mind, truly. In fact, I’ve been enjoying myself more than I thought I could. Martandur has been teaching me his craft and, while I could never be a jewel-smith, I have learned much about creating and appreciating beauty, and in doing so, I’ve learned much about myself, as well."

"You know I’ve been treating Glorfindel more like an apprentice than a thrall anyway, dear," Martandur said soothingly. "He’s actually been quite helpful around the workshop and I’m finding I enjoy teaching my craft to another. You know I’ve hesitated taking another apprentice after the last one, but now I think I would like to again."

Míriel stared at her husband in surprise. "You vowed never to take another apprentice after Amandil ran off with Fëanáro." She paused and her expression went distant. "I wonder whatever happened to him?"

Martandur shrugged. "Neither here nor there, my love. At any rate, I am considering taking on an apprentice after Glorfindel leaves."

Míriel gave the four ellyn a measured look. "Neri!" she said in disgust. "I don’t know why we nissi even bother." She sighed and rose to tend to the soup. "Well, if you’re going to continue living here, Glorfindel, you can set the table for five."

Ingwë and Valandur both raised their eyebrows at that but Glorfindel merely smiled knowingly. "Yes, Mistress. Should I bring out the best dishes?"

Míriel snorted. "Do you think this lot deserves the best dishes?" she asked, but she was smiling when she said it and gave the High King a wink.

Ingwë laughed and offered to help Glorfindel set the table, much to Martandur and Míriel’s shock, Valandur’s amusement and Glorfindel’s delight.

It was quite late before Ingwë and Valandur made their good-byes and returned to the palace, leaving behind three contented elves, one of whom was now a "temporary apprentice", rather than a thrall.

****

Pui-en-orch: (Sindarin) "Orcspit", assuming that a noun derived from the verb puia- would take this shape in Sindarin.

Na quildë sinomë, melissenya: (Quenya) "Be quiet now, my lover [melissë "lover (f.)" + -nya (first person singular possessive adjective)]. The masculine equivalent would be melindonya.

Neri: (Quenya) Plural of nér: adult male of any species.

Nissi: (Quenya) Plural of nís: adult female of any species.

101: Alassiel and Vorondil

The next several weeks before the New Year were busy ones for all concerned. Glorfindel continued living and working with Martandur and Míriel, as well as joining in the practices for the upcoming tournament. He was often consulted about logistics but otherwise had no active duties in organizing the tournament itself. That was left to others. Outwardly, he was still seen as being out of the High King’s favor (the fact that he was still not permitted to return to the palace even after the failed attempt on his life proved this in the eyes of many). In reality, however, Ingwë saw and spoke with Glorfindel whenever the ellon came to the training salles, for the High King would come and watch, with Valandur by his side, whenever Glorfindel was scheduled to be there. Only those who accompanied Glorfindel to the salles realized that things had changed between High King and Balrog-slayer, but they did not speak of it to any. What went on inside the training salles remained there.

True to Námo’s word, Manwë sent Ingwë a list of names which the High King then shared with Arafinwë and Olwë. On orders from Ingwë, a quiet surveillance of the people named began. Unbeknown to the three kings, the same list was sent to Finrod, who showed it to no one, not even Laurendil. He memorized the names, burned the list, then went in search of Irmo. What the two spoke about, though, no one learned.

Vorondil returned from Nienna’s all excited about what he had learned and kept wishing someone would suffer a broken leg or something so he could practice on them. "I really want to try the comfrey poultice Lady Nienna taught me to make," he said to Finrod and Laurendil with a mournful sigh. Finrod smiled at the elfling’s enthusiasm.

"Well the New Year tournament that the High King is organizing is coming up. I’m sure you’ll have any number of opportunities to make such a poultice then."

It took Vorondil several seconds to grasp what his master was saying. "You... you mean I’m going to see a real tournament?" he asked with no little awe.

Finrod nodded. "Your atar has asked my permission to enter and I’ve given him my consent."

The sudden image of his atar fighting in the tourney and possibly getting hurt sobered the younger ellon and his expression became more thoughtful. Finrod divined the ellon’s thoughts and put a comforting arm around his shoulders. "Your atar fought and survived the War of Wrath, Vorondil," he said quietly. "I’m sure he’ll do just fine in the lists. Just think how you can show off your new skills to your atar as you are helping to treat his opponents after he’s finished with them."

Vorondil’s eyes brightened at the prospect. Finrod, Laurendil and Manwen were hard-pressed not to laugh at the ellon’s obvious glee. Just then, Melian came to them and gestured to Vorondil, who went to her gladly.

"Did you enjoy your stay at Lady Nienna’s, child?" the once Queen of Doriath asked. Vorondil nodded, feeling a bit shy all of a sudden. Melian smiled warmly at him. "Then why don’t you come and show me everything you learned while you were there." She gently guided the ellon away, and such was her will that the ellon did not seek Finrod’s permission to depart. Melian gave Finrod a brief smile and he nodded in acquiescence, knowing that Lord Irmo was closely monitoring Vorondil’s spiritual state since his Judgment, hence the trip to Nienna’s and now Melian’s involvement.

When his charge was safely away, Finrod turned to Manwen with a smile. "I trust he wasn’t too much to handle?"

"Not at all, my lord," the elleth said with an answering smile. "He was quite well behaved... well, as behaved as any ellon his age can be." They all chuckled at that, Finrod and Laurendil even blushing somewhat, remembering how they were when Vorondil’s age. "Lady Nienna’s Maiar practically adopted him. It was quite amusing to see him following them around like a love-struck puppy, hanging on their every word."

Finrod laughed. "I’m glad to hear it," he said. "How was my cousin Ingwion?"

"Actually, we never saw him the whole time we were there," Manwen said, eliciting a surprised look from Finrod. "I did ask after him, but Lady Nienna would only say that he was well and adjusting to his new status, but what she meant by that she would not say and I knew not to press."

"Hmm," was Finrod’s only comment as he gazed at nothing in particular, thinking. Then, he recollected himself and gave Manwen and Laurendil a warm smile. "Go, my children, and make merry. I know how much you don’t want to be standing here talking to me." He ushered them out of his pavilion.

Laurendil and Manwen both blushed at the implications of Finrod’s words, but they did not try to argue with him. They gave their liege proper bows, then Laurendil reached out his hand and Manwen shyly took it as they walked away, their steps dignified, knowing that Finrod was watching them. However, as soon as they were out of Finrod’s sight they gave each other wicked grins and then they were chasing each other back to their own grove, Manwen’s delighted shriek of laughter echoing along the way. Finrod, re-entering his pavilion, heard it and smiled to himself.

****

Vorondil returned some time later with Melian, bubbling with pride at successfully showing the Maia everything Lady Nienna had taught him, even though, in his initial enthusiasm, he had managed to overturn half the mixtures and burn the other half. He was nearly in tears by then but Melian had merely laughed and told him to take a deep breath and start over. Now he was back with Finrod, happily telling him about everything he had done while at Lady Nienna’s, as Melian looked on with an indulgent smile. The three of them were having tea, though Vorondil was mostly talking rather than eating or drinking.

"... and then Tiutalion took me down to the shore during low tide and showed me how to collect seaweed and dig for clams and we had a fire and cooked the seaweed and clams together and I never had clams before and..."

"Whoa, youngster!" Finrod said with a laugh, holding up his hand. "Slow down. I don’t think you’ve taken a breath since you walked in here."

Vorondil blushed and ducked his head. "Sorry, Master."

Finrod leaned over and ruffled the ellon’s still short hair. "I’m glad you had a good time, child, but I’m also happy you’re back." He pointed to some clothes piled on a chair. "Now I can have properly folded clothes for the first time in a week."

Vorondil sighed and muttered something about not having even unpacked yet, but dutifully got up and began folding Finrod’s tunics and breeches under the watchful eyes of his master and Melian.

*Findaráto, since when are you incapable of folding your own clothes?* Melian sent to her nephew, sounding highly amused.

Finrod hid a smile. *I had to come up with something for Vorondil to do, Aunt.* He was rewarded with the sound of Melian’s laughter in his mind. Out loud, he said, "Manwen told me she didn’t see Ingwion the entire time they were there. That seems rather odd to me."

"I saw Prince Ingwion," Vorondil said as he continued folding.

Finrod gave the ellon a surprised look. "Did you, then?"

Vorondil nodded. "He was talking with... with Lord Námo." He faltered somewhat at that and Finrod was quick to go to him and make him sit down, gently removing the tunic the ellon was crushing between his hands. Melian poured out some more tea and bade Vorondil to drink.

"Would you like to tell me?" Finrod asked gently, glad to see that the ellon’s color was returning so quickly.

Vorondil nodded and took another sip or two of the tea, gathering his thoughts. "I was wandering through the house one day. It was raining outside so I couldn’t go to the beach. I was walking along the upper gallery when I came upon a door that was half open and there were low voices coming from the room beyond. One of them sounded familiar but I wasn’t sure. I... I peeked around the door to see who was there and I saw this library and Prince Ingwion was there... along with Lord Námo."

Finrod and Melian remained quiet, allowing the ellon to tell his tale in his own way and in his own time. Vorondil drained his cup and Melian poured some more tea for him, eliciting a smile of thanks from him.

"Prince Ingwion was dressed like one of Lady Nienna’s Maiar in a grey tunic and surcoat. He was standing at a table looking at a map. Lord Námo was standing next to him, pointing something out....

"...and Avallónë looks out upon the Great Sea," Námo said, then without bothering to look up he spoke to Vorondil standing at the door, sounding not unkindly. "In or out, child, make up your mind."

Ingwion looked up at that and realized that his cousin’s thrall was peeking around the door, his eyes wide as saucers. He gave the younger ellon a warm smile and gestured. "Come here, child," he said and was pleased that Vorondil was quick to obey, although he was obviously reluctant to be there, eyeing the Lord of Mandos warily. Ingwion drew Vorondil close to him.

"Tell me what you see," he said, pointing to the map. Vorondil stared at it for a moment.

"Tol Eressëa," he answered.

"Have you ever been there?"

Vorondil shook his head. Ingwion nodded. "Me neither, but it seems that I will see it soon enough."

"Why? There’s nothing interesting there." Vorondil said in genuine confusion, furrowing his brow, trying to figure out why anyone would want to go to Tol Eressëa.

Ingwion stole a glance at Lord Námo and saw that the Vala’s eyes were bright with barely suppressed amusement. "Vorondil," Námo said quietly and Ingwion was in time to see the child go white and grabbed him before he collapsed entirely. He led him to a nearby chair and then found a carafe of water and a cup on the table that hadn’t been there previously. Ingwion poured the water into the cup and gave it to Vorondil to drink. Námo merely stood there, watching impassively.

"Feeling better?" Ingwion asked as he took the now empty cup from Vorondil, who was looking less pale. Vorondil nodded but did not otherwise speak, merely sitting there, waiting.

Námo took a step forward and gently brushed his hand through Vorondil’s shorn locks. Ingwion saw the ellon shiver once and then go still, slowly looking up to gaze into Lord Námo’s eyes. For a long moment there was silence, then Vorondil blinked a couple of times and stifled a yawn. Námo helped him to stand, gently kissing the ellon on the head.

"Why don’t you lie down for a while, child?" the Lord of Mandos said quietly. "I think you’ll feel better with a nap."

Ingwion saw the ellon nod and then without another word walk out of the library, presumably to find his bed....

"Then I woke up some hours later," Vorondil concluded. "I went in search of the library, but couldn’t find it again. When I asked Lady Nienna, she just smiled and said the library would be there when I most needed it." He gave Finrod and Melian a puzzled look. "Why do They... always speak in riddles?"

Finrod raised an eyebrow and Melian smiled. "It’s part of their mystique," Finrod answered. "Now, if you’re feeling better, why don’t you finish up folding the clothes and then you are free from any other duties for the rest of the day."

"Yes, Master," Vorondil said and dutifully returned to folding the clothes while Finrod motioned Melian to follow him out of the pavilion.

"You did not ask him what passed between him and Lord Námo," Melian said as they walked towards the grove’s entrance.

"I know better than to ask, Aunt," Finrod replied somewhat shortly.

Melian nodded, not taking offense at her Nephew’s tone. "So where are you going?"

"To see my cousin and let her know Vorondil’s back."

"She’s been very quiet these last few days," Melian observed, giving Finrod an amused look. "I understand that when Lirulin heard what happened, she took her daughter to task."

"As well she should," Finrod said with a satisfied nod. "Lirulin seems to be thriving now that Ingoldo and Tinwetariel are no longer in her life. I have a feeling they helped contribute to her desire to fade."

Melian frowned. "If that is true, they are guilty of more than conspiring against the Sérë Valaron."

"I, of course, have no proof either way," Finrod admitted, "but certainly Tinwetariel’s poison can be seen effecting Alassiel at times. My cousin’s behavior towards Vorondil is proof enough for me in that regard."

"Well, hopefully, the child will be able to rid herself of her grandmother’s influence. Intarion should not have to return to Life to face a half-faded wife and a bitter-hearted and arrogant daughter."

Finrod nodded, giving her a bow and a kinsman’s kiss before heading to the grove where Alassiel and her amillë were lodged.

****

Alassiel was sitting outside her pavilion embroidering, or trying to. Lirulin was doing the same. Her amillë had effectively forbidden her to leave the grove for the duration of their stay unless summoned by Lord Irmo or Prince Findaráto.

"I will have your meals sent," Lirulin had said, disappointment heavy in her voice. "Honestly, Alassiel, I expect better from any daughter of mine. Attacking a defenseless child that way, frightening him for no good reason. What were you thinking? Were you thinking?"

Alassiel had not even attempted to defend herself. The shame she had felt at how her cousin had treated her still rankled and she felt herself getting angry all over again at the thought.

"He had no right to slap me," she said crossly, viciously stabbing the needle through the cloth.

"He had every right, daughter," Lirulin rejoined. "And even if he didn’t it’s no more than you deserved. If your atar were here..."

"But he’s not, is he?" Alassiel cried out, standing to face her amillë. "He’s languishing in Mandos while my exalted cousin, who defied the Valar, is prancing around, acting like he’s the High King."

"Hardly prancing, Cousin."

Alassiel turned to see Findaráto standing at the grove’s entrance with an amused look on his face. She felt her face redden with embarrassment and throwing down her embroidery, fled into the pavilion. Lirulin shook her head and sighed, standing gracefully to offer Findaráto a respectful curtsey.

"Your Highness," she said correctly, but Finrod went to her and raised her up, giving her a light kiss.

"None of that, Lirulin," Finrod said. "After all, I used to pull your hair when we were elflings and you used to bite me."

"I never did," Lirulin said with a laugh. "That was my evil twin sister, Niluril."

"Oh, so that’s who it was," Finrod joined her in laughter. "And here I’ve been all set to wreak my revenge on you. Evil twin sister, heh? No chance of meeting up with her again, is there?"

Lirulin shook her head. "She disappeared a long time ago, Finda," she said almost wistfully, using the pet-name she had called him so long ago. "I grew up, and she... well, let’s just say I no longer needed her."

Finrod nodded. "I’m glad to know that you’ve decided not to fade, Lirulin," he said quietly, changing the subject. "It grieved me when Glorfindel told me about it."

Lirulin paled somewhat. "In that, I had no choice, you see. Lord Námo..."

Finrod raised a finger to her lips. "Say no more, my dear. I’m well aware of how Lord Námo’s little talks affect people."

Lirulin gave Finrod a steady look. "Are you happy to be back in Aman, Findaráto?"

Finrod gave her another kiss. "Yes, Lirulin. I am happy to be back where I belong. Have no fear for me in that regard. Now, I came to tell Alassiel that Vorondil has returned. I will arrange a meeting between them so she can apologize to him."

Lirulin nodded and sighed. "I apologize as well, your Highness. If I hadn’t been so foolish as to allow myself not to care..."

"Hush now, my dear," Finrod said soothingly. "Alassiel is no longer an elfling. She was fully cognizant of what she was doing. The fault lies solely with her. You are not to blame."

Lirulin gave Finrod a brief, sad smile. "Thank you for that, at least. I will tell her. She’s been told not to go outside this grove save by either Lord Irmo’s leave or yours."

"I will let you know when the meeting will take place. I do not intend to leave Vorondil alone with her, so she will have to endure my presence while she gives her apology to him."

He took his leave then, and Lirulin went inside to inform her daughter of what Finrod had said, but when she entered, there was no sign of Alassiel.

****

Alassiel ran. She wasn’t sure she could get away with it, but it was worth the try. She had no intention of apologizing to either Findaráto or his stupid thrall. Vorondil should have told her the truth. She paused to make sure there was no pursuit. She could still hear her amillë and Findaráto talking, and grimaced when she heard them laughing. No doubt they were laughing about her.

Her cousin had been right about one thing, she ruefully admitted to herself as she made for the trees. She should have stayed in Vanyamar. She wondered briefly what was happening there and how poor Glorfindel fared. Honestly, what was Uncle thinking, banishing him like that? She shook her head and concentrated on finding a way through. The trees comprising the grove stood close together to provide privacy, but not so close that a determined elleth could not make her way between them, though she feared her gown was ruined beyond all hope.

At last, she found herself outside. Brushing herself down as best she could, she looked around. No one was in sight. Now that she was outside, she was at a momentary loss as to what to do. Find her horse. That would be a start. Then she could perhaps sneak some provisions and be on her way. Findaráto wanted her in Vanyamar, well that’s where she would go.

She got her bearings and strode purposefully, but not too quickly, down the sward to where the stables were located, unaware that at least three Maiar and a Sinda who was sitting in a nearby tree watched her go. She never heard the wood elf silently follow her from the trees.

****

Vorondil finished his chores and changed out of his tabard. With the rest of the day before him he was wondering what he should do, then decided to wander down by the stables and visit with his horse, snagging a couple of apples from the dining pavilion along the way. He was happily munching on one of the apples as he approached the stables when he was nearly run over by someone rushing out on a horse. It took a surprised moment for him to recognize the horse, if not the rider.

"Rocco!" he screamed. "Someone’s stealing Rocco!" Vorondil started to run after the thief when he was grabbed from behind and found himself in the arms of a Maia. He was nearly in tears watching his precious horse being stolen.

"Easy, child," the Maia said. "No one is stealing your horse."

At that moment Vorondil saw an ellon drop from a tree and give a strange whistle. Almost at once Rocco came to a stop, throwing his rider, who fell hard on her left arm with a screech. Rocco came prancing back and when the Maia released him, Vorondil ran to him, making sure his horse had come to no harm.

Meantime, the Maia and the strange elf were tending to the fallen rider. Finrod showed up then, looking grim. He had been alerted by both a flustered Lirulin and Lord Irmo’s people. He went first to Vorondil, who told him what had happened.

"Why don’t you take Rocco back to the stables and see him settled, then return here," Finrod ordered the younger ellon. Vorondil nodded, leading Rocco back to the stables.

Finrod then went to see to Alassiel. He gave the Maia an appraising look. "Rather coincidental that she just happened to steal Vorondil’s horse instead of taking her own."

The Maia merely grinned. "If you believe in coincidences."

Finrod snorted, then greeted the Sinda. "My thanks, Mithlas, for your timely intervention. Vorondil loves that horse more than anything."

Mithlas grinned. "Well, when a highborn elleth comes through the trees where she shouldn’t have, I was curious." He nodded towards where Vorondil was entering the stable. "That child is your... thrall?"

"Technically, for the next thirty years," Finrod answered, "but for all intents and purposes, he’s an apprentice healer under Lord Irmo’s protection and we are careful to treat him as such."

"I understand, aran nîn," Mithlas said.

"So, how are you faring, mellon nîn?" Finrod asked even as he was cursorily giving Alassiel an examination to ascertain the extent of her injuries. The elleth had gashed her head when she hit a rock in her fall and was only just coming around. Besides the gash, her left arm was broken in two places, though luckily they were clean snaps.

"Well enough," Mithlas said. "Lord Irmo says that I can return to Tol Eressëa whenever I wish. I’ve just been lingering long enough to say farewell to the trees here. That’s what I was doing when this lady came through the grove."

"I’m glad you finally found healing, mellon nîn," Finrod said. He glanced up at the Maia. "I’m going to need splints and a stretcher, Ingil."

"I can find splints," Mithlas said as he leapt up and ran towards the trees.

Ingil smiled. "I’ve already alerted Lord Irmo and a stretcher is on its way."

Finrod nodded and placed a hand on the elleth’s head as she came back to consciousness. "How are you feeling, Cousin?" he asked solicitously.

"He named his horse ‘Rocco’?" was all she could say, disbelievingly.

Finrod found himself smiling. "It has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?"

"But Rocco?" she insisted, trying to ignore the pain in her head and in her left arm.

Finrod shrugged. "I think it’s a rather sensible name and easy to remember."

"What’s wrong with ‘Rocco’? It’s a good name."

Finrod looked up to see Vorondil standing there looking hurt. "My cousin apparently doesn’t think it’s suitable."

Vorondil gave Alassiel a glare. "Why does she hate me so much, Master?" he asked.

Finrod shook his head. "She doesn’t know you well enough to hate you, child. Now, Mithlas is looking for some splints for Lady Alassiel’s arm. Why don’t you go find some comfrey? It looks as if you get to practice what you’ve learned sooner than expected. This gash on the head needs tending to as well."

"You’re going to let him practice on me?" Alassiel nearly screamed. "I won’t have it!"

Finrod’s expression darkened. "What you want or don’t want at this point is immaterial, daughter. Now lie still and be quiet." He glanced up at the younger ellon, who stood there looking uncertain, and smiled encouragingly. "Ingil will show you where the best comfrey can be found, won’t you, Ingil?"

"I would be honored," the Maia said with a smile. "Come, Vorondil, I know just where to look."

Together the Maia and Vorondil went in search of comfrey. Mithlas came back with suitable flat pieces for a splint just as several Lóriennildi and Estenduri arrived with a stretcher and other medical equipment. Finrod stepped aside and let them at it, cautioning them not to tend to the head wound save to clean it.

"I promised Vorondil he could make a comfrey poultice for the gash. He’s off with Ingil looking for some."

"Poetic justice, if there ever was any."

Finrod turned to see Lord Irmo standing there, smiling, and returned it with one of his own. "Vorondil’s been dying to try out what he’s learned on someone. Alassiel has volunteered."

At that Alassiel, who had remained silent all this time, gave a screech as one of the elves reset the bones in her arm. She turned absolutely white, then green, and Finrod was just in time to help raise her up so she could be sick without choking on her own vomit. Afterwards they moved her away from the spot, one of the Lóriennildi wiping her face with a wet cloth and giving her some water with which to rinse her mouth. Finrod then knelt in front of her and placed her head in his lap, laying a soothing hand on her forehead and gently stroking it.

Lord Irmo stood looking on impassively, though his eyes were dark with emotion. "I should turn you over to my brother, my dear," he said in a mild voice that nevertheless sent shivers down the spines of the elves there. Even Finrod flinched somewhat at the Vala’s words. Alassiel just moaned and cowered further into Finrod’s lap. "But I think I’ll just let Findaráto deal with your intransigence. In the end, though, I suspect that you will wish Lord Námo had had a hand in your... chastisement instead."

Alassiel glanced up at the Vala in disbelief. Lord Irmo merely nodded. "Yes, child. You may find Findaráto is not as forgiving as my brother Námo."

Alassiel turned her gaze towards her cousin, who smiled coldly at her. "Did I not warn you, daughter, that I tend not to take prisoners when my own are threatened?" He bent down and gently kissed her on her brow.

For some reason she could not fathom, that simple gesture frightened her more than anything ever had and she suddenly began screaming. They had to tie her to the stretcher. No one attempted to still her screams as they carried her away.

As Alassiel’s screams faded in the distance Finrod turned to Irmo. "I had better go see how Vorondil’s doing with the poultice. He’s likely to burn the grove down in his enthusiasm."

Irmo chuckled. "I’m sure Ingil is keeping an eye on him. You and I need to talk."

"About what?" Finrod asked in surprise.

"About your other cousin, Ingwion," Irmo answered. "It’s time to apprise you of certain developments."

Finrod nodded and bowed. "I am at your service, Master."

"Yes, you are," Irmo said somewhat sardonically and Finrod was left wondering about that as he followed the Vala away from the stables.

****

Rocco: (Quenya) Horse.

102: Alassiel and Finrod

The days that followed her abortive attempt to leave Lórien were unpleasant ones for Alassiel. First there was the absolute mortification she felt whenever she thought how she had been thwarted in her desire to leave, especially by a Sinda of all people. Then there was the pain from her broken arm and gashed head. When Vorondil came with the poultice for her head they had to tie her down again to keep her in one place long enough for him to minister to her. In the end, one of the masters was sent for to calm her down, singing to her so that she was falling asleep before she realized what was happening. When she woke up it was to find Finrod sitting by her bed, softly strumming his harp.

He gave her a wintry smile. "You’re making this harder on yourself than is really necessary, Cousin," he said without preamble. "Why do you persist in this intransigence?"

"Where’s my amillë?" she asked, not wishing to answer Finrod’s question.

"She’s on her way back to Vanyamar."

Alassiel sat up, disbelief in her expression. "She’s what?"

Finrod nodded. "I suggested that she might want to return to Vanyamar and she agreed."

Alassiel glared at him. "Suggested or ordered?"

Finrod shrugged. "Does it really matter, Alassiel? The result is the same. She’s not here."

She wanted to scream at him and let him know just what she thought of him at that moment but she was suffering too much pain and found herself lying back on her bed, trying not to think too much. She flinched slightly when she felt a hand on her forehead and opened her eyes to see Finrod leaning over her, a look of compassion in his eyes.

"Let me ease some of the pain, child," he said gently and Alassiel nodded mutely. Finrod started singing, caressing her hair and it was as if the pain were flowing out of her. There was such a sense of relief that she sighed, nestled further into the covers and fell asleep almost at once.

****

When she woke again it was to find Vorondil there, but he wasn’t alone. One of the Maiar was with him, giving the ellon instructions.

"... and you must make sure the poultice is not too hot when you apply it or it will burn the skin and cause more pain," the Maia said as he helped Vorondil remove the bandages on Alassiel’s head. She flinched automatically when Vorondil reached for her but the Maia held her head steady and she was forced to endure his touch, though she had to admit the fresh poultice did provide relief almost immediately. She sighed and closed her eyes, feeling herself drifting.

"I think she’s feeling better already, Ingil," she heard Vorondil say. "That gash looks ugly. Will she need stitching?"

"Possibly," Ingil responded, "We’ll let Lady Manwen take a look in a few days. It may heal on its own."

Then someone entered the pavilion. "How’s our patient?" she heard Finrod ask and cringed slightly, refusing to open her eyes.

"We just replaced the poultice, Master," Vorondil stated. "Ingil had to hold her still, though. I don’t think she likes me too much."

"Having your patients like you is not a requisite for healing them, Vorondil," Finrod said with a chuckle, "though it does help."

Alassiel felt Finrod lean over her, looking at Vorondil’s handiwork. "Very good, Vorondil," he said approvingly. "You are a very apt pupil."

"Thank you, Master." Alassiel could almost see the ellon glowing with pride from Finrod’s praise even with her eyes closed.

"Well, when the splints come off we’ll have to discuss suitable punishment," Finrod then said somewhat off-handedly and Alassiel opened her eyes in spite of herself and stared at her cousin with some trepidation. Finrod, however, was not paying any attention to her, his eyes fixed on Vorondil instead.

"You mean she gets to be punished for stealing Rocco?" Vorondil asked, his eyes wide with surprise.

Finrod gave the elfling a deliberate look. "What would you consider suitable punishment?"

The ellon thought for a moment and then nodded to himself. "Well... since she’s obviously so fond of Rocco..." he gave Finrod a sly look, "she should muck out his stall." Then he flashed his master a wide grin. Finrod threw back his head and laughed, ruffling Vorondil’s hair as he did.

Alassiel scowled. "I fail to see the humor in that, Findaráto."

Finrod gave her a cool look. "I think, my dear, that for the foreseeable future you had best address me as ‘my lord’."

There was something in his tone just then that sent a frisson of fear through her spine and she looked away.

"Your arm should be healed within a week I imagine," Finrod continued. "In the meantime, I’ve asked Lord Irmo to have one of his Maiar tend to you. With Lirulin gone, you’ll need help with getting dressed and such."

Alassiel turned back to Finrod and then gave Ingil a dubious look which the Maia returned with a faint smile. "Don’t worry child," he said. "I think Lady Melian has volunteered to help you."

That, however, did not reassure her, but she obviously had no say in any of this. She sighed and closed her eyes again, wishing everyone would go away and leave her alone. It became quiet after that and she was unaware that Finrod had motioned Vorondil to leave with Ingil so that only he remained. He sat beside her as she drifted towards sleep again. She would have been surprised to see the fond look he gave her as he watched over her.

****

Melian was there when she woke again, feeling hungry. The Maia queen greeted her quietly and offered to help her dress. "I’ve had something sent," she said to Alassiel as she helped her with her shift. "I don’t think you will want to leave the grove any time soon, at least until your arm is fully healed."

Alassiel grimaced at that since she knew what was really being said, but otherwise offered no other protest, resigning herself to the situation for the moment. Once the splints were off though...

As if divining the tenor of her thoughts Melian shook her head. "Don’t even think of it, child. Lord Irmo has alerted all his people. You will not be able to leave Lórien until Findaráto says you may."

"So I’m a prisoner," Alassiel said sourly, sitting hard upon her bed, half-dressed but no longer caring.

"You came here of your own free will, child," Melian said in mild rebuke. "If you are a prisoner, you have no one to blame but yourself. Your actions to date have been less than sterling. I don’t think Ingwë would approve."

Alassiel shuddered at that. Her Great-uncle had always been kind and indulgent towards her, especially after her atar’s death, but she knew that he expected certain behavior from his family and her recent behavior would not have been tolerated in Ingwë’s court.

"So what now?" she asked deflatedly.

Melian shook her head. "Now, I think you should finish getting dressed and have something to eat. Time enough for the rest later."

****

Lady Manwen came two days later with Vorondil in tow to check on her head wound, giving the ellon a running lecture on proper suturing techniques that left Alassiel feeling ill and Vorondil’s eyes glowing with anticipation.

"However," Manwen concluded with a sympathetic smile for Alassiel, "I don’t think it will be necessary in this case. The wound is closing nicely. We’ll keep the poultice on it for a day longer and then remove the bandages. Now, let’s take a look at the arm."

The examination was brief but thorough and Manwen declared that the splints could be removed in two days. Alassiel found she wasn’t looking forward to the prospect as the two Lóriennildi left. It didn’t help that during the week she saw no sign of Findaráto. Whenever she thought about him, though, her level of anxiety rose, wondering what he planned to do to her.

****

The day the splints were removed, only Melian and Finrod were present, much to Alassiel’s relief.

"I’m not a healer by any means," Finrod said as he began unwrapping the splints, "but I’m capable of removing splints. The Valar know I had plenty of practice while in Endórë. Now, let’s see how your arm works."

He had her do a series of exercises to determine how well the bones had healed and she was pleased that there was no residual pain and she had full range of motion.

Finrod nodded. "Mucking out Rocco’s stall should help strengthen the muscles more."

Alassiel stared at him in disbelief. "You’re not serious? I thought you were just humoring the... the elfling."

The former King of Nargothrond gave her a penetrating look. "Very serious, Alassiel, and that’s not all you’ll be doing while you’re here, either."

"What do you mean?" she asked with some trepidation.

"After you’ve broken your fast each morning you will report to the stables for two hours to muck out Rocco’s stall and curry him and then do any other chores the stablemaster requires of you. After that, you’ll report to the kitchens where you will help out with luncheon preparations, including the cleaning up afterwards. When you’re finished with that you’ll have a couple of hours free to do as you please, though you will be confined to this grove."

"Well, thank you for that, at least," she said sourly, giving him her best scowl.

Finrod merely smiled. "After you have rested, you will spend the remainder of the afternoon and evening with me."

"Doing what exactly?" she asked suspiciously.

"Whatever I tell you, daughter," Finrod replied coldly, no longer smiling. Alassiel felt herself shivering and the blood fled from her face as fear smote her. Finrod shook his head, his expression less forbidding. "Fear not, child. I will never command from you anything shameful or against your deepest will and... we will be properly chaperoned."

Alassiel raised an eyebrow. "Chaperoned?" she asked, casting a glance at Melian who had remained quiet and in the background during their conversation. The Maia queen merely smiled and nodded her head.

Now Finrod smiled again and nodded. "There will always be at least one other elleth or Maia present for the sake of propriety. Your... integrity is safe with me."

Alassiel wasn’t sure just how to take that, so she remained quiet. Finrod continued speaking. "I realize you did not bring appropriate clothes for mucking out stalls and such, so I’ve asked Melian and Manwen to provide you with whatever is necessary. When you are with me, however, you may wear the gowns you are accustomed to wearing."

"How kind," Alassiel said with a sniff.

"Kindness has nothing to do with it, Alassiel," Finrod answered. "You will find that I’m not kind at all. Just ask Vorondil or Laurendil."

She gave him a puzzled look, for as far as she could tell her cousin treated his thrall with great tenderness and Laurendil with great respect. His words confused her.

Finrod stood up then. "You should rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day for you." He gave her a brief bow and left. Melian remained behind.

****

By the time she finished wiping and putting away the last dish, Alassiel was ready to drop. She couldn’t believe how much work it was to muck out stalls, curry horses and the myriad other things the stablemaster had her do, and then to spend the next several hours peeling vegetables, serving tables and then washing up afterwards. The fact that she was expected to serve the tables mortified her, but no one seemed to recognize or even pay any attention to her. As she made her way to her pavilion she felt sweaty and filthy and her left arm ached. She was practically reeling and feared she would not make it to the grove. Luckily, Melian was there to guide and support her.

"It’s just a little further, dear," the Maia said quietly. "There’s a hot bath waiting for you and then you can rest for a while before joining Findaráto."

The bath would be welcome, she decided, but she was not looking forward to being in her cousin’s presence. In that, of course, she had no choice and two hours later she found herself entering Findaráto’s pavilion. Vorondil was not there. Finrod was seated at a portable writing desk pouring over some papers. He glanced up and gave her an expectant look and Alassiel realized belatedly that he was waiting for her to curtsey, which she did with some reluctance, her expression set.

"You may sit over here, Alassiel," Finrod said, pointing to a chair that faced the desk. She gave Melian a glance. The Maia merely nodded and moved to stand in a corner, content to simply be a witness to whatever her nephew had in mind. Alassiel sighed and sat where she was bidden. Finrod turned back to his papers and apparently ceased to remember she was there. She sat there for some time, waiting, trying not to fidget. Nearly fifteen minutes went by before Finrod stopped what he was doing, sat back and gave Alassiel a measured look. She tried not to show any emotion but inside she was seething.

"The first thing we need to do," Finrod said as he stood up and walked over to a sideboard to pour some wine into a couple of goblets, "is to cure you of your arrogance."

She started at that. "My what?"

"You’ve been too heavily influenced by your grandparents, Alassiel," Finrod continued, handing one of the goblets to Melian and taking a sip from the other. He did not bother to offer Alassiel any wine. "It’s time to put a stop to that influence before you end up sharing their exile."

Alassiel found herself shivering at that.

"What do you propose, Nephew?" Melian asked curiously.

Finrod sat down again and gave Alassiel a brief smile that did nothing to reassure her. She suddenly was reminded of Ingwë when he was acting as High King, rather than as an indulgent uncle, and realized that she had been underestimating her cousin, thinking of him as she did Glorfindel — an amusing adolescent ellon. But, she now recognized that such thoughts were erroneous. Findaráto was not an adolescent, had not been for some time now. Certainly his demeanor during her grandfather’s trial proved that. She found herself blushing for no particular reason and could not meet his gaze.

"Working in the stables for two hours, followed by a stint in the kitchens, would be enough to curb most people’s arrogance," Finrod finally said, taking a sip of wine, "but in your case, my dear...."

Alassiel shrugged, still not willing to look at her cousin. "I’d forgotten what hard work it is to muck out a stall, but atto made me do that and more before he allowed me to have a horse of my own."

"Intarion was very wise, as I recall," Finrod said with a nod. "He did, after all, marry your amillë."

Alassiel looked up in surprise at the unexpected compliment and found herself smiling in spite of herself, though it did not last long. "He should never have gone to war," she said quietly. "He promised he would come back to me, but he didn’t. He died because of you and all the others who defied the Valar. I don’t think I can ever forgive you Noldor for that."

"Ah, now we are getting to it," Finrod said. "Yet, your feelings towards the Noldor in no way excuse your actions to date, especially against Vorondil. He’s suffered enough without you compounding the problem."

"He’s suffered?" she asked disbelievingly. "That brat was responsible for what happened to Glorfindel...."

Finrod shook his head. "Only in part. The greater blame can be laid at your grandparents’ feet, and you know this. At any rate, Vorondil is being suitably punished for his crimes, which brings us back to you."

"I’ve committed no crime," Alassiel protested.

"Abusing a child... causing both physical and emotional anguish... stealing a horse... not to mention disobeying a Vala," Finrod ticked off each transgression with a finger. "Do you want to rethink that statement, Cousin?"

Alassiel found herself blushing and looking away.

"Well, crimes or not," Finrod continued, "your actions to date warrant some sort of intervention on our part." He paused for a moment and sighed. "Believe me, Cousin, I do not like this any more than you, but if something is not done... Do you truly wish to follow in your grandparents’ footsteps?" He gave her a moment to think about that before continuing. "Do you know what Lord Oromë called you?"

She looked up in surprise at the unexpected question and shook her head.

"He called you a fierce warrior-maid," Finrod said with a chuckle.

"He did?" she asked. "But, I’m not a warrior. I’ve never even picked up a sword. Why would he call me that?"

Finrod shrugged. "I’m sure he has his reasons. In the meantime, though, I think it will be fun to see if we can’t make his statement true."

"Wh-what do you mean?" she asked with some trepidation, not sure she liked the way he was looking at her.

"I’ve decided to enter the tournament Ingwë is holding at the New Year," Finrod replied with a smile. "Laurendil is busy with his apprenticeship and Vorondil is too young, so I’ve decided to make you my temporary squire. I’m going to teach you how to wield a sword and you are going to learn how to act as my squire."

"Are you serious?" she asked in disbelief. She was unaware of Melian, standing behind her, smiling widely.

"Very serious, Alassiel," and there was no light of amusement in his eyes now. "Believe me when I tell you that in a very short while you will come to hate me with every breath you breathe as I do my level best to beat that arrogance of yours out of you."

Alassiel could only stare at him in shock as the ramifications of her cousin’s words finally made their way into her soul. She suddenly realized just what Lord Irmo had meant about her eventually wishing Lord Námo were chastising her instead.

Finrod gave her a cold smile. "Like I said before, child, I tend not to take any prisoners."

103: The King of Nargothrond’s Squire

Alassiel wondered just when Findaráto planned on "beating that arrogance" of hers out of her, for at first he did nothing more than talk about it. The next day when she went to his pavilion he handed her two sheets of parchment. On one was a diagram of an ellon dressed in typical elven armor with each piece neatly labeled. The other paper had the same list of the different parts of the armor followed by a brief but thorough description explaining where it would be placed on a body, the order of its placement as well as its function in the overall scheme of protecting the warrior.

"Memorize these," Finrod told her and she sat down to do just that. She prided herself on her retentive abilities and on being a quick study, so she did not anticipate any problems, but, of course, nothing was simple with her cousin. He gave her two days.

On the third day she walked into his pavilion to find pieces of armor scattered about while Finrod himself was dressed only in breeches and shirt. She gave him an admiring glance and he chuckled. "Keep your thoughts to yourself, Cousin. You’re bound to shock my aunt."

Alassiel blushed when Melian, who had been escorting her, laughed. "After living in Doriath, my dear, nothing shocks me anymore."

Finrod grinned, then turned back to Alassiel. "You will dress me in the armor, in the order in which it is to be donned. You will name each piece and its function as you go and you will do it from memory."

She suddenly became afraid. "But... but I’ve only had two days! I still don’t understand half of what is written here." She held out the pieces of parchment that she had been holding.

Finrod shook his head, taking the parchments from her hands and putting them on his writing desk. "I don’t expect you to get it all right the first time, Alassiel. It took me months to get it right, but we don’t have months, only weeks. So do the best you can and I will help you when you get stuck. Looking at an illustration is only the first step. You will remember better if you have to handle the individual pieces themselves. Now, start with the undertunic."

Somewhat mollified by his tone, she complied, picking up the silk tunic and helping Finrod don it. "Why silk?" she asked.

"At first glance you would think it folly wouldn’t you?" Finrod said, nodding. "Check the weave and compare it to your gown."

She did. "The weave of your tunic is not as tight."

Finrod nodded. "It’s a more open weave, almost like a mesh, yet it is still heavier than the linen weave of my shirt so it produces better padding for the hauberk. Also the mail slides on and off more easily with the silk than it would with linen. What’s the next thing that goes on?"

It took her a moment to find what she was looking for and Finrod nodded in approval when she was able to name the piece and give its function. It was slow going, dressing him, for she had to stop and explain each piece and then figure out how to put it on him based on her memory of a flat drawing. Sometimes she got the order wrong or the name but Finrod proved a patient teacher and when the final piece of equipment was in place he praised her.

"That went much better than I anticipated," he said, adjusting the surcoat to hang better on his shoulders. The surcoat was dyed a royal blue and embroidered with his personal device of a harp and torch. "You have a quick mind, Cousin. Now, why don’t you help me out of all this and then we will have dinner? Afterwards, I will show you how to clean the different pieces. As my squire, it will be your duty and your joy to see that everything is kept clean."

"Joy?" Alassiel asked with a sneer even as she helped him out of the surcoat and began folding it neatly. "What possible joy could there be in anything so..."

Finrod took her by the shoulders, his demeanor grave. "Yes, Alassiel, joy. I sincerely hope that in the coming weeks you will find within yourself that special joy that comes from faithfully serving another. Vorondil has found it, as you may have noticed, certainly Laurendil and Manwen have as well. Look about you, child. Notice the joy that permeates those who are willing to humble themselves in service to others."

She looked at him doubtfully but slowly she began to perceive his own joy as his Light of Being brightened. "You’re no servant," she said confusedly.

"Am I not?" he replied with a wistful smile. "Lord Námo and Lord Irmo may have something to say to that."

Then, Finrod turned and rifled through a clothes press at the foot of one of the cots. He pulled out a shapeless tunic that had seen better days. "Vorondil’s decided to have another growth spurt and is wearing out his tunics. This should serve you well enough. When we finish dinner, you may change into this so as to save your gown from getting filthy. Cleaning armor is somewhat dirty work." He handed her the tunic and then turned to Melian. "Perhaps you wouldn’t mind giving Alassiel a hand with the rest of this."

In short order they had Finrod divested of all his armor and then they ate. Afterwards, Finrod excused himself so that Alassiel could have some privacy to change. When he returned she felt somewhat self-conscious with her legs below the knees exposed. The sleeves were a bit long and she had to fold them back. Finrod gave her an appraising look and she found herself laughing in spite of herself.

"Now it’s your turn to keep your thoughts to yourself, Cousin," she admonished him.

Finrod merely smirked and Melian actually giggled. Then Finrod picked up the hauberk and started explaining the proper way to care for it. Soon she was busy polishing. She noted that Finrod was not idle, but was checking over all the equipment with a practiced eye before letting her handle it, then he began going over his weapons. As he was checking his sword she wondered when he was going to start teaching her how to wield one as he had threatened to do.

As if divining her thoughts, Finrod spoke up. "I’ve had Lord Aulë’s people fashion appropriate gear for you. It should be ready by week’s end and then we’ll begin your training."

She merely nodded, not willing to speak her thoughts, even as she continued polishing.

****

True to his word, her armor was waiting for her when she entered Finrod’s pavilion three days later. Melian had warned her in advance so she was suitably attired in breeches and shirt. This time Finrod helped her to put on her armor. Laurendil came in at one point and helped Finrod don his.

The armor seemed strange to her and she felt clumsy but both ellyn assured her she would adapt soon enough. Then they were outside and she could see that a section of the grove had been roped off. There were two wooden practice swords and shields.

That first session was spent in acquainting her with the weight of the armor on her body, the feel of a sword in her hand and the movements necessary to keep her alive. By the time Finrod declared an end of the training for that day, she was dripping with sweat and reeling with fatigue. She was barely conscious by the time Melian escorted her back to her own pavilion.

****

After that Alassiel fell into a routine: working in the stables, helping with luncheon, resting and then having sword practice, usually followed by a stint of polishing her armor as well as Finrod’s. As she became more proficient with the use of her sword, Finrod stepped up the pace of her training. Laurendil joined them during this time, acting as a marshal of the list to ensure that nothing untoward happened between them.

However, as time went on, Alassiel began to dread her sessions with Finrod, donning the breeches and shirt with distaste after her afternoon bath. She finally had enough about two weeks after first picking up her sword. Finrod had been pounding on her relentlessly, shouting instructions that seemed to her to be contradictory, thereby confusing her and making her feel clumsy. Finally, she threw her sword at him, shouting invectives. Finrod deftly avoided the sword and watched her go into her tantrum with something like amusement in his eyes.

"I HATE YOU!" she screamed and then turned away to leave when Finrod tackled her from behind and drove her to the ground. Then she really let go, screaming and clawing at him with a fury born of fatigue, shame and hatred for her cousin. Finrod hung on and let her have her way. Eventually, though, she stopped out of exhaustion, weeping. "Ihateyouihateyouihateyou..."

Finrod gathered her into his arms, removed her helmet and rocked her. "Did I not warn you, daughter, that you would come to hate me?" He paused and kissed her forehead. "I want you to hate me, Alassiel," he whispered. "I want you to hate me with every fibre of your being."

"Why?" she asked, feeling confused. Sometimes her cousin just didn’t make any sense.

"Because I mean to break you, Alassiel," Finrod answered. "I mean to break you and remold you and you have every reason to hate me, and yes, to fear me, for what I’m about to do to you."

She shuddered at that. "I want to go home," she finally said forlornly.

"No, child," Finrod said somewhat sadly. "That is no longer an option. Your fate is in my hands now. I will break you, Alassiel, if I have to kill you to do it."

The implacability of his words sent her into a spasm of retching, leaving her even more miserable than before. Finrod continued holding her, wiping her mouth with a piece of cloth that Laurendil gave him. "I think you’ve had enough for today, Cousin," Finrod said solicitously as he helped her to rise. "Go with Melian and plan not to do anything tomorrow. You’re excused from all your duties until the next day."

"What about the armor?" she asked hesitantly. "I should clean..."

"I’ll get Vorondil to do it." Finrod gave her a sly smile. "He’s been dying to get his hands on the armor ever since we started. He’s very jealous of you, you know. It’s one reason I’ve kept him away from our sessions."

Alassiel stared at Finrod in disbelief for a moment, then snorted in a rather unladylike manner. "Elflings," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Indeed, " Finrod said with a short laugh.

Alassiel left shortly thereafter with Melian while Laurendil stayed behind.

"She’s very stubborn, aranya," Laurendil said conversationally once Alassiel was out of sight. "Any other elleth would have thrown her sword at you after the second day."

Finrod snickered. "Another five minutes and I was ready to throw my own sword at her. Lord Oromë was correct in his estimation of my cousin’s worth."

Laurendil chuckled. "Let me help you divest yourself of your armor, aranya."

Finrod shook his head. "I can manage. Why don’t you go tell Vorondil he’s about to get his fondest wish."

Laurendil flashed Finrod a smile. "You know the ellon’s going to be insufferable after this."

Finrod laughed. "I’m sure we’ll survive. Go now."

Laurendil bowed. "By your leave, aranya."

When Finrod entered his pavilion it was to find Ingil there. The Maia smiled at him. "Lady Melian thought you might need help with that armor."

Finrod smiled and nodded his thanks. When Vorondil came running into the pavilion all excited a few minutes later it was to find the former King of Nargothrond and a Maia trying to untangle Finrod’s hair from the aventail of his helmet and cursing one another roundly as they did so.

****

Note on armor: I have kept the descriptions deliberately vague as I suspect that elvish armor was somewhat different from armor worn by Men. At any rate a hauberk is a knee-length sleeved-shirt of mail. The aventail is mail attached to the bottom of a helmet, often by vervelles, or staples, covering the neck and shoulders. I have no way of describing them in Quenya, since Tolkien did not provide us with such terms, and I prefer to use technical terms which are more precise than general descriptions.

104: Camping Out

Alassiel woke on the morning two days after her breakdown to see Finrod standing over her with a smile on his face, dressed in his hauberk. Melian was standing behind him.

"Rise and shine, Cousin," he said, deftly pulling the covers off her. She shrieked in dismay, trying to grab the blankets, but Finrod merely laughed and danced out of her reach. "You have five minutes to dress. Melian will help you."

"Five minutes!" she yelled as he left the pavilion. "You’ll be lucky if it isn’t five hours!" She heard Finrod laugh as she sat there glowering at Melian, who merely smiled and held out Alassiel’s dressing gown.

As it was, it was nearly half an hour before Alassiel emerged from the pavilion fully dressed in her own hauberk. She was still grumbling, but stopped when she saw that Finrod was not alone. Standing with him were Laurendil, also in battle dress, and Vorondil, who was wearing an old tunic and carrying a small hunting bow. Laurendil, she noticed, carried not a sword, but one of the great War Bows, which surprised her. Finrod nodded at her approvingly and Laurendil gave her a nod and a smile. Vorondil’s eyes were glowing with excitement and he was practically bouncing with impatience.

"What’s all this about, Cousin?" she asked Finrod.

"I’ve been promising Vorondil a camping trip," Finrod replied with a sly grin. "We need someone to do the cooking."

"What?" she yelled in disbelief, beginning to feel outraged. "I’m doing the cooking?"

Finrod turned to Laurendil with a sly grin. "You see how eagerly she volunteers?"

Laurendil laughed and Vorondil snickered. Alassiel frowned. "If you think I’m going camping alone with you ellyn..."

Finrod raised his hand. "Peace, Alassiel. Manwen will be joining us and Melian has agreed to meet us at our destination. As for the cooking, we’ll take turns. I’m probably a better cook than you are anyway."

"Oh?" she said with a raised eyebrow. "We’ll see about that, my lord." She stalked away, muttering imprecations under her breath, so she did not see Finrod wink at Laurendil. They made their way to the stables where they found Manwen with the horses, including a packhorse that was carrying all their equipment. As they were mounting, Alassiel put aside her anger long enough to ask Finrod a question. "Why are we dressed in armor?"

"Practice," Finrod said as he led them out of Lórien. They headed south across open fields. Vorondil rode beside him, eagerly asking questions to which Finrod patiently provided answers. Alassiel found herself riding between Laurendil and Manwen, and she had the feeling that they had put her between them on purpose.

"So, how is your training as Findaráto’s squire coming along?" Manwen asked politely.

"It isn’t," Alassiel said with a scowl, remembering her tantrum of two days earlier.

Manwen raised an eyebrow and gave her husband a knowing look, which he returned with a shrug. "I see," the elleth said. "That isn’t what..."

"He said he’ll kill me," Alassiel interrupted, her voice bleak. "He hates me and wants to see me dead."

If Finrod heard he gave no sign. He and Vorondil were far enough ahead that the other three could hold a conversation in private. The two healers gave Alassiel considering looks. Laurendil leaned over and placed a hand on Alassiel’s arm.

"Findaráto does not hate you, child," he said, "nor does he want to see you dead. What he hates is what he fears you have become due to your grandparents’ influence. He does not want you to end up as they."

They continued riding in silence for a time while Alassiel thought on Laurendil’s words. Ahead she saw Finrod say something to Vorondil that caused the ellon to laugh and then they were both racing their horses across the field. "He treats his thrall as if he were a younger brother," she finally said, almost disapprovingly.

Manwen gave her a shrewd look. "And that disturbs you," she said.

Alassiel shrugged uneasily, wondering if she were going to be chastised for her remarks. "He’s a thrall..."

"Technically, yes," Laurendil said, "but he’s a child, Alassiel, a child who made a grave mistake. The Valar making him Finrod’s thrall was just a fiction to give them an excuse not to punish him as he should be were he of age. As it is, he will not be able to leave Lórien for the next thirty years without Finrod’s permission."

Manwen spoke then. "Even Lord Irmo recognizes Finrod’s authority over Vorondil and asked his permission to allow the ellon to accompany me to Lady Nienna’s."

Alassiel gave her a surprised look which Manwen returned with a nod of confirmation.

"Finrod treats Vorondil like a younger brother because that’s how he wants to treat him," Laurendil said then. "Perhaps if you spent less time putting others into categories and simply accepted them for themselves, you would be able to treat them more compassionately."

It was the closest thing to a reprimand the Lóriennildo had ever given her and she blushed somewhat at it but did not try to defend herself to him. Manwen and Laurendil exchanged glances over Alassiel’s bowed head and nodded to one another.

****

They did not go far. About three leagues to the south of Lórien was a stretch of woods consisting of old oaks for the most part. In the depths of winter they still retained their leaves, creating a golden canopy against the browns of the land around them, for little snow fell in this region of Valinor. It was probably not the best time of year in which to go camping, but it was not unheard of. They made their way towards a clearing where a small stream ran through the woods, reaching it around noon.

"I had Mithlas check this place out earlier," Finrod told them as they brought their horses to a halt and began setting up their camp. "This was the best place for a camp according to him."

"I’m going to miss him," Laurendil said as he helped Manwen down from her horse. "He and I had many shared memories."

"Well, there’s no reason we cannot visit him on Tol Eressëa," Manwen said. "We’re not prisoners, you know, dear." She gave her husband a long-suffering look. Laurendil smiled and gave her a light kiss.

"I know," he said, then turned and began helping Vorondil remove their equipment from the packhorse and get the tents set up. There were two tents and it was decided that the three ellyn would share the larger tent and the two ellith would share the smaller one. A small campfire was started and water collected. Alassiel felt somewhat out of place. She had never gone camping and was not used to "roughing" it. Laurendil and Manwen seemed quite at home in the woods and were competently going about the business of setting up the camp with little fuss or conversation. It was obvious that they both had done such things before. Vorondil was happily following Finrod’s directions in placing tent pegs in the ground or fetching water, so his inexperience at camping wasn’t as obvious. Finrod noticed Alassiel’s unease and indecision as to what she should do and motioned to her practice sword.

"Why don’t you go through the drills I’ve shown you so far, Cousin, while we finish up here? As soon as I’ve seen to Vorondil I will join you. I think over there where it’s more open will be a good place for sword-practice." He pointed to an area of the clearing that was further south from their camp. Alassiel nodded and made her way to where Finrod had indicated, glad to have something to do besides standing around looking useless and foolish.

She was in the middle of her workout when Finrod joined her, along with Laurendil. Looking back at the camp she could see Vorondil staring wistfully after them until Manwen nudged him, apparently reminding him of his duties, for the ellon reluctantly nodded and began helping her with food preparation. Alassiel smiled at Finrod. "I think there’s an elfling who wants to play."

Finrod snorted good-naturedly. "Ingwë was wise to decree that no one under seventy-five be allowed to handle a sword. Vorondil will just have to wait a while."

"By the time his indenture is over, then, he’ll be old enough to be your squire," Alassiel said. "That should be something for him to look forward to."

Finrod gave her an appraising look and nodded, smiling. "So I’ve told him, but you would think he has to wait three ages instead of thirty years the way he carries on."

Alassiel shrugged. "Elflings," she said drolly. "What’s a parent to do?"

At that, both Finrod and Laurendil laughed and Alassiel was surprised when her cousin took her into his embrace and kissed her on her brow. "Indeed," he said as he released her. "Shall we spar?"

They sparred for about an hour until Manwen called them to come eat. It took them only a few minutes to doff their armor and join Manwen and Vorondil around the campfire to enjoy the vegetable stew that had been put together. "Although Vorondil did most of the work," Manwen said as she helped the ellon ladle the stew. "He’s really quite good with herbs. I would never have thought of using mint."

Vorondil beamed with pleasure at Manwen’s praise and when Finrod gave the ellon a fond smile, the ellon practically glowed under his master’s approval. Alassiel began to see what the others saw in him. Here was an ellon, an elfling, who only wanted to be accepted by the adults around him, as any elfling would. Whatever his sins, he deserved a second chance. Her own attitude towards him had been mean-spirited and petty, seeing him only as a thrall, as nothing. She felt herself grow hot with shame and stood up to leave on the pretense that she needed to relieve herself.

Finrod found her several minutes later sitting on a rock near the stream staring at nothing in particular. He was holding a bowl of stew and a spoon. "You didn’t finish your lunch, Cousin," he said as he offered her the bowl. She took it with her thanks but did not immediately start eating. Finrod sat on another rock next to her, giving her a penetrating look.

"What ails you, Cousin?" he asked solicitously. "What has you troubled in mind and fëa?"

She did not answer immediately, gazing at the stream passing by. "I’ve been... arrogant," she finally said, speaking barely above a whisper.

"Yes you have," Finrod said calmly. She gave him a sharp look then and he smiled. "What! Did you expect me to disagree with you?"

She blushed and looked away, shaking her head.

"When we first reached the shores of Endórë and met our sundered kin," Finrod said softly, "we looked upon the Sindar and called them Moriquendi, which they resented."

"But they are!" Alassiel exclaimed in surprise.

"As we saw them," Finrod nodded in agreement, "but they looked upon the word as an insult, for they equated Moriquendi not with the meaning of ‘those elves who never came to Valinor and lived in the Light of the Two Trees’ but rather ‘those elves who sided with Melkor’. We ignored the fact that they had been fighting against Melkor and his minions long before we arrived and us calling them by that name infuriated them. They were right and we were wrong."

Alassiel’s eyes widened at that and Finrod continued. "We despised them for many reasons, though we treated with them, for they knew the land and we did not. We looked down upon them for their uncouth rustic ways, for the corruption, as we saw it, of the Eldarin language, for the wearing of front braids and even for the lack of color in their clothing." He smiled at that, shaking his head and giving Alassiel a wry look. "We were very arrogant."

"Even you?" Alassiel asked, disbelievingly.

"Oh yes," Finrod admitted ruefully. "Though in my defense I plead ignorance and the folly of youth, but I learned very quickly that the Sindar were anything but uncouth or rustic and their language was beautiful and full of subtleties of meaning. Their clothing was richly textured and the colors, though muted, were there for any to see. As for the wearing of front braids...." he shrugged and lifted one of his own with an apologetic smile.

For a long moment neither spoke, Finrod allowing Alassiel time to digest his words. Finally she nodded. "Thank you," she said simply. Finrod smiled and put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her.

"Finish your lunch, Cousin," was all he said as he stood up and walked away, leaving Alassiel alone again with her thoughts.

****

She returned to the camp some time later to find that someone had caught some fish for dinner. Vorondil was attempting to clean the fish but making something of a mess of it. Finrod, Laurendil and Manwen sat together near the fire talking, watching him and ignoring his half-muttered imprecations. Alassiel wasn’t sure what was going on or why no one was helping the elfling with the fish but she could see tears of frustration beginning to fall from his eyes and suddenly felt sorry for him. She walked over to where Vorondil was kneeling and joined him. He looked up in surprise, his expression turning wary. Alassiel did not notice that the conversation by the fire had stopped. She gave the ellon a brief smile.

"My atto showed me a secret about cleaning fish," she said quietly. "Would you like me to show you?"

For a moment Vorondil just looked at her and then blushing somewhat, nodded. Alassiel took out her own knife from its scabbard and grabbed one of the other fish lying near by. "Hold the fish by its head with your two middle fingers inside the mouth and make a cut like this...." She continued showing him what to do and he followed her as faithfully as possible. In minutes, they both had successfully cleaned their fish.

"Good, good," Alassiel said. "You are a very fast learner, Vorondil. I think it took me two or three tries before I was able to get it right."

"That’s because you’re an elleth," he responded somewhat haughtily, though she noticed a glint of mischief in his eyes that belied his tone.

"Vorondil!" Finrod admonished the elfling but Alassiel threw back her head and started laughing.

"That’s what my atto said," she exclaimed and soon they were all laughing.

Later she learned that Vorondil was being punished for disobeying Finrod when he refused to stay at the camp with Manwen while he and Laurendil went fishing. His punishment was to clean the fish by himself even though he did not know how. Later, Finrod confessed privately to Alassiel that he was about to relent and give the ellon a hand himself when she appeared.

"That was very kind of you to show him how to clean the fish properly," he added, "and more effective than any words of apology that you could have uttered. There’s hope for you yet, Cousin."

Alassiel was surprised to realize that she did not resent Finrod’s words, but actually welcomed them, as if he’d praised her. It made her feel good and she smiled her thanks.

****

They remained in the camp for several days, spending the mornings wandering through the woods. Laurendil and Finrod showed Vorondil how to track and move silently through the underbrush. The ellon wasn’t very good at it but they gave him credit for trying and he was obviously enjoying himself. In the afternoons when it was warmer, Alassiel, Finrod and Laurendil would spar while Manwen taught Vorondil herbology and other aspects of the healing arts.

Alassiel proved to be a rather fair cook, though Finrod surprised her with his own culinary skills. "When you’ve spent as much time in the field as I did, Cousin," he told her with a laugh, "you learn how to cook or starve."

After three days, the ellith decided they were in dire need of a bath, so after the noon meal they gathered their things, leaving the ellyn behind to their own devices. Vorondil looked disgustedly at the retreating figures making their way towards a pool further up the stream. Finrod and Laurendil smiled at one another and in minutes they were dragging a protesting Vorondil towards another part of the stream, forcing him to strip and pushing him in. Soon, all three ellyn were bathing.

Clouds had been gathering all morning, looking threatening, so none of them lingered over their baths but quickly dried off and dressed. Both groups entered the camp at about the same time just as the skies suddenly burst open and it began to pour.

"But I just finished taking a bath!" Vorondil nearly screamed as he raced towards the tents. The ellith also ran towards the tents trying to avoid getting wet. Finrod merely shrugged and continued walking serenely into the camp. Laurendil stopped, threw back his head and laughed. Then he did an impromptu dance, all the while chanting, "What’s a camping trip without rain? What’s a camping trip without rain?"

Finrod laughed as Laurendil grabbed him by the hand and the two ellyn began dancing, Finrod joining Laurendil in his chant. The other three elves just stared at them in bemusement. Then Manwen shrugged, threw down her bathing gear and ran to join her husband and Finrod. Alassiel and Vorondil stared at each other for a moment.

"My master told me Laurendil loves to go camping in the rain," Vorondil finally said with a laugh and then she found herself laughing along with him. The two of them ran after the others dancing around the firepit and joined them.

The unclad Maiar who, unbeknown to the elves, had been sent by Lord Irmo to guard the woods where they were camping, watched the Children dancing in the rain and laughed at their antics.

105: A Gathering of Heroes

The snows of Nénimë gave way to the rains of Súlimë and many feared the upcoming tournament would be cancelled, but by mid-month the rains came to an end and everything dried out. Soon a tent city was rising on the plain before Vanyamar by order of the High King. Excitement ran high as the New Year approached.

A cavalcade from Tirion made its slow way towards Valmar a week before the New Year, led by Arafinwë and Olwë. Only a few Teleri accompanied their king, for none wished to join in the tournament, but the King of Alqualondë always made the journey to Vanyamar at the New Year to consult with his fellow kings and those Teleri who came now were accustomed to escorting their king to Vanyamar. From the Noldóran’s household only Sador accompanied Arafinwë, for Eärwen and Amarië would join them later in the week, along with Olwë's queen, Lirillë. The ranks of the Amaneldi were swelled by a contingent of Tol Eressëans led by Lord Gilvagor and Lady Arodeth.

For many Noldor, this was their first real glimpse of the Sindar and Nandor who were making the journey. For many of the Tol Eressëan Noldor, this was their first opportunity to meet with long separated family and friends. There were several reconciliations, Arafinwë was pleased to see, but not all were welcomed by their Amaneldi kin, which saddened him. Haldir and Gwilwileth rode in the Noldóran’s company and Arafinwë was pleased that Haldir’s amillë, Lady Lossellë, rode beside her son. Haldir’s atar, Lord Pelendur, unfortunately, would not return from his exile for another week and Arafinwë had already left instructions that he was to wait on the Noldóran’s pleasure when he returned to Tirion.

In Valmar there was a further reunion with Findaráto, who awaited them along with Laurendil, Manwen, Vorondil, and Alassiel. There was also a Sinda, Mithlas, in their company, whom Finrod introduced to Sador. Ingwion, Finrod told his atar, was still at Lady Nienna’s.

"Though I was told by Lord Irmo that he will be returning to Vanyamar before the New Year," Finrod assured Arafinwë, as they set up camp in the fields north of Eldamas. It had been decided they would spend the night there before continuing on to Vanyamar.

The next day they reached Vanyamar a couple of hours past noon and all were amazed to see the encampment that had risen in the plain before the gates of the city. Pennants flew from tent tops and Finrod pointed out one to Vorondil that showed his own emblem of harp and torch. "When we reach the encampment," he told the ellon, "take everything to that tent. That will be where we will be staying during the duration of the tournament."

Vorondil nodded, his eyes wide with wonder at the sight before him. Finrod cast him a fond smile and shook his head in amusement. The ellon’s own parents were among those accompanying Arafinwë. Their reunion with their son had been awkward at first, for they were embarrassed for themselves and their son in the presence of their peers who stared at Vorondil in morbid curiosity. Vorondil’s own exuberance and obvious delight at seeing his parents again had broken through their reticence, however, and with some gentle encouragement from Finrod, Aldundil and Calalindalë began to ignore the stares and enjoy being in their son’s company. They expressed surprise and delight at learning that Vorondil had been accepted as an apprentice Lóriennildo by Lord Irmo and thanked Finrod for treating their son so gently.

"The Valar decreed that Vorondil should be my thrall," Finrod told them, "but it is for me to decide how to define the terms of his thralldom and I prefer to treat him as my student rather than as my slave."

Now, they were coming to the entrance of the tent city where they were being greeted by several Vanyar guarding the main gate. Finrod frowned as he surveyed the area. "Where are the perimeter guards?" he asked.

"I told Ingwë there should be perimeter guards, but he ignored my suggestion."

Finrod turned to see Glorfindel riding up, and the two dismounted and ran to one another, giving each other a hug and a kinsman’s kiss. "Then Ingwë is a fool," Finrod said, shaking his head, when he stepped out of Glorfindel’s embrace to let Sador have his turn at greeting their brother. He turned back to the crowd of people milling about, some of them still on horseback.

"Gilvagor!" he shouted and motioned for that ellon to approach him, which the elf did with an enquiring look. "We need perimeter guards and I want double patrols at night. See to it."

Gilvagor gave Finrod a salute along with a smile. "At once, aranya," he said, then turned and began issuing his own orders to the Tol Eressëan warriors who obeyed him without question.

Finrod then scanned the crowd, looking for someone. "Mithlas, where are you?" he shouted and soon the Sinda was standing before him. Finrod smiled and embraced the ellon, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Tell the Nandor, mellon nîn, that I want every tree between here and the city accounted for."

"Be beth lîn, aran nîn," Mithlas said with a smile, then he ran off, presumably to carry out Finrod’s orders.

Arafinwë and Olwë exchanged bemused looks and the Noldóran noticed the stormy expressions of the Vanyar who must have felt that Findaráto was overreaching his authority. Glorfindel, on the other hand, was smiling hugely.

"Ah, I’m so glad Lord Námo released at least one of you kings of Endórë from Mandos," Glorfindel said, throwing an arm around Finrod. "I am just a lowly lord of the House of the Golden Flower, so nobody listens to me."

Finrod laughed. "The last I heard, you were a thrall, hánonya. Did you enjoy sweeping floors?"

"And scrubbing them," Glorfindel said with a rueful chuckle.

Finrod nodded and gave Glorfindel a hug. "Well, now you and Vorondil have something in common."

Vorondil, hearing his name, gave Glorfindel an impish grin. "Did they make you fold clothes, too? Master has me folding clothes night and day. I think I even dream about folding clothes."

Glorfindel gave the ellon a startled look and then laughed. "No clothes folding, I’m afraid, but I’m still pulling wool out of my hair from spending four days carding it."

Vorondil snickered at that and Finrod laughed. The Vanyar scowled and the Amanian Noldor watched in bemusement as the Tol Eressëans scurried about, the Noldor and Sindar drawing swords and taking up positions around the edge of the tent city while Nandor grabbed their bows and quivers and silently disappeared into the nearby trees. Arafinwë noticed that his son was not even bothering to check to see if his orders were being carried out and that amazed him.

"What is the meaning of this, Etyangol?" a Vanyarin lord demanded as he approached them. Arafinwë bristled at the insult and was dismounting with the intention of wiping the ground with the insolent elf, but Finrod forestalled him with a smile before turning to the irate lord.

"The meaning, my lord," Finrod said with an imperious tone that none of the Amaneldi had ever heard from him before, though Laurendil and several Tol Eressëans recognized it, "is that the High King has failed to understand the dynamics of a tournament of this size and nature. I am merely rectifying his omission."

The Vanyarin lord sneered at Finrod. "You presume much, Etyangol. Do you fear an attack from orcs, then?"

"From orcs?" Finrod echoed, looking surprised, and shook his head. "No. Not from orcs." He turned away then, dismissing the Vanya from his mind. Arafinwë saw the Vanyarin lord redden in anger and embarrassment and start to grab Finrod’s arm. Several things happened at once.

Finrod spun around with a knife in his hand, aimed directly at the lord’s throat. Haldir and several other Tol Eressëan Noldor had their swords drawn almost at the same time, while a number of wood elves had strung their bows faster than the eye could see and were calmly aiming arrows at the hapless Vanya. Vorondil gave a cry of alarm and tackled the lord, forcing him to the ground, then began beating on him, yelling, "Don’t you hurt my master! Don’t you hurt my master!"

Finrod gave the screaming ellon a surprised look, rolled his eyes and sighed. He sheathed his knife, grabbed Vorondil by the scruff of his tunic and hauled him off the Vanya, giving him a shake to stop him from thrashing about.

Glorfindel gave Finrod a questioning look. "Is he always like that?"

Finrod merely snorted. "Give our Vanyarin lord a hand up, will you, brother?" Glorfindel complied, though the lord in question was loath to accept help from him.

Meanwhile, Finrod was having a difficult time trying not to laugh at the chagrined expression on his thrall’s face. "We’ll discuss suitable punishment later, Vorondil," he said finally as he set the ellon down on the ground.

"Yes, Master," Vorondil said with a sigh. "Sorry, Master." Finrod nodded, gave the ellon a brief smile and said, "Go with Alassiel and see that everything is set up at our tent, then start dinner preparations." Vorondil nodded and meekly gathered his master’s things with Alassiel’s help and the two set off for the tent that had been assigned to Finrod.

"And Alassiel," Finrod called out. Alassiel stopped and gave her cousin an enquiring look. "When you’ve finished giving Vorondil a hand I suggest you go find your amillë and apologize to her."

All there who did not know what had happened between the two cousins were amazed to see the elleth, whom they knew to be a member of the Vanyarin royal family, give Finrod a proper curtsey. "Yes, my lord," she said quietly, then continued on her way, ignoring the stares.

Finrod then turned to the Vanyarin lord who was futilely brushing the dirt from his silk tunic and scowling. "You’ll have to forgive Vorondil, my lord," Finrod said somewhat coolly. "He’s quite young and tends to get a bit excited." Glorfindel and Laurendil both snorted at that. Sador merely grinned.

"Just who are you, sir, to be issuing orders around here?" the Vanya demanded.

"Well, besides being my nephew, Lassezel," came a droll voice, "he’s the former King of Nargothrond and haryon to the Noldóran."

All turned to see Ingwë striding towards them, casting appraising glances at the assembled elves. There was a stir as people bowed or curtsied, with swords and bows being hastily put away in the High King’s presence. Finrod merely stood there smiling. Ingwë gave him a penetrating look. "What’s this about calling me a fool, Nephew?"

"Ignoring Glorfindel’s advice about setting up perimeter guards is as foolish as I’ve ever seen you, Uncle," Finrod said in a tone that Laurendil, at least, recognized as his "kingly" voice. He had seen strong warriors cringe at the sound of it. Ingwë, Laurendil noticed, looked a bit nonplused himself.

"I see," Ingwë said. "And the elves in the trees?"

Finrod now smiled. "Those trees are very good locations for ambushes. The Nandor will make sure nothing hides in them that shouldn’t be there."

"May I remind you, Nephew, that this is not Endórë?"

"And may I remind you, Uncle, that we just had several people break the Sérë Valaron, including your own brother," Finrod countered coldly, "and not all the malcontents have been accounted for."

There was an uncomfortable silence as Ingwë and Finrod stared at one another. Surprisingly, it was Ingwë who broke eye contact first, giving a glance at Arafinwë and Olwë. The two kings had stood beside Finrod but had not interfered with the exchange. "Arafinwë, Olwë," Ingwë said with a slight bow of his head, "have you nothing to say?"

Olwë stole a glance at his grandson. "What’s a double patrol?"

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that. "One patrol moves sunwise, the other in the opposite direction, ensuring that all parts of the perimeter are under guard at the same time."

"It was a typical tactic, my lord," Laurendil supplied, "when we didn’t know from which direction Melkor would send his minions against us."

The silence after that revelation was even longer and more uncomfortable than the previous one. Ingwë finally gave Finrod an appraising look, then nodded. "You have done well, Nephew. I bow to your superior knowledge of these matters. I will have my own people join with yours in patrolling the perimeter, if that meets with your approval."

Finrod nodded. "An excellent idea, Uncle. Lord Gilvagor will help coordinate the watches with your captains."

"Good," Ingwë replied, then turned to Lord Lassezel, who had stood there glowering all the while. "Lassezel, I think you owe my nephew an apology."

The Vanyarin lord paled at the reprimand, but gave Finrod and the High King a bow and uttered an apology which Finrod graciously accepted. "I see your tunic is ruined, my lord," Finrod said. "For that I apologize on behalf of my... er.... thrall. Pray allow me to recompense you for it."

Lassezel nodded and bowed again to Finrod before begging Ingwë’s leave to depart, which the High King granted. Then, Ingwë turned to Arafinwë and Olwë and, with a sly smile, gestured to them. "Let us go, my lords, and leave the children to fend for themselves for a while."

Arafinwë and Olwë both chuckled at that even as Finrod, Glorfindel and Sador all stuck their tongues out at the three kings of Eldamar. Ingwë merely laughed as he and his fellow rulers walked away. Everyone then either went through the gates of the encampment in search of their tents or they followed the three kings to the city in search of relatives or friends with whom they would be staying. Glorfindel and Sador joined Finrod, Laurendil and Manwen as the three made their way through the encampment, catching up on all that had happened to them since they had last seen each other three months before.

****

Nénimë: February-March.

Súlimë: March-April.

Be beth lîn, aran nîn: (Sindarin) "According to your word, my king".

106: Catching Up

Finrod’s tent, which lay near the center of the encampment as befitted his rank, was actually inside a separate compound roped off from neighboring tents with its own entrance consisting of two poles on which torches hung. Above them flew pennants with Finrod’s personal device of the harp and torch. Over the ropes were hung different colored squares of cloth each with Finrod’s name in tengwar without tehtar painted in gold. Three stars were inserted between the tengwar, thus: F*ND*R*T.

In the center was a large pavilion with two smaller tents to the left. For propriety’s sake, Alassiel was given a tent for her own use, while Laurendil and Manwen would sleep in the other small tent. Finrod, Sador, Vorondil and Mithlas would occupy the pavilion which would also serve as their common meeting place. The pavilion was divided in half by wood-framed silk screens depicting hunting scenes. The front portion was the common area while the back section contained two sleeping areas, one for Finrod and Sador, the other for Vorondil and Mithlas. Colorful rugs covered the ground of the pavilion. There was a dining table and sideboard on one side of the front section while comfortable chairs and pillows were placed on the other. A kitchen tent occupied the far right corner of the compound. A firepit had been built in front of the pavilion and several camp chairs and stools were ranged around it.

When Finrod and the others arrived at the compound they found Vorondil sitting on one of the stools before the fire listlessly peeling potatoes. He stood up when he saw Finrod approaching, his expression somewhat bleak and he could not meet his master’s gaze.

Finrod eyed the ellon for a moment, shaking his head. "Go fetch us some wine, Vorondil," he said quietly as he and the others took seats around the fire.

"Yes, Master," Vorondil replied meekly, returning a half-peeled potato to the pot before going to do his master’s bidding.

Finrod cast a rueful look at Glorfindel. "Have you given your master as much trouble?"

Glorfindel shrugged. "You’ll have to ask him. I’m somewhat prejudiced."

Finrod laughed and the others grinned. "I hope you can forgive us for putting you in such a position, hanno," Finrod then said.

"Did you plan for me to become a thrall?" Glorfindel asked, looking troubled.

Finrod shook his head. "No, hannonya. We were never satisfied that all the malcontents had been accounted for and wondered how we could flush them out into the open. I told Ingwë that you were likely to do something... precipitous, given half the chance, and that he should take advantage of it. Your stealing a horse and leaving the city without telling him was the excuse he needed to... er.... punish you, thereby setting you up as bait. Making you the jewel-smith’s thrall was Ingwë’s idea."

Vorondil returned just then bearing a tray of goblets. Glorfindel accepted one with a nod of thanks before speaking, his expression blank. "Well, I eventually figured all that out... once I got over my anger."

Finrod winced slightly at the ellon’s emotionless tone. The others looked uncomfortable. Sador cast a troubled look between his two brothers. "What happened to your braids, hanno?" he asked.

Glorfindel shrugged. "I undid them the night the High King gave me to my master."

"So you will rebraid your hair at the New Year?" Finrod asked, trying to sound diffident, but not quite succeeding.

Glorfindel did not look up from his goblet as he answered. "I haven’t decided yet."

"Glorfindel...." Finrod began, but Glorfindel forestalled him by suddenly standing and throwing his goblet to the ground, some of the wine spilling into the fire, which started fizzing and spitting sparks.

"It’s late and my master said I must return before sundown," he said without looking at anyone as he started to walk away.

Now Finrod stood, blocking Glorfindel’s way. "Not that way, háno," he said, embracing the ellon. Glorfindel simply stood there, stiff and unyielding. "There’s still enough time before you must leave. I do not want what has happened to come between us."

"Would you have given me over to... to..." Glorfindel found he could not finish the question. Finrod kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Yes," he whispered, "if there had been no other way."

Then Glorfindel began weeping silently. "You don’t know what it was like... you don’t know.... and all... all I could think about were the... the mólanoldor... and..."

"Hush now, best beloved," Finrod whispered softly, rocking him gently, but Glorfindel would not be comforted and tried to break out of Finrod’s embrace. Finrod merely tightened his hold and continued rocking the weeping ellon while the others sat there looking uncomfortable, not sure what they should do. Laurendil looked especially grim at Glorfindel mentioning the elves who had been enslaved by Morgoth.

Surprisingly, it was Vorondil who acted. The ellon had returned to his potato peeling while Glorfindel and Finrod had been speaking, but now he stood up and walked over to where his master and Glorfindel were standing and tried to hug the weeping ellon, laying his head on Glorfindel’s back.

"Did your master beat you, Glorfindel?" Vorondil asked quietly, eliciting exclamations of surprise from the others. "Master hasn’t beaten me... yet. I think he’d like to after today, though." That statement brought a grunt of protest from Finrod, who, truth to tell, was having a difficult time trying not to laugh at the ellon’s somewhat odd way of offering comfort to his fellow thrall.

Glorfindel turned in Finrod’s embrace to gather Vorondil in his own arms, giving the ellon a brief kiss on his forehead. "No, he didn’t beat me," he said amidst his tears. "My master and mistress have been very kind." He then gave Vorondil a hug and attempted a smile. "And I doubt your master will beat you, child. He finds you too amusing, as do I."

"That doesn’t mean I’m not tempted, though," Finrod said, giving Vorondil a severe look that failed to impress anyone, least of all Vorondil, who merely smiled, secure in his master’s love.

"So what punishment are you planning to mete out?" Laurendil asked curiously. From long experience he knew that his king’s idea of punishment was rather unique and always memorable.

Finrod released his hold on Glorfindel and returned to his seat while Glorfindel and Vorondil remained in each other’s embrace, seemingly offering one another comfort. "I haven’t decided yet," Finrod said as he took a sip of wine, "but I’m sure I’ll think of something."

Glorfindel smiled at Vorondil’s sudden look of apprehension, then turned to Finrod. "Do you trust me, hanno?"

Finrod gave Glorfindel a startled look. "With my life," he said simply.

Glorfindel nodded. "But do you trust me enough with your thrall?"

Now Finrod looked puzzled. "What do you have in mind?"

Glorfindel shrugged. "I just thought I would handle Vorondil’s punishment for you, is all."

"Why?" Vorondil asked, looking equally confused.

Glorfindel turned back to Vorondil. "We thralls have to stick together, you know," he said with a smile and a wink, which only confused the ellon even more, but Finrod seemed to understand what Glorfindel was about and nodded.

"As you wish, hanno," he said, then gave a sigh, as of relief. "Well, at least that’s one thing I can cross off my to-do list. It’s been getting rather long lately."

The others snickered at that and Glorfindel gave Vorondil a smile and a kiss on the brow, whispering something in the ellon’s ear that the others did not hear. Whatever he said seemed to mollify the younger elf, for they saw Vorondil’s expression clear and he looked less fearful. Then Glorfindel looked up, casting a weather-eye to the skies.

"It really is growing late," he said, facing Finrod. "I need to get back. Master Martandur lent me the use of his horse but with the stipulation that I returned it and myself to the city before sunset. If I leave now, I’ll be just in time."

Finrod didn’t bother to respond to that. Instead, he looked past Glorfindel and to everyone’s amazement began addressing the empty air. "Will you let Martandur know I’m keeping Glorfindel for the night, Manveru? I’ll see he returns in the morning."

Glorfindel turned around in surprise, expecting to see the Maia, but there was no one there. He turned back to Finrod, his expression suspicious. "How did...."

Finrod raised an eyebrow. "Who do you think has been keeping me apprised of your activities, hanno?"

Glorfindel scowled then and muttered a curse. Finrod merely smiled and gestured to a chair. "Sit down, Glorfindel. You’re not going anywhere tonight, so you might as well relax and enjoy yourself."

Glorfindel reluctantly complied. Vorondil went back to his potato-peeling. Just then, Alassiel returned and Finrod greeted her.

"Did you reconcile with your amillë, child?" he asked and Alassiel nodded.

"Yes, my lord."

"Good," Finrod said with a smile. "Now, why don’t you give Vorondil a hand with the dinner preparations?"

"Yes, my lord," Alassiel replied with a brief curtsey, then turned to Vorondil with a wry smile. "Unless you plan on feeding the entire encampment, Vorondil, I think that’s enough potatoes for tonight."

Vorondil gave a startled glance at the pile of peeled potatoes that had grown quite large and blushed while the others laughed good-naturedly. Then, Glorfindel stood up and ruffled the ellon’s hair. "Come on, Vorondil. I’ll help with dinner. Alassiel can do the cleaning up afterwards." He stuck his tongue out at the elleth who returned the favor, much to everyone else’s amusement.

Finrod nodded his agreement to the plans and motioned for Alassiel to join them around the fire. As Glorfindel and Vorondil collected the potatoes, Sador began to tell them about his encounter with the Lady Vána and Glorfindel chimed in with a description of his run with the deer and the wolves. They continued catching up with each other’s news over dinner, with the occasional interruption by, first, Gilvagor, then Mithlas, reporting to Finrod and receiving further orders.

When it came time for the cleaning up, Alassiel and Vorondil were surprised (though none of the others were) when Finrod calmly began filling a tub with hot water and soap, rolled up the sleeves of his tunic and started washing the dishes himself. Soon, they were all helping. Torches were lit and guards were seen manning the entrance to their compound as the night deepened. When they at last retired to their beds, Glorfindel joined Finrod and Sador on their side of the tent, lying on a pile of rugs and furs between the two cots. The three of them continued speaking softly into the middle hours of the night, but what they discussed none but the Maiar standing invisible watches over the encampment ever heard.

****

Tengwar/Tehtar: The Quenya writing system, which is written as consonants (tengwar) with vowel marks (tehtar). Finrod’s Quenya name consists of four tengwar with ‘nd’ considered a single letter: numbers 10 (formen), 5 (ando), 25 (rómen), and 1 (tinco). See Appendix E.

Mólanoldor: The Noldor enslaved by Morgoth. Mólanoldorin, the language of the enslaved Noldor is an attested word.

107: Dyed-in-the-Wool

Glorfindel returned to the city the next morning after breakfast with Vorondil in tow. When they arrived at Martandur’s workshop he introduced the ellon to his master.

"Prince Findaráto has given me leave to decide on Vorondil’s punishment for attacking Lord Lassezel," he said. He then went on to explain what had occurred the day before.

Martandur raised an amused eyebrow when Vorondil blushed as Glorfindel described the ellon coming to Findaráto’s defense. "Well, if anyone deserves being attacked by an elfling, it’s certainly Lord Lassezel," the jewel-smith said with a laugh. "He is more arrogant than most."

"So I noticed," Glorfindel acknowledged with a grin, "though that nowise excuses Vorondil’s actions, does it?"

"No, it doesn’t," Martandur said, shaking his head. "So, what punishment do you have in mind?" he asked curiously.

"Isn’t this the day the Mistress is dyeing the wool?" Glorfindel asked with an innocent air.

Martandur actually winced. "Punishment indeed." He gave a sympathetic smile at Vorondil’s confused expression. "Don’t worry, lad. It’s not as bad as it sounds. Well, run along, then. Míriel has already started. When you’ve gotten Vorondil situated, Glorfindel, I need you to deliver a few packages."

"Yes, Master," Glorfindel said with a bow and motioned for Vorondil to follow him out of the workshop. The ellyn walked towards a small square, crossing it to another street. Halfway along that street they came to a low warehouse-like structure with wide windows. As they approached, Vorondil wrinkled his nose and gave Glorfindel an enquiring look.

"You’ll find out soon enough, child," Glorfindel said, not unkindly. They entered the building to find themselves in a long narrow room with several large copper kettles hanging from iron hooks suspended from iron frames embedded into the stone floor. Underneath the vats were firepits, most of which were lit. The ceiling was high and a louver graced the center, admitting air and light, but allowing the smoke of the fires and the pungent smells of wet wool and something else that Vorondil could not identify to escape. There were several ellith tending the fires and checking the vats. Glorfindel led Vorondil towards one elleth and gave her a bow.

"Mistress, this is Vorondil," Glorfindel introduced the ellon and went on to explain what had been decided. For a long moment after Glorfindel stopped speaking there was silence as Míriel gave Vorondil an appraising look, then sighed, turning to Glorfindel.

"And Prince Findaráto approves?" she enquired.

"Yes, Mistress," Glorfindel answered. "We discussed it at length last night. In fact," here he gave her a cheeky grin and winked at Vorondil, "my brother said he couldn’t think of a worse punishment."

"Hmph," Míriel grunted, casting them both an amused look. "And, of course, the fact that you might therefore avoid having to help me never occurred to you, did it, Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel laughed. "Furthest thing from my mind, Mistress, but Master did say he had some deliveries for me to make."

Míriel nodded. "Then you had best be on your way. Vorondil will be fine with me. Come along, child. I’ll show you what to do."

Glorfindel gave Vorondil a brief hug. "Mind Mistress Míriel, youngling. I’ll see you later." He gave Míriel a cheery wave and left.

Míriel smiled kindly at Vorondil. "Have you ever dyed wool before, child?"

Vorondil shook his head. "No, Mistress," he said, looking a bit lost.

"Well, you’re about to learn," Míriel said briskly. "Come along, then."

She led him towards one of the kettles in which some kind of plant was boiling. A sharp, stinging smell came from it and Vorondil had to hold his hand before his nose. "Don’t breathe in the fumes," Míriel warned.

"What is that smell, Mistress?" Vorondil asked, trying not to gag.

"Súlë tarcarassëo," she answered. "Normally, to extract the dye from a plant we merely boil it in water, but the anarossë plant requires that it be boiled in spirit of hartshorn instead. This batch has been boiling for some time now but we need to keep the fire going a bit more, then we will extract the plant material and add more water before we start dyeing the wool. Now you make sure the fire continues to remain hot enough to keep the solution boiling. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Mistress," Vorondil said confidently, trying not to cough. The fumes were enough to make his eyes water. Míriel smiled knowingly and fished out a square of cloth from her apron pocket.

"Here, tie this around your nose and mouth. Breathe through your mouth and step away from the fire every few minutes and go breathe fresh air. This is the worst of the job, though handling wet wool isn’t pleasant either. I’ll check on you from time to time. We have another hour’s worth of boiling to do before we can go on to the next step."

Vorondil nodded, grateful for the scarf. He knelt to check the fire, grabbing some tongs and adjusting the logs somewhat to create a better burn. Míriel watched him for a moment or two until she was satisfied the elfling knew what he was doing before going off to check on one of the other kettles.

****

Glorfindel entered the jewel-smith’s workshop and stopped cold, then started slowly backing away, his expression one of deep shock.

"No, Glorfindel, come here."

Glorfindel swallowed and shook his head, now unable to move either forward or back. Arafinwë sighed and went to the ellon, gently drawing him back inside and making him sit on a nearby bench. Martandur went to a small cupboard and took out a decanter and a wooden cup, pouring some wine into it before handing it to Arafinwë who made Glorfindel drink. The heady wine seemed to bring the ellon out of his shock and he blinked up at Arafinwë as if seeing him for the first time.

"Feeling better, child?" the Noldóran asked softly. Glorfindel nodded, though it was somewhat hesitant and unsure. Arafinwë sat down and rubbed the ellon’s back. Glorfindel gave him a pained look.

"Wh-why are you here, Atar?" he whispered.

Arafinwë smiled gently, running a hand through Glorfindel’s unbraided hair. "I wanted to see where one of my children has been spending his days these last three months." There was no condemnation or even pity in the king’s voice, but something there shattered Glorfindel’s resolve and he broke down, weeping in shame. Arafinwë gathered him into his arms and rocked him gently.

"Hush now, child," he crooned. "There’s no need for tears. You’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve already scolded Ingwë for treating you so badly and I understand your Mistress gave him a piece of her mind as well."

That last was said with a wry tone and Glorfindel couldn’t help snickering, though through his tears it sounded more like a hiccup. Arafinwë held him closer. "I’m sorry you’ve had to suffer this, hinya," he continued. "I wish there had been another way. Findaráto warned us you might do something... precipitous and suggested that when you did Ingwë should take advantage of it." He sighed as he continued rubbing Glorfindel’s back. By now the ellon’s tears had abated and he simply sat there allowing Arafinwë to comfort him. "I just didn’t think Ingwë was capable of coming up with such a unique solution. I’m afraid I’ve never given my uncle enough credit for deviousness. I won’t make that mistake again."

Something in Arafinwë’s voice sent shivers through Glorfindel’s hröa. Arafinwë seemed to collect himself and gave Glorfindel another hug and an encouraging smile. "And you, my silly, impetuous, impossible elfling, you’ve been very brave through all this and I’m very proud of you."

He stood up and gave Glorfindel a hand up as well. "Now, Martandur has been telling me that he has been teaching you somewhat of the jeweler’s craft." Glorfindel nodded. "Well, why don’t you show me what you’ve learned."

Glorfindel glanced at Martandur then turned back to Arafinwë. "I... I’m supposed to be making deliveries," he said uncertainly.

Martandur waved his hand in dismissal. "The deliveries can wait. Now why don’t you show your... er... atar what you’ve been working on."

Glorfindel nodded as he went over to the worktable and pulled out a tray, giving Arafinwë a shy look. He lifted a piece that he’d been working on for the last month. The Noldóran saw a mithril cloak pin shaped like an owl in flight. It was set with small flakes of fire opals and moonstones. Between the owl’s claws was a heart-shaped setting, empty of any gemstone.

"It’s all finished except to add the final jewel," Glorfindel explained.

"Did you design this yourself?" Arafinwë asked, as Glorfindel handed him the pin for a closer look.

Glorfindel nodded. "Master only told me what materials to use and that it should be a cloak pin such as a highborn ellon would wear, otherwise, the design was up to me, as is choosing the gemstone that will go into the setting."

"Why an owl?"

Glorfindel shrugged. "I don’t know. It just sort of came to me."

"My cousin, Sorondilmë, would say that the metal spoke to you," Martandur said then with a smile, "telling you what it wished to be."

"This is quite good," Arafinwë said as he handed the pin back to Glorfindel. "I would not expect this level of artistry from someone with little knowledge of the craft."

"Lord Aule’s people taught him the basics," Martandur said. "All I’ve done is refine his talent."

"So what will you do with this when you finish?" the Noldóran asked. "Will you wear it or give it away as a gift?"

"Actually, it’s a commissioned piece," Martandur answered for Glorfindel. "The person who ordered it did so with the stipulation that Glorfindel work on it."

Glorfindel gasped and gave the jewel-smith a look of surprised shock. "Me? But why..."

"I don’t know, child," Martandur said with a shake of his head. "I only know that that was what was agreed upon. Naturally, you will be given half the sale price as is only appropriate since you designed and made it."

"But that only applies to chartered apprentices, and I’m not really an apprentice, Master, whatever you or Ingwë say," Glorfindel protested, feeling a bit nonplused at his master’s revelation.

Martandur shrugged. "Regardless, that is what I have decided."

"What jewel do you plan to put here?" Arafinwë asked, pointing to the empty setting in an attempt to change the subject.

"I... I haven’t decided yet," Glorfindel admitted reluctantly. "I’ve tried different gems, but nothing seems right."

"What gems?"

"Beryl, sapphire, amethyst, even ruby," Glorfindel said.

Arafinwë looked at the setting, judging its size and shape and frowned. "A heart-shaped setting, rather than a round one. Not commonly seen in jewelry given to ellyn." He paused and a crease furrowed his brow as he thought. Glorfindel and Martandur remained silent, watching. Then, Arafinwë was fumbling for a pouch on his belt, fishing for something. With a smile he brought forth a small gemstone. Glorfindel and Martandur both leaned over for a closer look.

Glorfindel gasped. Martandur raised an eyebrow. In Arafinwë’s hand was a heart-shaped laurelaiquamírë. Arafinwë gave Glorfindel an appraising look. "Ingwë told me about your meeting with Eönwë."

"Where did you...." Glorfindel began to ask.

"This was given to me many yéni ago. I will not tell you the circumstances. I will only say that I was told to keep it on my person at all times and to give it to the one I felt was most worthy of it." He held the gem towards Glorfindel. "I deem that time is now."

"But..."

Arafinwë shook his head. "No, child. This stone is yours."

Glorfindel reluctantly took the stone. Martandur nodded. "Why don’t you see if it fits the setting?"

Glorfindel sat down at the worktable, picked up some delicate looking tools and with quiet competence placed the stone into the setting. It fitted perfectly and with deft movements, Glorfindel secured the stone. Then, he sat back and looked up at Arafinwë and Martandur with a smile.

"It’s perfect," he exclaimed with satisfied delight.

"Indeed it is, child. I am well pleased."

Glorfindel stumbled to his feet in shock to see Lady Vairë standing there. All three ellyn gave her their obeisance. Vairë gave them an amused smile and turned to Arafinwë.

"I’m glad to see you followed my instructions faithfully, Pityahuan."

"It... it was your stone?" Glorfindel asked in surprise.

Vairë smiled at him. "Yes, child, it was, and now it is mine again, though another will wear it." She reached into a pouch and extracted some silver coins, handing them to Martandur. "As agreed, Master Martandur. Now, Glorfindel, why don’t you polish the piece and I’ll be on my way."

Martandur gave Glorfindel a nod and the ellon proceeded to do the final polishing of the pin until the metal and the jewels gracing it shone. Meanwhile, Vairë produced a small velvet bag in which to carry it. Arafinwë merely looked on with a knowing smile. He had a suspicion for whom the pin had been made and found it quite amusing. Vairë apparently divined his thoughts and gave him a wink. Arafinwë was hard-pressed not to laugh out loud. At last Glorfindel finished his task and shyly handed the pin to the Valië who in turn gave him a warm smile and a gentle kiss on the brow.

"You are ever and foremost a warrior, Glorfindel," she said as she dropped the pin into the velvet bag, "but never forget that you are also a creator of beauty. Do not think your time as Martandur’s thrall was meant only as a punishment. It was also meant to teach you that you were made for more than destruction. Remember that, child." She smiled again and then simply wasn’t there.

The three elves stood in silence for a moment still feeling the effects of Lady Vairë’s presence. Then Martandur started counting out the coins that were in his hands, placing half of them in front of Glorfindel. "Now just think of all the sticky buns you can buy with these," the jewel-smith said with a sly grin.

Glorfindel stared at the coins for a moment then threw back his head and laughed. Arafinwë and Martandur joined him. They were still laughing when the door of the workshop opened and they turned to see a dripping and weeping Vorondil and an exasperated Míriel.

"What happened?" Glorfindel exclaimed, going to the distraught elfling. The ellon stank of súlë tarcarassëo and Glorfindel wrinkled his nose at the smell.

Míriel sighed as she ushered the ellon in. "He somehow managed to tip one of the kettles over trying to remove the plant material," she explained. "Luckily, the water had cooled enough to be hot without being scalding. As it is, he’s going to be an interesting shade of yellow for a while."

"Just look at me!" the ellon wailed, standing there looking half-drowned, his dark locks appearing somewhat bleached, the skin on his face and hands blotched with patches of bright yellow. "Master’s going to kill me!"

"If he doesn’t die laughing first," Glorfindel countered with a chuckle. Arafinwë snorted and had to turn away, not wanting to laugh in Vorondil’s face. Martandur merely grinned, giving his wife a kiss on the cheek. "Come on, youngling," Glorfindel gestured to Vorondil. "Let’s see if we can’t get that dye out."

"Use the cream in the pink bottle," Míriel said. "It won’t remove the dye entirely but it will fade it. Only time will do the rest."

"Maybe we should just cut off all your hair and start over again," Glorfindel said as he carefully steered the elfling towards the bathing room.

"Nooo!" Vorondil wailed, wrapping his arms around his head and turning to run back outside. Glorfindel grabbed him by the arm.

"Hush, child," he admonished him. "I’m only joking. Come along now. The sooner we wash the dye out the better." He pulled the still weeping ellon along while the older elves exchanged amused smiles.

****

Anarossë: Sundew (Drosera rotundifolia), an insectivorous perennial plant found in wet and moist places. Medicinally, it is an effective remedy for respiratory ailments and chest problems. It can also be taken to counteract nausea and upset stomach. In making a dye from it, the entire plant is used. The Sindarin form of the name is mîdhanor.

Súlë tarcarassëo: Spirit of hartshorn, another (and older) name for ammonia, which was derived from the antler of a hart, the male red deer (Cervus elephus). [súlë "spirit (impersonal), breath", tarca "horn (of an animal) + arassë (deer; cf. Sindarin aras) + -o "genitive singular suffix"].

Laurelaiquamírë: Chrysoprase, an apple-green form of chalcedony. It helps to make conscious what was unconscious. It encourages hope and joy and helps clarify problems. It is also used as a shield or protector against negative energy and has more power when carved in the shape of a heart. It promotes love and truth [Chrysoprase, from chryso "gold" + prase "leek"; laurë "gold" + laiqua "green" + mírë "jewel"].

108: Artaquetta Findaráto as Manwë

It took nearly half an hour for them to clean Vorondil up. In the meantime, Arafinwë sent an order to the palace and a message to the encampment. A palace page brought a clean set of clothing for the hapless ellon, garnered from Ingwion’s closet, for the two were nearly the same in height and build. Vorondil, by then, had stopped weeping but he looked so forlorn and embarrassed with his yellow-streaked locks that Arafinwë took him in his arms and gave him a hug.

"Now, hinya," the Noldóran said gently, "it was an accident and no real harm done." They were all gathered in the workshop where the worktable was now laden with food. While Glorfindel had taken care of Vorondil, Míriel had decided she needed a brisk cup of tea to settle her nerves and had ended up serving lunch instead. "The dye will fade in time as your hair grows back," Arafinwë added.

"I... I ruined Mistress Míriel’s... work," Vorondil sniffed. "M-master’s going to have... to punish me all over again."

"I think you’ve been punished enough, child."

Arafinwë turned to see his son standing in the doorway dressed rather formally and looking amused. Laurendil, Manwen and Sador were right behind him. Vorondil hid his face in the crook of Arafinwë’s shoulder. Glorfindel looked a bit uneasy at the sight of his brothers and friends invading the workshop. Finrod ignored the stares of the jewel-smith and his wife as he went to Vorondil. Martandur and Míriel had conveniently forgotten that Glorfindel was a Reborn while he lived with them, but seeing the Noldorin prince, knowing something of how he had met his death, brought home to them the strangeness of having the Reborn in their presence.

Finrod took Vorondil from Arafinwë and gave the ellon a searching look. "You are one impossible elfling, Vorondil," he said with gentle amusement, giving the ellon a brief hug, "and a danger to civilization as we know it. I’m surprised Valinor hasn’t sunk into the ocean by now with you around."

"I... I’m s-sorry, M-master," the ellon started to say but the tears came again in earnest and he couldn’t say much after that. Finrod merely took him in his embrace and rocked him until the tears abated somewhat.

"I know you are and no one is angry," he said. "We’re just relieved that the worst that happened was you spilled dye over you. Now, dry those tears. I think we all need a little holiday from work and punishments and the like." Finrod stepped back and gave Vorondil an encouraging smile, then turned to address Arafinwë. "The Elder King wishes to see me. I was on my way to Taniquetil when I received your message, Atar, which is why I’m here sooner than you probably expected." Arafinwë nodded. "Sador, Laurendil and Manwen are coming along. I think Vorondil will benefit from a visit to Ilmarin as well."

Vorondil’s expression was a mixture of surprise and fear, but Finrod merely gave him a smile. "It’s not what you think, child," he said gently. "The audience will be between me and Lord Manwë. You and the others can visit the gardens while you wait for me. They’re quite beautiful and rather unique." Finrod then turned to Glorfindel. "I know you’d like to join us, gwador..."

Glorfindel shook his head. "I wasn’t invited," he said with equanimity. "Besides, I still have deliveries to make for my master."

Martandur shook his head. "I told you before, the deliveries can wait. You just made your first commission. Why don’t you go celebrate? In fact, I’m declaring a holiday. Off you go now. You can make the deliveries tomorrow." Martandur made shooing motions with his hand.

Glorfindel looked uncertain. Arafinwë clapped him on the shoulder. "Why don’t you come with me, yonya," he said with a smile. "I need to see Ingwë and Olwë and then you can take me to the training salle and show me what you can do."

"What’s this about a commission?" Finrod asked curiously.

"I’ll tell you later," Glorfindel replied, looking suddenly embarrassed. "You shouldn’t keep Lord Manwë waiting."

"Speaking of commissions," Sador said with a wicked grin. "I should warn you both that I made a cornucopia fruit bowl for Amarië’s Begetting Day gift from the three of us." He gave them both a significant look. Finrod muttered an oath and slapped himself on the forehead. Glorfindel just looked confused. "So, when she starts praising you for it," Sador continued with an air of innocence about him, "don’t look like Glorfindel does at this moment or she’ll know you forgot."

"You’ll have to give us the details later," Finrod said, looking chagrined. "I can’t believe I forgot."

"You’ve had a lot on your mind lately," Arafinwë said sympathetically, though his eyes twinkled with amusement at seeing his son looking nonplused.

Sador, meanwhile, was noticing Vorondil standing back even though everyone else was making for the door to leave. "What’s the matter, Vorondil?"

Everyone stopped to stare at the elfling who stood there with an uneasy expression on his face, refusing to look anyone in the eye. "Everyone’s going to laugh," he muttered.

"Yes, they will," Finrod said, deciding not to soften the blow with false words of comfort. Vorondil cringed.

"I think I should just stay here, Master," the ellon suggested hesitantly.

"No you won’t." It was Sador who spoke, sounding very definite. He put an arm around the ellon’s shoulders. "You will come with us and if anyone so much as snickers, you look them in the eye and tell them you’re starting a new fashion trend." He grabbed his single braid and waggled it in Vorondil’s face, his eyes full of merriment. "Race you to the north gate," he said challengingly, then gave a hard yank on Vorondil’s hair before rushing out of the workshop and down the street.

"Hey!" Vorondil yelled in protest and ran after the Sinda, quite forgetting to seek Finrod’s permission to leave his Master’s presence first. Finrod merely grinned when he heard Vorondil’s laughter after he and Sador disappeared around a corner.

"Well, I need to get back to dyeing wool," Míriel said and bade everyone a farewell. Martandur offered to escort her before going to visit with his cousin, Sorondilmë. Arafinwë and Glorfindel made their own farewells and headed towards the palace with a promise from Finrod to join them at the training salle after his meeting with Lord Manwë.

With a wave, Finrod, Laurendil and Manwen continued along at a sedate pace towards the north gate where Sador and Vorondil waited impatiently for their elders to catch up with them.

****

Finrod entered the central courtyard of Ilmarin with Sador and Vorondil flanking him. Laurendil and Manwen walked behind. Vorondil eyed the two stone eagles that guarded the entrance with some trepidation, slowing his steps, sure that they somehow knew he was there and found him wanting. Finrod took his arm and gently led him into the courtyard where they all stood in awe before the statue of Varda and the living star that pulsed between her outstretched arms.

"Impressive, isn’t it?" Finrod whispered.

Vorondil could only nod. The others were equally disinclined to speak. As they stood there, two Maiar approached. One wore the white robe and indigo surcoat with an eight-rayed star embroidered on it that indicated one in the service of Varda. Her locks were the pale white of the full-moon, her eyes a dark blue, almost purple. The other wore a mithril hauberk. A broadsword graced his hips and a white-furred cloak trailed behind him. His hair was whiter than snow and braided with diamonds; his eyes were the grey of a summer storm. He wore a diadem of silver on his head in which was set a heart-shaped laurelaiquamírë, shining dully green in the sun.

Finrod, Vorondil and Sador looked upon the Maiar with interest, but Laurendil and Manwen both gasped and fell to their knees. The two Maiar merely smiled. "Nay, my children," the one bearing the sword said, "kneel not to me." He stooped and offered a hand each to Laurendil and Manwen, and helped them to rise. Finrod raised an eyebrow and gave his vassals enquiring looks. Both Laurendil and Manwen looked suitably embarrassed. The Maia turned to Finrod, his eyes bright with amusement.

"You must forgive your vassals, Findaráto," the Maia said. "When last they saw me it was at the head of the Host of Valinor during the War of Wrath." He then turned to Sador and Vorondil and gave them a smile. "I am Eönwë, Herald of Manwë, and this is my sister, Ilmarë of the People of Varda." He gestured toward the other Maia, who smiled and gave them all a brief nod in acknowledgment. "I will lead you to Lord Manwë while Ilmarë sees to your friends."

Finrod gave Eönwë a bow. "Thank you," he said and then, turning to Vorondil, gave the ellon a gentle squeeze on the arm as he leaned over and whispered in the ellon’s ear. "Keep out of trouble."

Vorondil blushed and nodded, watching wistfully as his Master followed the Herald of Manwë through one of the porticos and disappeared. Ilmarë smiled at them and gestured. "Would you like to see the rose garden?"

Laurendil bowed. "It would be our pleasure, my lady."

He and Manwen walked with Ilmarë as they passed through a different portico while Sador took Vorondil by the arm and made him follow.

****

Finrod looked about with interest as Eönwë led him towards a door made of beaten gold. He did not remember being here before and had to assume that in fact he had never made the trip to Taniquetil before the Darkening. As the son of the youngest son of Finwë, neither he nor his atar had had much to do with the Noldóran’s court. He remembered attending court functions, but more as a witness to Finwë’s dealings rather than as a participant in the day-to-day running of Tirion. Now, however, his atar was Noldóran and he himself had once been a king, albeit a rebel one. Times and circumstances had changed and on reflection he realized with a start that had anyone told him as he trudged across the Helcaraxë beside his Uncle Ñolofinwë, that he would be walking through the halls of Ilmarin on his way to an audience with the Elder King, he would have thought them mad or worse.

Yet, here he was. Eönwë paused before the door, allowing Finrod time to steady himself. Finrod found himself studying the portal and suddenly realized that the panels on it depicted scenes from the time before the coming of the Elves to Valinor. He felt a frisson of awe run through him. Eönwë gave him an encouraging smile. "Times and circumstances do indeed change, Arafinwion, but our oaths do not."

Finrod gave the Maia a startled and uncomprehending look. "Wh-what do you mean, my lord?"

Eönwë only shook his head as he opened the door. "If you do not remember, child, perhaps Lord Manwë will remind you." Then he entered and announced Finrod’s presence to the one waiting within. "Findaráto, erstwhile King of Nargothrond, and presently haryon to the Noldóran, my Lord Manwë." The Maia bowed briefly, then stepped to one side to allow Finrod entrance.

Finrod squared his shoulders and entered to find himself in a small chamber, perhaps twenty-five or thirty paces across. The walls were paneled in a light-colored wood — nessamelda wood, Finrod thought. The paneling was carved in low-relief, depicting scenes of the Valar and the Maiar at work and at play. The floor was tiled with black marble inset with white which created eight-pointed star patterns within each square. Comfortable chairs padded in dark blue velvet were placed near the center of the room facing a balcony that gave a stunning view of the Pelóri mountain range. It was there that Finrod saw Manwë standing. The Elder King looked around and with a smile gestured for Finrod to join him on the balcony.

"Thank you, Eönwë," he said to the Maia as Finrod stepped out onto the balcony after giving the Elder King his obeisance. "I will let you know if we need anything." Eönwë gave Manwë another bow and closed the door behind him, leaving Finrod alone with the Elder King.

"Impressive view, isn’t it?" Manwë asked. Finrod merely nodded.

It was indeed impressive, with the sweep of the mountain range before him and surrounding him, the cragged peaks wreathed in eternal white. Finrod noticed that the balcony was high enough that the clouds actually were below them. The sky above was a deep blue shading to purple. From his vantage point, Finrod could see a tarn nestled in the valley between two peaks, its waters dark and reflecting the mountains like a mirror. Finrod thought he even saw stars in the reflection, but decided that was not possible for they were not visible with Arien riding high in the heavens. Eagles glided through the lower reaches of the range, dipping in and out of the cloud cover, and Finrod realized that he could see at least two eyries on high ledges. One eagle flew close to the balcony and Finrod marveled at the span of its wings and the grace with which it flew.

"They are ever about, between here and Endórë," Manwë said, giving a nod to the eagle as it flew past. "They are my eyes and ears in the Outer World and sometimes they act as my voice." The Elder King moved back inside and Finrod reluctantly followed. "Come, let us sit and speak." Manwë gestured towards the chairs and the two sat. A low table was between them with a decanter of wine and two cut-crystal goblets. Manwë poured the wine and offered a goblet to Finrod.

"I am glad you brought Sador and Vorondil with you," Manwë said without preamble. "It saves me the trouble of summoning them later."

Finrod gave the Elder King a surprised look. "Why do you want to see Sador and Vorondil?"

Manwë gave the elf an amused look. "That is, as they say, privileged information, Arafinwion. Suffice to say that I needs would have speech with them." He raised a hand to still Finrod’s next words. "Now, let us speak of the reason you are here." Finrod blushed slightly at the implied reprimand and nodded, waiting for Manwë to continue. "How are you adjusting to your new status as a full-fledged Fëanturnildo?"

Finrod swallowed nervously before answering. "I thought my apprenticeship would last a lot longer. I certainly didn’t expect to be... er... promoted so quickly."

"A consequence of confronting Irmo and Námo the way you did," Manwë acknowledged with a wry grin at Finrod’s obvious unease. "With the Fëanturnildi there is no set period of apprenticeship, unlike the Lóriennildi or the Estenduri who apprentice with Irmo and Estë for twenty-four years before they are considered eligible for journeyman status and then it may be decades before they become competent enough to be considered master healers. Each Fëanturnildo’s situation and relationship with the Fëanturi is unique. But do not think that just because you have been accorded ‘Master’ status within the fellowship of the Fëanturnildi, that your apprenticeship is at an end. I fear that in many ways, you will always be an apprentice, for there will always be something for you to learn from your masters. That is true for every Fëanturnildo."

Finrod nodded in understanding. "I’m still at a loss as to what I am supposed to do. Lord Irmo and Lord Námo, whenever I ask them, merely shrug and tell me that they’re sure I’ll think of something. It’s so frustrating sometimes." There was a note of exasperation in the elf’s voice.

Manwë nodded in understanding. "Which brings us to the reason for my summoning you." The Elder King took a sip of wine before continuing, casting a shrewd glance at the elf sitting before him. "You still resent what we did to Vorondil."

Finrod gave the Vala a cool stare. "You wanted me to kill him. I do not appreciate being manipulated into doing your dirty work for you."

Manwë raised an eyebrow at that. "We wanted you to save him. There’s a difference. And as for manipulation... do you know how many different scenarios Lord Námo gave us with regards to how that trial would go and what would happen to Vorondil in the end?"

Finrod stared at the Elder King in confusion. "Wh-what do you mean... different scenarios?"

"Of all the Valar," Manwë explained, "the Lord of Mandos sees the furthest into the history of Arda. You are familiar with his emblem." It was not a question but Finrod nodded anyway. "Well, when we Valar decided to create emblems for ourselves and our Maiar servants, Námo chose the Sun-in-Eclipse." He paused and gave Finrod a significant look. "We chose our emblems shortly after we founded Valinor and the Two Trees had yet to be created."

Finrod blinked and felt his jaw drop. Manwë merely sat there with a small smile on his lips as he took another sip of wine, giving the elf as much time as he needed to come to terms with what the Elder King had just said. Finrod did some mental arithmetic and felt the blood rush from his head as the immensity of time that stretched back into the mists of history impinged on his consciousness. Fifteen hundred Valian years before Isil and Anar were even created Lord Námo had designed his emblem. The thought was too staggering for him to accept and he shook his head, as much in denial as anything. He took a sip of wine to steady himself. Manwë gave him a sympathetic look.

"Námo’s prescience allows him a glimpse of what is to come, but there’s a catch," Manwë said.

"Wh-what catch?" Finrod asked faintly.

"You."

"Huh? I mean..."

Lord Manwë chuckled. "‘Huh’ just about covers it. The catch, yonya, is you and every other Child of Ilúvatar, including Mortals. Eru endowed you, as he did us and the Maiar, with free will and that makes it tricky to predict which way any of you will go. Námo knows much of the future of Arda but even he does not know all and none of us were given a glimpse of how the Eldar or the Atani will act. Fëanáro’s rebellion, for instance, took us as much by surprise as it did you, but once it happened, Námo could see what the consequences would be. Hence, the Doom of Mandos and all that followed therefrom."

He paused for a moment to let Finrod absorb his words before continuing. "With the trial, Námo saw Vorondil coming to Mandos and to be honest, he may yet."

Finrod started at that and stood up in shock. "What do you mean? Is he to die after all?"

Manwë shook his head. "We do not know, child. That’s the problem. Once you accepted Aldundil’s oath all predictions went by the wayside. Námo saw six possible ways that trial could have ended. In none of them did Aldundil offer himself in place of his son. That one incident took us all by surprise and we are still trying to determine what the ramifications of his actions and yours has on the future of Aman and Arda itself and more specifically what that means for Vorondil."

Finrod sat down slowly as Manwë’s words sank in. He gave the Elder King a shrewd look. "So what do you plan for him?"

Manwë shook his head. "At the moment, nothing. He is your responsibility for the next thirty years, but we reserve the right to monitor his progress and modify the conditions of his servitude if the situation warrants. We will, of course, seek your permission before doing so."

"How magnanimous of you," Finrod muttered sardonically and Manwë actually laughed.

"Oh, child, you little realize just how magnanimous we truly are. But have no fear. We are pleased with how you have handled Vorondil to date and have every hope that with your loving guidance, the ellon will mature into as responsible and giving an elf as you are."

Finrod gave Manwë a wry look. "I just hope we all survive the ordeal. Vorondil tends to be overly enthusiastic at times."

Manwë chuckled and then a companionable silence fell between them as they each drank some wine. Finally, Finrod spoke again, his expression pensive. "Eönwë said something strange just before he announced me." He looked up at the Elder King who merely nodded encouragingly. "He said that times and circumstances change, but our oaths do not." He gave the Vala a puzzled look. "What did he mean by that?"

Manwë gave the ellon a sympathetic look even as he sighed. "Eönwë," he said softly, and suddenly the Maia was there, standing on Manwë’s right, looking grim, a large leather-bound book in his hand. Finrod found himself standing and had to force himself not to back away, a sudden sense of disquiet invading his fëa. Manwë’s expression became grave and then Lord Námo was suddenly there, standing behind Finrod.

"Be still," Námo said quietly as he placed his hands on Finrod’s shoulders. "There is nothing to fear here, but it must be done."

"Wh-what must be done?" Finrod whispered, never taking his eyes off the Elder King who sat before him in majesty, though he wore no crown and this was not the Valar’s throne room.

"What do you remember of the Crossing?" Manwë asked him without preamble.

Finrod started but then shook his head. "White," he said blankly. "I remember white."

"What else?" Manwë asked gently, but Finrod merely continued shaking his head, a feeling of dread stealing over him. In spite of the fact that the Lord of Mandos was standing directly behind him, he kept trying to back away. He had to force himself not to whimper. Finrod felt himself beginning to panic without understanding why, which only made the panic worse. Námo tightened his grip on the elf and Manwë’s grave expression changed to one of concern. He stood up.

"Come here, child," he said gently, gesturing to the ellon. Finrod felt Námo’s grip loosen and with a sob he found himself in Manwë’s embrace. The Elder King rocked him quietly for a few minutes, speaking softly.

"You have nothing to fear, child. All judgments have been rendered. This is just... old business you might say... something that needs to be cleared up before you can move on. I’m not surprised you have no real memory of the Crossing. It was a brutal experience made even more so because of the treachery that was visited upon you by your own uncle."

"Wh-what am I supposed to be remembering?" Finrod asked with something close to despair in his voice. He thought it was all behind him now — the treachery, the terror, the pain. Why did everyone insist on dredging up what could never be changed, however much they might wish it otherwise? Wasn’t it enough that he had died in agony as payment for his sins against the Valar?

"That’s not how it works, yonya," Námo said, moving to take Finrod by the shoulders and turning the ellon around to face him. "Your death was just that... your death, nothing more. It was not a punishment for whatever sins you think you committed against us. Death and punishment are not the same, neither is judgment and punishment. You died, plain and simple."

"Then what is this all about?" Finrod asked in confusion.

"It is about oaths, the giving and keeping of them," Manwë answered. "You know about that from both sides now." The Elder King looked at Eönwë, who had remained silent during all this, waiting patiently for his lord to acknowledge him, and nodded. The Maia stepped forward, opening the book to a particular page.

"All oaths wherein the Valar or Eru are called upon as witnesses are recorded, Findaráto," Eönwë said gravely, though there was a look of sympathy and compassion in his grey eyes. "All of them." He extended the book towards the elf, turning it so he could see what was written therein.

Finrod looked upon a page where, somehow, every oath he had ever spoken was recorded, even the simple oath of an elfling prince to be obedient to his lord as he took up the duties of a page in his anatar’s court. And there was the oath of promise to Amarië that they would be wed. He blushed slightly at that, for he realized that he had been neglectful of his betrothed in these last weeks. He resolved to pay closer attention to her when she arrived for the tournament. Further down the page other oaths appeared and disappeared from his view until one oath stood out from all the others.

He read the words and felt his mouth go dry and his knees begin to tremble. No! his mind shouted and he felt both Manwë and Námo take him by his arms to steady him.

"Do you remember now, child?" Manwë whispered as Finrod continued staring in blank horror at the words that were recorded for all eternity in the Book of Oaths.

Finrod nodded mutely. He remembered....

The eldest child of Arafinwë lost count of the days and weeks and months they had spent trudging north, ever north. The land had ceased to be anything but a frozen wasteland long before and now they were attempting the crossing of the Helcaraxë. All about him was white — eternal, implacable and deadly. How many they had lost so far, none could say. They only knew that horror and despair were leaching away their strength by slow degrees, along with the ever present cold. Above them curtains of lights, mostly red but sometimes other shades, shimmered all around, their silence nearly deafening and many quailed at their sight, believing them to be Maiar making sure none of them turned back.

Findaráto wasn’t so sure, but it didn’t really matter. There was no turning back, for any of them. Their own arrogance had brought them to this folly, that and Fëanáro’s Oath. Findaráto grimaced as he turned his thoughts away from his hated uncle to help his sister across one of the floes making up the ice field. They were stepping carefully towards where the scouts claimed was solid ground. So far, Findaráto estimated, they had traveled nearly two leagues across the ice. Their Uncle Ñolofinwë urged them forward. Findaráto gave Artanis a wintry smile which she returned with surprising equanimity. There was a core of adamant in his sister that he had always suspected was there, but until this venture, it had never really materialized. As he gave her a hand Findaráto reflected that if anyone could survive the hell they were in it would be she.

They had nearly reached solid ground when disaster struck.

There was a loud crack followed by a grinding noise as some of the ice suddenly broke apart just as Turucáno’s wife and daughter were crossing the gap between floes. Elenwë’s scream alerted Findaráto and he rushed back towards where Turucáno’s people were, only to watch in horror as his cousin’s wife threw her young daughter into her husband’s arms before sinking beneath the grey waves along with three others.

"NOOOO!" Findaráto screamed, falling to his knees in horror. It was the final insult and the final assault on his sanity in this never-ending frozen hell. A wave of despair mingled with an unreasonable hatred towards the Valar at the cruel waste of it all swept over him and with merciless finality he uttered an oath, an oath he was barely aware of making.

"I swear, Elenwë, I will make the Valar pay for this day, ánye resta Eru," he whispered. It was some time before he allowed Artanis to help him to his feet and lead him to where their uncle and Turucáno waited for them on solid ground....

****

Finrod forced himself away from the memory and stared in bleak horror at Manwë and Eönwë standing silently before him. Námo still stood at his back, lending him support, or perhaps cutting off his escape, he wasn’t sure which.

*Perhaps a little of both,* he heard Námo’ voice within him, sounding somewhat amused and wanted to shut his mind against the Vala’s intrusion but did not think it would be possible, given the circumstances.

"You can always close yourself to us, child," Námo said aloud, stroking the ellon’s hair in an attempt to offer him some comfort. "We will not intrude upon you in that way."

"So what now?" Finrod asked, his eyes still on the book in Eönwë’s hands.

"What now, indeed," Manwë said sympathetically and gestured for Finrod to sit down again. Finrod saw that two additional chairs had appeared in the meantime and soon they were all seated. Námo poured more wine into Finrod’s goblet and bade him to drink, which the ellon did. He found his sense of confusion fading and his mind becoming clearer with every sip. Soon his equilibrium returned and he was able to look at the Valar and the Maia with something close to calm once again. Eönwë, Finrod saw, still had the Book open and shuddered slightly at the sight. The Maia smiled grimly.

"It gives me no great joy to record many of the oaths that people utter," he said as he closed the Book. "but it is a necessary part of my duties as Herald. As oaths go, this one is less offensive than most, but no less grave."

Finrod nodded. "I regret I ever uttered such an oath, but I will not apologize for it. I do not think I was even in my right mind at the time, though I know that is not an excuse."

"It excuses much, Arafinwion," Manwë said with some gravity, "though it does not excuse all. The oath cannot be rescinded, nor can it be safely ignored. Your future relationship with us depends on resolving this issue here and now."

"How..."

"That is for you to decide, child," Námo said not unkindly. Then his expression darkened somewhat. "Understand, though, that you will not leave this room until it is resolved." The implacability of the Vala’s tone sent a frisson of fear through the ellon and he felt the blood rush from his head. Neither Vala moved to offer him any comfort, but sat waiting for him to make the next move.

For long moments Finrod merely sat there, thinking. He replayed the scene of Elenwë’s death and his reaction to it over and over, wondering why that death above all others that he had been forced to witness during the Crossing had affected him the way it did. He could only conclude that he considered Elenwë as ‘family’ and saw in her death what the future held for all his loved ones. Such revelation had been too much for him to endure under the circumstances and he had begun at that moment to dimly understand the dregs of bitterness he and the Noldor would be forced to drink as a consequence of the Doom of Mandos. They had not been making their way towards glory, he now realized, but towards death.

Finrod shook his head to clear it of such dark thoughts, took another sip of wine, then set the goblet on the table, coming to a decision. He looked at Manwë and nodded. "Summon them."

In the space between one eye blink and the next, the other twelve Valar were there. Varda stood next to Manwë and Vairë joined her spouse, placing a hand on his shoulder. The others were ranged around the chairs, waiting in silence. Manwë and Námo both stood and their chairs faded away. Eönwë stood as well, the Book of Oaths no longer in his hands. The Maia went to the door, and took up a guard position. Finrod swallowed nervously, gathering his courage, then, he stood before the Elder King.

"I forgive thee," he said simply yet with absolute sincerity and offered Manwë the kiss of peace, which the Vala accepted.

He then turned to Varda. "I forgive thee," he repeated and gave her the kiss of peace as well. One after another he went to each Vala, repeating his words and offering the kiss of peace until he stood at the last before Lord Námo. For a moment, Vala and Elda stared into each other’s eyes, then Finrod found himself going to his knees and weeping.

"Ávatyara nillo, Heru... ávatyara nillo."

Námo stooped down and raised Finrod to his feet. "Entassë úmaurë avatyarien, yonya. Nai haryuvam imbë met sérë." The elf allowed Námo to give him the kiss of peace which he returned. Námo, sensing Finrod’s need, kept him in his embrace until the ellon was able to collect himself.

After a few minutes Manwë reached over and took Finrod by the shoulders, turning him around. "Thank you," he said with all sincerity. "Thank you from all of us. I know how difficult it was for you to do this, child. Do not think we do not appreciate your sincere offer of reconciliation. It is what we have hoped for all these long centuries since that oath was uttered."

Finrod nodded and was about to reply when there was a commotion at the door and he turned in time to see Eönwë step back with his sword before him as the door opened revealing a very wet and weeping Vorondil with Laurendil, Manwen and Ilmarë standing behind him trying desperately not to laugh. Sador, Finrod noticed, was hanging back a bit and looking rueful.

Finrod looked at the elfling in disbelief, glanced at Manwë to see the amused look on the Elder King’s face, then rolled his eyes, muttering fervently, "Ánye restar iValar!"

Eönwë raised an amused eyebrow at the exasperated ellon and sheathed his sword. With a gesture the Book of Oaths appeared in his left hand while a quill appeared in his right. The Book opened of its own accord to a certain page and the Maia began writing in it. All the Valar started laughing at Finrod’s expression of disgust and disbelief. Laurendil, Manwen, Sador and Ilmarë gave up and joined them. Vorondil simply stood there dripping water and continued to weep.

****

Artaquetta Findaráto as Manwë: Finrod’s Debate/Conversation with Manwë, cf. the Sindarin, Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth.

Laurelaiquamírë: What we would call chrysoprase, an apple-green form of chalcedony. It helps to make conscious what was unconscious. It encourages hope and joy and helps clarify problems. It is also used as a shield or protector against negative energy and has more power when carved in the shape of a heart [chrysoprase, from chryso "gold" + prase "leek"; laurë "gold" + laiqua "green" + mírë "jewel"].

Anatar: Grandfather.

Ánye resta Eru: "God help me".

Ávatyara nillo, Heru: In this context: "Forgive me, Master."

Entassë úmaurë avatyarien, yonya. Nai haryuvam imbë met sérë: "There is no need for forgiveness, my son. May we have peace between us (dual)".

Ánye restar iValar!: "The Valar help me!"

Historical Notes: The Valar created the continent of Valinor and founded Aman in the Valian Year 3500. The Two Trees were created shortly thereafter. Finrod and Manwë hold their conversation in Second Age 503, about the time Sauron is beginning to stir again in Middle-earth. Therefore, 15,463 years of the Sun have passed since the founding of Aman (a Valian Year is equal to 9.58 solar years).

As Finrod realizes, fifteen hundred Valian years separate Námo’s designing his emblem of the Sun-in-Eclipse from the actual creation of the Moon and Sun from the last flower and fruit of Telperion and Laurelin, respectively, or 14,370 years of the Sun.

Eleven hundred years of the Sun pass between Finrod’s uttering his oath and the reconciliation between him and the Valar as described in this chapter.

Geological note: An ice field is an extensive area of ice floating on the ocean consisting of multiple ice floes and covering an area that is greater than ten kilometers (6.2 miles) across. A league is three miles.

109: Further Conversations with the Elder King

This time it took almost an hour to calm Vorondil down and to get him dried off. He was nearly hysterical with shame and fear at the sight of all the Valar laughing. It was too much for his young fëa to take in, for he suddenly remembered the night in the grove. He panicked, started screaming and ran, knocking Sador down in his fright.

It took Laurendil, Finrod and Eönwë to bring him down and hold him there until the Elder King could come and, laying a hand on the ellon’s head, will him into sleep. Finrod gave Laurendil a hard look as Vorondil slipped reluctantly into a dreamless state, his eyes closing against his will, his body sagging into repose. At Manwë’s direction Eönwë lifted Vorondil into his arms and brought him back into the chamber. It was empty of Valar, except Námo. A couch had been added to the room’s furnishings. The Maia gently laid the ellon down, gave the Elder King a bow and left. Ilmarë remained behind.

Finrod turned to Laurendil and Sador, who had since joined them, the latter rubbing the back of his head where it had been slammed into the wall by Vorondil pushing him away. Manwen remained in the background, hoping not to be noticed. Her lord’s expression was not one of amusement. "Explain," he said shortly and in a tone that made Laurendil visibly cringe. He had only once before been the object of the King of Nargothrond’s wrath and he did not relish a repeat performance.

"We were wandering through the rose garden and we came upon a rather large fountain, almost a pond," Laurendil said. "There were fish in the fountain. Vorondil wanted a closer look..." Laurendil stole a glance at Sador before returning his attention to Finrod and giving his liege a wry look. "Well he got his wish."

Finrod raised an eyebrow, slowly beginning to understand what Laurendil meant when he noticed Sador looking somewhat embarrassed and rueful, refusing to meet Finrod’s eyes. The former King of Nargothrond rolled his eyes and sighed, shaking his head. "Now I know why Atar returned to Aman... and it had nothing to do with any Doom of Mandos."

Both Námo and Manwë raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh?" Námo asked with amused curiosity. "What was the reason Arafinwë turned back?"

Finrod gave the Lord of Mandos a sour look. "He needed a holiday from his children."

Neither Manwë nor Námo actually laughed out loud but the elves suspected it was only by sheer will power. Námo’s eyes were bright with something undefinable. Manwë’s expression was too beatific at that moment for any of the elves to endure and none could look at him directly.

Finrod gave Sador a look that reminded the two Valar of Arafinwë when he was about to chastise one of his recalcitrant subjects. "We’ll talk later, gwador." Sador could only nod, already looking suitably regretful. Finrod then turned his attention to the somnolent Vorondil.

"All right. Let’s wake him up and see if we can’t get him dried off." He sat on the edge of the couch and gently slapped the ellon on the cheek, calling his name. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Vorondil opened his eyes, which widened in fear at Finrod’s expression. He paled and started to cry out but Finrod forestalled him with a finger to the ellon’s lips. "Didn’t I tell you to stay out of trouble youngling?" he asked, his expression grim. "Will I need to put a leash on you from now on?"

Vorondil gulped and cringed slightly. Finrod sighed and relented somewhat, standing up. "Come along, then. You’ve dripped enough water on the Elder King’s floor to flood Vanyamar. Let’s get you dried off."

Lord Manwë smiled at Finrod’s words and stepped forward. "Námo and I will take care of Vorondil, Findaráto. It’ll give us a chance to talk. Why don’t you and the others wait here? I’ll have some refreshments sent."

Vorondil looked suddenly ill but Finrod merely nodded. "As you wish, my lord." He turned to Vorondil, reached down and grabbed the hapless ellon by the front of his dripping tunic, hauling him to his feet, then pushing him towards Manwë, who deftly took the elfling by the arm with Námo next to him. "He’s all yours, my lords," Finrod said with a grim smile. "I’m going for a long walk. I need to calm down." He gave the Valar a short bow, then strode out of the room without bothering to acknowledge anyone else. "Glorendil, godolo nin!"

Laurendil closed his eyes briefly. Finrod addressing him in Sindarin was not a good sign, "Yes, aran nîn," he said with a sigh, and giving his own bow to the two Valar, followed Finrod out.

Manwë turned to Sador and Manwen, both standing there looking a bit stunned and uncertain. He smiled at them warmly. "Why don’t you two take your ease here while we see to Vorondil. Ilmarë will attend you. We won’t be too long."

Sador and Manwen gave the Elder King and Lord Námo their obeisance even as Manwë was gently pushing a cowed Vorondil out the door with Námo following behind. "Come along, child," Manwë said, sounding rather amused, "let’s return some of this water to its proper sphere. I’m sure my brother Ulmo is wondering why the sea level around Valinor suddenly dropped."

Sador and Manwen both snickered at the Elder King’s words and began to relax. Ilmarë merely smiled. "Let me get you some wine," she said and the two elves nodded.

****

Vorondil did his best not to weep but it was hard. He was suffering from acute embarrassment, anger (mostly at Sador), and fear (mostly of his master’s wrath) as he found himself being herded along by two of the most terrifying Beings he knew. He wondered sickly if he was about to be sent to Mandos after all and his body trembled with dread. Neither Vala said anything as they walked through the halls of Ilmarin. Eventually Manwë directed Vorondil towards a plain wooden door which Námo opened, gesturing the ellon in. With the Elder King at his back, Vorondil had little choice in the matter.

It was a bathing room of all things. Vorondil’s terror began to abate with the sight of such an ordinary looking place. There was a small bathing pool set in the middle of the room, its waters gently steaming with the scent of lavender, illi-envinyatië and ëarrossë. Greenish-yellow linden flowers floated serenely in the water. Vorondil found himself relaxing almost immediately as he breathed in the heady scents.

"Why don’t you divest yourself of your wet clothes, child," Manwë said gently, "and enjoy the bath. I will see that your clothes are cleaned and dried and ready to wear when you are finished."

Vorondil nodded mutely and began stripping. Soon he was enjoying the soothing waters, relaxing to the point where he was nearly drifting towards the Path of Dreams. How long he lay there soaking he did not know but at one point he came back to himself to see the Elder King and Lord Námo still there, looking on in amusement. He felt suddenly shy and tried to sink into the pool. Lord Námo held out a large absorbent towel.

"Would you like to come out now and get dressed?" the Vala asked and soon Vorondil was drying off and donning his clothes, now clean, dry and neatly pressed. Námo handed him a comb which he pulled through his locks. He suddenly felt embarrassed at his near baldness, as he saw it. Manwë hid a smile, divining the ellon’s thoughts.

"It’ll grow back," he said gently, then gave the elfling a critical look, "though I’m not so sure I like the color."

Námo actually snickered, much to Vorondil’s chagrin, feeling truly embarrassed as he remembered the earlier accident and despaired. He had the feeling that everyone was going to be laughing at him for a very long time. Manwë smiled sympathetically, placing a finger under the ellon’s chin and forcing Vorondil to look at him.

"Only those who have no sense of humor," the Elder King said and the contradictory words brought Vorondil up short. He was so busy trying to decipher the Vala’s meaning that he ceased to feel sorry for himself. Námo gently took him by the arm and led him out of the room.

"Let’s go for a walk," the Lord of Mandos said and Vorondil was not brave enough (or stupid enough) to contradict him. He found himself walking between the two Valar down the hall towards a door made of blue quartz and mithril. It opened of its own accord as they neared it and passing through the portal Vorondil saw that they were inside a large conservatory made of clear quartz set within a mithril frame.

All about were trees and flowers amidst a park-like setting. He recognized most of the plants but some were unknown to him. There were stately nornor and graceful tasari, as well as the majestic malinorni with their golden leaves. Helinyetelli there were and helilohti. Vorondil recognized campilossi and cancali-malinë. Quinquennar grew in the thickets and quiquillar covered the ground. Elanar and nieniquë also could be seen and inwetelumbi grew in the shade of the trees. Somewhere culumaldar grew for he could smell the tangy scent of their orange fruit in the air. Birds sang from the trees and butterflies flitted about. A small path of colored stones led to a nénuvar filled with yellow lilies and golden fish. There were even a couple of frogs sitting contentedly upon lily pads croaking merrily to one another.

Then Vorondil saw the deer and gasped, for these were not the normal deer with which he was familiar but miniature red deer, coming no higher than his waist. He watched them for several minutes as they grazed, ignoring the ellon and the Valar. Vorondil was mesmerized and Námo had to gently but firmly steer him away towards another part of the conservatory. They eventually came to a small fountain where a set of benches was placed. Námo gestured for Vorondil to sit and the ellon complied, looking pale and uneasy.

Manwë sat next to him, but Námo chose to remain standing. Vorondil kept his eyes on his knees, waiting. Waiting for what, he wasn’t sure, but in the brief time he had been Finrod’s thrall, he had learned to do a lot of waiting. Manwë quietly began rubbing the ellon’s back and looked for Vorondil to relax a bit more before speaking.

"We wanted to speak with you, child," he finally said, "to see how you are faring."

Vorondil looked up apprehensively. "Wh-why would you care, my lord? I’m... I’m a thrall. Nobody cares about how thralls feel."

"You are a Child of Ilúvatar, Vorondil, whatever your current social standing," Manwë countered. "That alone is reason for us to care. And since your Judgment..."

Vorondil suddenly looked ill and swayed, giving an involuntary moan of terror.

"You remember that night, don’t you?" Námo asked, giving the ellon a shrewd look. Vorondil could only nod.

"What do you remember, child?" Manwë asked, but Vorondil visibly shied from the memory and started whimpering. Manwë gathered him into his arms and rocked him to stillness. "It’s all right, Vorondil. You don’t have to tell us. Why don’t you tell me about your stay at Lady Nienna’s, instead. I hear you went clamming."

Vorondil looked up at the Elder King, amazed that the Vala even knew about clamming. He couldn’t imagine any of the Valar doing it. He did not notice Námo’s sudden smile as he divined the ellon’s thoughts. Manwë’s own expression did not change but he was laughing silently along with the other Valar and not a few Maiar. Varda even sent him a mental picture of himself happily digging in the sand with pail and shovel in hand and Ulmo added to the picture by dumping a huge wave over the Elder King’s head. The laughter was long and loud though no elf ever heard it.

Vorondil, meanwhile, began to hesitantly describe his visit to Lady Nienna’s. As he spoke he relaxed more and more and became quite enthusiastic in his telling. He even told about Alassiel stealing his horse and what followed after that.

"You’ve forgiven her, haven’t you?" Námo asked.

Vorondil nodded. "We’re friends now," he said quietly, as if he wasn’t sure the Valar would approve of him being friends with a member of the High King’s family.

Námo merely smiled. "I’m glad to hear that, child. Holding grudges is never a good thing."

Vorondil didn’t know what to say to that so he nodded, wondering what else they wanted to know about him. The two Valar exchanged glances over Vorondil’s head and with a slight nod from Manwë, Námo reached down and took the ellon’s hand. "Come with me, Vorondil," he said quietly. Vorondil went absolutely white and moaned in terror at what he thought was about to happen.

"I’m sorry... I’m sorry...." he started stammering, his panic rising as Námo pulled him to his feet. "I don’t mean to be bad... please don’t hurt me... please... I’m trying to be good... I am... I am...". He was crying now, trying to drag his feet to stop the Lord of Mandos from taking him away. Námo just pulled him along without offering the ellon any comfort and that frightened Vorondil even more and he began screaming, at which point Námo stopped, scooped the ellon into his arms and held him tightly as he continued down the path.

Vorondil, meanwhile, had ceased screaming or struggling, his fëa reduced to a state of terror that made him feel faint and strangely detached. He was lost, he knew that now and nothing he did or said would change that fact. It was not acceptance so much as it was resignation. He was bad... that was all there was to it... he had avoided punishment long enough and now it was time to face what would come.

At last they stopped, though Vorondil did not look up from Námo’s arms, no longer interested in what there was to see. In fact, he actually tried snuggling further into Námo’s embrace, much to the Vala’s amusement. Námo set the ellon down but did not release his hold on him.

"Open your eyes, child," he said with quiet encouragement, gently prodding the elfling so that Vorondil reluctantly obeyed, fearing the worst. He stood there with Námo’s arms about him, stunned by what he saw.

They were no longer in the conservatory, or at least he didn’t think so. Before them stretched a white sand beach with the sea at low tide. He wondered if he were somehow dreaming but he could smell the salt tang and feel the sea breeze ruffling his shorn locks. He looked up at Námo, fear and wonder warring within him.

"Wh-where are we?" he whispered.

"Somewhere north of Alqualondë," came the surprising answer. Then Námo suddenly produced a pail and shovel, thrusting them at Vorondil. "Let’s go clamming."

Before the ellon could utter a protest, assuming he was stupid enough, he found himself being led over the wet sand towards a sandbar, splashing through the water that filled the trough between. Somehow he was unsurprised to see Lord Manwë waiting for them. The Elder King gave the confused ellon a warm smile.

"I see Námo has provided you with all you need," Manwë said. "I think you’ll find some clams over there." He pointed to his left and Vorondil could only nod and go where he was directed. The strangeness of the situation made it impossible for him to think straight and he decided it was best not to think at all but just do what he was told. Soon, though, he forgot about it as the enjoyment he began to experience spread through his fëa. He had long divested himself of tunic and boots, allowing the sun’s warmth and the cool squishiness of the wet sand to do their work. He wasn’t sure why the Powers wanted him to go clamming but it was better than ending up in Mandos, so he wasn’t about to argue.

He never noticed when Manwë left, giving Námo a satisfied nod. Námo nodded back and then turned to watch the elfling happily engaged in finding clams and seashells, all the while holding a most interesting conversation with Ulmo and Ossë about Elda-raising and the ramifications of Elros Tar-Minyatur’s recent death on Númenórëan politics.

****

Sador and Manwen were enjoying a pleasant conversation with Ilmarë when the Elder King made his presence known. They both stood and gave him their obeisance. Manwë looked kindly at Manwen.

"If you will excuse us, my dear," he said as he gestured to Ilmarë, "but I need to speak with Sador alone. Why don’t you go with Ilmarë? There’s a lovely conservatory that I think you will enjoy visiting."

Manwen glanced at Sador, giving him an amused look before curtseying to the Elder King and following Ilmarë out. Sador watched the elleth leave, feeling a bit confused and not a little nervous. Manwë gestured for him to sit, which he did after the Vala took his own seat. For a moment neither spoke. Finally, Manwë asked a question.

"Whatever possessed you to push Vorondil into the pond?"

Sador blinked a couple of times, not sure he had heard correctly, then blushed, looking down at his lap. "Sorry. It was a stupid thing to do."

"Yes, it was," Manwë said serenely. "More to the point, it was a dangerous thing to do, especially here in Ilmarin."

Sador looked up, his expression one of concern. "Dangerous?"

Manwë nodded but did not elucidate.

Sador swallowed noisily. "Dangerous for whom?"

"Ah, a most intelligent question," the Elder King said approvingly, then his expression darkened somewhat. "Dangerous for Vorondil... and for you."

"How, my lord?" Sador asked faintly, now wishing he had never agreed to come to Ilmarin with Finrod.

Manwë gave the ellon a shrewd look. "You may have noticed a certain level of... immaturity in Vorondil that was not evident at the trial." Sador nodded but did not comment. Manwë continued. "Well, while in Lórien, Vorondil underwent Judgment that was not dissimilar from what you or Findaráto or Glorfindel suffered."

Sador looked at the Elder King in shock. "Bu-but he’s not dead!"

"No, he is not," Manwë agreed in a sober tone, "but he suffered Judgment nonetheless and as a consequence his fëa has regained some of the innocence it lost. Some, but not all, and there lies the danger."

"Forgive me, lord," Sador said, "I still don’t understand."

Manwë sighed. "Please understand that this is a new thing for us as well. We have never brought Judgment upon one still living and the ramifications for all involved are unknown to us at this time. Vorondil is in a very delicate state and there is no guarantee that he will not slip and fall into evil again. We need to guard against that."

Now Sador was confused. "But how does my... my teasing him..."

"Is that what you were doing?" Manwë asked.

Sador nodded, though his expression was more doubtful. Manwë sighed. "That may or may not be the case, child, but Vorondil may look at it differently, and more negatively and act accordingly."

It took Sador several minutes to understand the Elder King’s meaningful gaze. "Revenge," he said and Manwë nodded.

"We need to take care that nothing triggers a fall into darkness for our young thrall. Teasing is one thing, but what you did was a source of embarrassment for Vorondil, embarrassment that might fester into resentment and then..." the Vala gave an elegant shrug.

"Forgive me, my lord," Sador said contritely. "I was unaware of all that..."

"Which is one reason for this little chat," Manwë said.

"You said it was dangerous for me as well," Sador then said. "How?"

For a long moment the Elder King did not speak, merely gazing intently at the ellon sitting next to him. Sador was reminded of Lord Oromë for some reason and tried not to squirm under Manwë’s regard. Finally, the Vala spoke.

"You should know, child, that you were never meant to be released from Mandos when you were."

Sador went pale and his hands trembled as he clutched the armrests of his chair. "Wh-what..."

"You should not have been released when you were," Manwë reiterated. "By rights, you should still be within the Halls of Waiting for at least another century or more."

Sador suddenly felt as if he could not breathe and a sense of queasiness assailed him. He found himself leaving his chair and rushing to the balcony trying to draw in enough of the fresh mountain air into his lungs to prevent him from fainting. He felt, rather than saw, the Elder King follow him and lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Fear not, child," the Vala said gently. "All is well. You have more than justified our decision regarding your release and we are all very proud of you. Breathe deeply, child," Manwë commanded. "That’s it... breathe."

Sador did as he was bid and soon the sick darkness that threatened to smother him receded with every breath taken until he felt his equilibrium returning. Still, he continued to clutch the balcony railing, not ready to do much more than breathe in and out and stare at the majestic scenery before him.

Finally, Manwë took him by both shoulders and turned him around. "Thou hast naught to fear, child. Thou art well and all is well with thee. Come, let us go inside and we will talk."

Manwë led him gently back to their chairs and soon they were both seated with Manwë pouring him some wine which he gratefully accepted. "I know it is something of a shock," Manwë said, "but I promise you that your being released early from Lord Námo’s care was a gambit that has paid off, for you have come along very nicely and we are pleased with your progress."

Sador nodded. "But how is what I did to Vorondil dangerous for me?" he asked, feeling perplexed.

"Interesting," Manwë said almost to himself as he gazed serenely at Sador. "You do not ask why you were released so early. Very well. To answer your question....Whether you realize it or not, Sador, you are at a vulnerable stage in your development towards full adulthood. When you died, you had had little experience in living. Since your re-embodiment, you have had to start all over again on many levels. To prepare you for Life though, we released you early enough so that you would be functionally ready to deal with what you would find after leaving Lórien. It was no accident that you and Glorfindel left Lórien together."

Sador shivered at that, not sure what those words portended. "Wh-why..."

Manwë shook his head. "We have our reasons, child, reasons we are not ready to divulge at this time." He smiled and leaned over to place a comforting hand on Sador’s lap. "Trust me when I say that we’re all very proud of you. You have exceeded our expectations. I know you are feeling frustrated over lack of information about your family, but you must be patient. Everything happens in due time and for a reason."

"That’s easy for you to say, lord," Sador said more boldly than he was actually feeling but unable to help himself, "but it’s not your family... or your life."

Manwë leaned back in his chair, contemplating the ellon before him and, after consulting with both Námo and Oromë, he made a decision. Sador sat there sipping his wine and waited.

"I will tell you nothing about your family, Sador," Manwë finally said. "Be content that you have the family that you have now and rejoice that Eru has so designed Eä as to allow you the love of family even from those who can claim no blood tie with you... and don’t forget the gift of your anammë. That should not be so easily dismissed."

Sador glowered into his goblet, recognizing the truth of the Elder King’s words but not willing to acknowledge them.

"What did you think of Tol Eressëa?" Manwë then asked and Sador looked up in surprise at the sudden change in subject.

"It felt like home," he answered without thinking, yet it was a sincere response.

Manwë nodded. "Thank you. That’s what I needed to hear."

Sador now looked puzzled but before he could ask what Manwë meant the door opened and Finrod strode in with Laurendil in tow. The former King of Nargothrond looked to be in better humor than when he had left. He smiled when he saw Sador with the Elder King.

"Forgive us," he said to Manwë with a bow, "are we interrupting anything?"

Manwë smiled and shook his head. "No, child. You are just in time. We were just finishing our conversation."

Finrod nodded and looked around. "Where are Vorondil and Manwen?"

"Manwen is with Ilmarë and they will be joining us soon. Vorondil..." Here Manwë paused and cocked his head as if listening for something and began to chuckle. "Vorondil is with Námo. They are presently arguing over who will carry the pail... so they may be a while."

Finrod gave the Elder King a shrewd look. "I’m not even going to ask," he said with a rueful shake of his head.

"Very wise of you, my son," Manwë said with a laugh. "So while we are waiting, tell me who you think will win the tournament."

Finrod’s smile could only be described as gleeful. "Me, of course."

The others laughed.

****

"It’s my pail, I get to carry it," Námo said with amused exasperation, full willing to enter the game Vorondil was playing. They were standing on the sandbar with the water beginning to lap at their feet as the tide was turning.

"But you gave it to me and I did all the work," the ellon protested in a reasonable tone of voice. Then he stuck out his tongue and made a rude noise.

Námo raised an eyebrow, trying to look stern. "What would your master say if he knew you were being rude to me?"

Vorondil shrugged. "Probably order me to fold your clothes for the next month. So what else is new?"

Námo threw back his head and laughed, taking hold of Vorondil and pulling him into his embrace, the pail full of clams forgotten. Vorondil found that he actually enjoyed being hugged by the Vala and tentatively hugged him back.

It was almost as good as being in his atar’s arms.

****

All words are Quenya unless otherwise noted.

Glorendil, godolo nin!: (Sindarin) "Laurendil, come with me".

Illi-envinyatië: All-heal, or the fragrant valerian plant (Valeriana officinalis). ‘All-heal’ is a common name of this plant. Its primary purpose, however, when used in an herbal bath, is to produce a calming effect.

Eärrossë: Sea-dew, the literal meaning of rosemary (Rosmarinus officinalis). This plant is said to stimulate hair growth and has healing properties.

Note on chronology: Elros Tar-Minyatur, first king of Númenor, died in II 442, sixty-one years before the events chronicled in this tale.

Note on the names of the plants found in the Valar’s conservatory: Many of these are adapted from Qenya.

Nornor: Plural of norno: oak.

Tasari: Plural of tasar/tasarë: willow-tree.

Malinorni: Plural of malinornë: mallorn.

Helinyetelli: Plural of helinyetellë: pansy.

Helilohti: Plural of helilohtë: wisteria.

Campilossi: Plural of campilossë: wild rose.

Cancali-malinë: Plural of cancalë-malina: "yellow laughter", daffodil.

Quinquennar: Plural of quinquenna: Solomon’s seal.

Quiquillar: Plural of quiquilla: lily-of-the-valley.

Inwetelumbi: Plural of inwetelumbë: mushroom: "fairy-canopy".

Culumaldar: Plural of culumalda: orange tree.

110: Putting Glorfindel in the Mood

Ingwion arrived the next afternoon. He went first to greet his atar and amillë and then made his way to the encampment to find Finrod. When he entered the compound, he also found Glorfindel there. Technically, Glorfindel would not be released from Martandur’s service for another day, but the jewel-smith had declared that he no longer needed Glorfindel’s help and had given him his permission to visit with Finrod and continue his training. Glorfindel had thus removed his belongings to Finrod’s tent, sharing the sleeping quarters with his two brothers.

Ingwion, who had been apprised by his atar of all that had happened concerning Glorfindel during his absence, was therefore not surprised to see him sitting with Finrod and Sador by the fire sipping on a yellow wine. Nor was he surprised to see Vorondil quietly going about the task of putting together the evening meal. He was surprised to see his cousin Alassiel sitting nearby polishing armor, for Ingwë had not told him about her being Finrod’s squire. It was a situation of which the High King did not entirely approve, but would not gainsay.

"What is this, Cousin?" Ingwion exclaimed as he entered the encampment. "Polishing armor instead of your nails?"

"Ingwion!"

Everyone but Vorondil jumped up at once and tried to hug Ingwion at the same time. The firstborn son of the High King laughed and gave each of them a warm hug. "I see that there is more than one tale to tell," he said as Finrod led him to the fire, ordering Vorondil to bring another goblet of wine. "So what is this all about?" he asked, nodding towards the armor and the cleaning rag still in Alassiel’s hand.

"A long tale, Cousin," Finrod said with a smile. "We will explain later, but first, you must tell us how you fare." He gave Ingwion a shrewd look.

Ingwion merely shook his head. "I fare well, Findaráto, never fear," he answered, "though I am glad to be back in Vanyamar. I’ve missed you all, especially you, Glorfindel." Ingwion paused and gave Glorfindel a sympathetic look. "Atar told me what has happened with you. I’m sorry you’ve had to suffer so."

Glorfindel did not answer, staring into the fire. Finrod smiled sadly at his brother and placed a comforting hand on the ellon’s arm, though Glorfindel did not acknowledge it. Ingwion raised an enquiring eyebrow at Finrod who returned the gesture with a slight shake of his head, his smile fading into a worried frown. Sador, Ingwion noticed, looked equally worried though he had not said anything.

"Glorfindel," Ingwion said quietly but with authority and there was something in his tone that made Finrod’s eyebrows go up.

Glorfindel gave a small gasp, as if coming back to himself from somewhere else, and looked up at Ingwion, his eyes full of confusion and tears. Without saying anything more, Ingwion stood up and pulled Glorfindel into his embrace. Only then did Glorfindel allow himself to let go and begin weeping quietly. Finrod and Sador both stood in alarm but Ingwion waved them off. Alassiel and Vorondil, he noticed, were looking equally concerned. He gave them both an encouraging smile over Glorfindel’s shoulder even as he continued to hold the ellon and rock him gently.

"Hush now, best beloved," he whispered, though all there heard him. Finrod and Sador exchanged looks and smiles at the epithet Ingwion used but otherwise did not interfere. Glorfindel merely clung to the elven prince all the more. "I know it’s been hard for you, pretending that all is well and it mattered not what you were doing or why. But you don’t have to pretend with me... or with anyone else who knows you."

"You need to talk about it, háno," Finrod said, placing a comforting hand on Glorfindel’s back. "If not to me or anyone here, then to someone. Do not let this fester inside you."

"Findaráto is correct, child."

They all turned to see both Arafinwë and Olwë standing at the entrance, their expressions sober. Glorfindel attempted to wipe the tears from his eyes as he pulled himself out of Ingwion’s embrace. Ingwion let him go.

"You need to talk about this," Arafinwë said as he walked into the compound. "Do not let the bitterness I sense in you fester. It will do no one good, least of all you."

"T-to whom should I speak?" Glorfindel asked hesitantly, not really sure he wanted to talk to anyone about his feelings anyway.

Arafinwë shook his head. "That is for you to decide, child. Everyone here is willing to listen, but we are not the only choices. I think, though, that you need to resolve this before the ceremonies for the New Year. You know Ingwë plans to reinstate you into his court then."

Glorfindel flinched at those words and shook his head, suddenly looking angry. "I don’t want...."

Arafinwë shook his head. "No, child. That’s not the way to act. Refusing Ingwë would not be an intelligent move right now. I know you’re feeling hurt and betrayed, but frankly, you only brought it on yourself. You know you were in the wrong."

Arafinwë’s voice had gone somewhat cold at that point and Finrod at least recognized the tone as one that had been directed towards him a time or two when he had been an elfling and had done something he shouldn’t have. He smiled sympathetically at Glorfindel who now stood there looking unsure.

"Atar is correct, hannonya," he said, putting on his best "older brother" look, "though I know you think differently. What’s done is done and you need to deal with it or you will suffer for it. Do not come to the New Year ceremonies with anger in your heart. It will only destroy you in the end."

Glorfindel grimaced but did not contradict him. Arafinwë brushed a hand through the ellon’s hair. "You’re feeling hurt and confused now, but you don’t have to do this alone, child. There are too many who care for you to allow you that bit of luxury." He reached over and took Glorfindel into his arms and gave him a brief hug and a kiss on the brow before letting him go. "Now, let us move on to other things." He nodded to Olwë who sat down beside the fire. Everyone followed suit, though Glorfindel did so reluctantly.

"Ingwë has asked us to help oversee the tournament," Olwë said without preamble. "We are determining who will be competing and in what categories so the heralds will be able to draw up a preliminary list... unless there are challenges."

"Has anyone declared a challenge, Anatar?" Finrod asked curiously.

"One," Olwë said, giving Glorfindel a significant look.

Everyone looked at Glorfindel in surprise, but Glorfindel refused to look anyone in the eye.

"Whom have you challenged, Glorfindel?" Finrod demanded, his voice and mien going cold.

Glorfindel did not answer, though he looked up briefly at Ingwion. Now Finrod’s eyes narrowed. "Are you mad, brother?" he demanded. "Challenging Ingwë will not work. He will not fight you anyway. You will have to fight whomever he chooses as his champion."

"And that would be me," Ingwion said baldly. "Is that what you want, otornya?"

Glorfindel flinched slightly at Ingwion’s tone and shook his head but still would not answer. Arafinwë and Olwë exchanged looks and something passed between them that the others did not catch. Arafinwë turned back to Glorfindel.

"If you continue with this challenge, Glorfindel, there will be no point in any reconciliation between you and Ingwë... and you will not be welcomed back to Tirion, or even Alqualondë."

Glorfindel looked up then, his expression one of shock. Arafinwë nodded, his own expression stony and Olwë looked equally grim.

"Whatever the outcome, you will not be welcomed in our courts, though it grieves me to say it. You will be permitted to remove yourself to Tol Eressëa but you will not be permitted back in Aman if you go there unless the Valar summon you. Is that what you truly want, child, exile from your brothers and from me?"

Glorfindel went white then, his eyes dark with some unreadable emotion. He suddenly stood up and ran out of the compound.

"Glorfindel!" Sador yelled, jumping up as well, but Arafinwë reached over and grabbed the ellon before he was able to run after his brother.

"No, hinya," the Noldóran said, pulling Sador down so he was sitting on the ground between him and Olwë. The King of Alqualondë brushed a comforting hand through the ellon’s hair as Arafinwë continued speaking. "He needs to deal with this on his own. Let him go."

Sador reluctantly nodded and collapsed onto the ground, allowing the two kings to comfort him. Satisfied that his ward would not run off, Arafinwë turned to Ingwion with a wide grin. "So what’s this I hear about you becoming Lord Námo’s apprentice, Cousin? How did that come about?"

Ingwion gave Arafinwë a sour look but a nearly imperceptible nod of approval told a different story and he was willing to be the object of interest so that Sador and the others would be distracted from their worries about Glorfindel. "Well, as to that, Cousin, it seems that Lord Námo lost a bet and..."

He was looking at the fire as he spoke and so did not notice several eyebrows going up in surprise at his words.

****

Glorfindel ran, ignoring the stares from those whom he passed, until he was outside the encampment and found himself some distance away where there were trees. If he noticed the Sinda and Nando sitting in one of the trees keeping watch, he gave no sign, nor did the guards bother to greet him. He stood there for several minutes staring at nothing and then he began to strip off his tunic and boots.

"Manveru, Erunáro," he said without raising his voice and the two elves in the tree almost fell out of it in shock when the two Maiar suddenly appeared. Manveru gave Glorfindel a shrewd look.

"Do you want to talk, sword-brother?" he asked quietly.

Glorfindel shook his head. "No, I do not," he replied and then without warning launched himself at Erunáro, who deftly grabbed him and held him off with a single hand.

"Now, now, sword-brother," the Maia said conversationally, "is that anyway to act?" Then, without taking his eyes off the straining ellon, he called out, "Eönwë!"

Now the Herald of Manwë appeared, looking amused. Erunáro gave his fellow Maia a grin. "Our sword-brother isn’t in the mood for talking. Would you like to help us put him in the mood?"

Eönwë raised an eyebrow and gave them a short bow. "I am honored," he said with all sincerity, then glanced up into the tree and smiled at the two elves sitting there with their mouths hanging open. "But let us remove ourselves to a more private venue."

With that, Manveru reached over and took Glorfindel in his arms. All three Maiar disappeared with Glorfindel in hand, leaving two very confused and befuddled wood elves clinging to the tree in shock, both of them wondering if it really had been a good idea to have forsaken Ennorath for the Blessed Realm after all.

****

Glorfindel was only dimly aware of the fact that they were no longer in the plains before the city of Vanyamar. Instead, they seemed to be high in the mountains. He was furious and kept trying to get out of Manveru’s embrace, but to no avail. Then, the Maia simply dumped him on the ground and he landed in snow. That brought him up short and he stopped ranting long enough to see where he was. He glanced at the three Maiar standing around him looking at him with faint amusement on their faces.

"Where are we?" he asked with some trepidation.

"In the mountains, of course," Eönwë answered, "though not on Taniquetil," he hastened to add when he saw Glorfindel go absolutely white. "We will not push it that far, son of Gondolin. Now, I understand you’re not in the mood to talk?"

Glorfindel stood up slowly and shook his head, looking wary. Eönwë grinned. "Good, because neither am I." With that the Maia deftly picked Glorfindel up and threw him to the ground again, landing on top of the elf and wrestling with him. Glorfindel gave an inarticulate cry and started fighting back, uttering an oath as he did so.

Eönwë glanced up at Manveru with a wicked smile. "Remind me to record that in the Book of Oaths when I get a chance."

Manveru grinned back and nodded, then he and Erunáro joined the fray and the three Maiar happily began beating Glorfindel to a pulp. Glorfindel did not give up, not even when the Maiar offered to stop.

"Do you want to talk now?" Manveru asked him at one point and Glorfindel merely snarled a vicious oath at him. At that point, Eönwë called out a name.

"Maranwë!"

Glorfindel then saw another Maia appear, one he recognized as belonging to Lord Námo’s People, giving his fellow Maiar an enquiring look.

"Glorfindel doesn’t want to talk," Eönwë stated. "We’re trying to convince him that talking would be good for his health."

"Not to mention his looks," Erunáro quipped and Maranwë had to suppress a smile at the sight of Glorfindel’s physical state with his two black eyes, a bloody lip and bruises all over as he stood there reeling.

"Care to join us?" Manveru asked diffidently, though he had a wide grin on his face.

"Thought you’d never ask," Maranwë answered and before Glorfindel could respond he found himself wrestling with four Maiar, none of whom gave him any quarter, nor did he ask for it....

****

Ingwion was finishing describing the oath-taking ceremony with Námo when a rumbling sound and flashes of lightning crossing the sky to the north interrupted him. They all looked up in surprise, for the late afternoon sky was clear and the clouds were high and thin. They stood to get a better view of the lightning flashing in the far distance over the Pelóri Mountains. Finrod turned to his atar with a grin.

"Do you think that has anything to do with Glorfindel?"

Arafinwë gave a short laugh. "Of that, hinya, I have no doubt," he said.

Finrod nodded then turned to Alassiel and Vorondil. "Alassiel, Vorondil, stop what you’re doing and come join us by the fire. Vorondil, bring out another bottle of the Lórien White."

His squire and thrall did as they were bid, though Alassiel was somewhat reluctant. Vorondil, on the other hand, was happy enough to be able to join the adults. Finrod had them sit on either side of him. When they were all seated and sipping on the yellow wine, Finrod turned to Ingwion with a smile. "So let me tell you about how Alassiel and Vorondil came to be such good friends...."

They all did their best to ignore the lightning in the distance as they listened to Finrod speaking, but every once in a while one or the other of them found their attention straying from the narrative to watch as the lightning continued and wondered what it might have to do with Glorfindel.

****

"So, are you ready to talk now?" Maranwë asked for the fourth time, staring dispassionately down at the nearly unconscious Glorfindel who simply lay there in the churned up snow trying to catch his breath.

Glorfindel could only nod and the four Maiar then sat down a few feet away on a rock shelf that was clear of snow and waited. Manveru called forth his sword and began polishing it while his brother and Maranwë spoke quietly about the latest rumors out of Endórë. Eönwë sat with the Book of Oaths open upon his knees calmly recording every oath Glorfindel had uttered during their little free-for-all.

"Is ‘May the Valar drop dead and the Maiar, too’ one oath or two, do you think?" Eönwë asked at one point. The other three Maiar looked up and gave him shrugs. Eönwë nodded and went back to writing, cheerfully humming as he did so.

Glorfindel, meanwhile, began to stir and the Maiar went still, watching to see what he would do. The ellon was a sight, looking worse than when Tulcaner and his fellows had set upon him. The four Maiar kept their expressions neutral, but their eyes betrayed their amusement and admiration for the stubborn Elda. Glorfindel started crawling towards them, too dizzy to stand. He practically had to climb the shelf and collapsed nearly into Maranwë’s lap. Námo’s chief Maia brought forth a flask of water and helped the ellon drink, then cleaned the cuts with the remaining water, soothing some of the pain. Glorfindel fell asleep for a time as his hröa and fëa rested but after about twenty minutes he came awake again and attempted to sit up, though he found he had to lean against Maranwë, for his head kept spinning otherwise.

"Wh-why is everything so... confusing?" he finally whispered. "I don’t remember it being so confusing... before."

Maranwë smiled gently and brushed a hand through Glorfindel’s hair. "It’s no less confusing than before, child," he answered. "The difference is you spent centuries maturing into adulthood under the Light of the Trees. You knew nothing of strife or sorrow or disappointment, except in very minor circumstances. Now, however, you know what such things truly mean for you have experienced them in full bitterness."

"You’ve been trying to grow up faster than you should, sword-brother," Manveru added. "I’ve seen you try to catch up with Findaráto in that respect."

"I want to have a purpose," Glorfindel stated bleakly. "Finrod is Lord Irmo and Lord Námo’s apprentice. Sador is Netilmirë’s apprentice. Why can’t I be an apprentice, too?"

Maranwë gave Glorfindel a hug and kissed him on the top of his head. "What makes you think you’re not?"

Glorfindel looked up at the Maia in surprise, but then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What do you mean? No one’s asked me to be their apprentice. No one’s said anything..."

"Hush now, child," Manveru admonished him gently. "Can you not be content to simply be... Glorfindel? Not the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, not the Balrog-slayer, not even this person or that person’s apprentice, but simply be yourself? Take time to be yourself, child, and all else will flow from that."

"But Finrod and Sador..."

"Glorfindel," Maranwë interrupted him. "Finrod was released from Mandos a century or so before you. He has had decades to mature to the point where the Fëanturi were willing to offer him an apprenticeship. You’ve been re-embodied for less than four years. Give it time. And Sador’s case is somewhat different," he added, "though I will not discuss it with you."

Glorfindel’s expression darkened into a scowl of dissatisfaction.

Erunáro gave him a diffident look. "I don’t know what you’re complaining about, sword-brother. You’ve been the jewel-smith’s apprentice these last few weeks. What more do you want?"

Glorfindel stared at the Maia with an appalled look that swiftly turned to anger. He jumped up, snarling an oath, and started walking away... or rather limping. The Maiar let him go. Eönwë sighed and opened the Book of Oaths again and started writing in it.

Glorfindel did not get too far. His body ached and he still felt dizzy. He went no more than twenty or so paces before he collapsed in the snow. Maranwë gave his fellow Maiar a glance before stepping off the rock shelf and going to the elf. He crouched down next to the ellon who merely stared out into the distance, his expression bleak. The Maia brushed a hand through Glorfindel’s hair. "Do you want to talk about it now?" he asked gently.

For a moment Glorfindel did not move, then he sighed and gave the Maia a nod. Without preamble he began to speak... and the Maiar listened.

****

Laurendil and Manwen were sitting around the dining room table in Finrod’s pavilion with the others enjoying a glass of wine when Glorfindel showed up. Alassiel and Vorondil had served them all dinner earlier and were still busy cleaning up the dishes. Laurendil and Manwen had spent the better part of the day organizing the healers for the tournament and were now filling everyone in on what had been accomplished. They all gasped when Glorfindel stumbled into the pavilion wearing only his breeches and shirt, his face a mass of bruises.

"Valar!" Finrod cried as he rushed to his brother. "What did they do to you?"

Manwen and Laurendil were right beside him, looking concerned. Glorfindel ignored them, pushing past them to stand before Arafinwë and Olwë, their expressions unreadable to the others. For a moment Glorfindel simply stood there reeling slightly, saying nothing, then, he swallowed visibly before speaking.

"I ... I withdraw m-my challenge," he whispered.

Olwë caught him before he reached the ground.

111: Tea With Balrogs... er... Sugar

They were putting Glorfindel to bed after Manwen and Laurendil saw to his hurts when Lady Estë appeared, much to everyone’s surprise. She gave them a beatific smile as she passed her hand over Glorfindel’s supine body.

“We don’t want him to appear before Ingwë’s Court looking like this,” she said, indicating the purpling bruises and cut lips. Laurendil and Manwen watched while Vorondil stood beside the Valië as she healed Glorfindel, shyly asking questions. The others decided to leave the healers to it and went back to their wine, speculating as to what might have happened with Glorfindel, but came to no ready conclusions.

When he awoke late the next morning, Glorfindel was surprised to find that he was no longer in pain and, looking in a mirror, he saw that the bruises were nearly gone and his face looked almost normal.

“Lady Estë assured us that you will be completely healed before tonight’s ceremony,” Finrod told him as he watched the ellon get dressed.

Glorfindel nodded but did not offer any other comment nor would he speak of what had happened the day before. Instead, he insisted on getting in some practice with sword and bow, for the tournament would be starting in two days. A preliminary list showed that he was fighting against one of the Vanyar during the first round of the double elimination duels. Glorfindel was not concerned about the outcome of the match, but he refused to be complacent about his own abilities. Finrod agreed and with Alassiel and Vorondil in tow the two ellyn made their way to the lists that were set up in a field that lay between the tent city and Vanyamar. Workers were putting the finishing touches to the royal viewing gallery while heralds ran about looking slightly bemused. Others who were competing were also there, having the same idea as Glorfindel and Finrod. The two ellyn were greeted joyfully by the other elves and soon they were all busy sparring.

By mutual consent, Finrod and Glorfindel declined to spar against each other, much to everyone else’s disappointment. Instead, Finrod ended up sparring with Vëantur while Glorfindel took on Aldarion. Even Alassiel was encouraged to spar when Finrod explained her status as his squire. No one looked askance at the revelation for there were some ellith competing and Alassiel was paired with one of them. Vorondil sat on the sidelines looking wistful, then, after a while, bored. Finrod noticed and smiled fondly at the ellon.

“Vorondil,” he said, “go to the healer’s tent and tell them I wish for you to bring a full kit to the list. We’ll let you practice tending to injuries after we’ve finished sparring.”

Vorondil’s eyes lit up. “Yes, Master,” he said with a grin and ran off as fast as he could to do Finrod’s bidding. Finrod gave the others a wicked look. “So, who’s volunteering to have a broken leg?”

They all snorted at that but did not protest, taking turns ‘volunteering’ one another for one kind of injury or another in a good-natured way even as they continued to spar. By the time Vorondil appeared again, dragging a medical kit and Manwen with him, the fighters had all agreed as to what injuries they would suffer so Vorondil could practice on them.

****

Finrod was sitting under a nearby tree with some of the other fighters, patiently letting Vorondil splint his “broken” shield arm while nibbling on some cheese and fruit and talking quietly to Glorfindel and Manwen. The apprentice Estendurien had been working in the healers’ tent when Vorondil had run in all excited. It had taken her a few minutes to calm him down long enough to figure out what he was babbling about. Once she understood what he wanted, though, she helped him to gather the necessary supplies and even offered to come and act as his assistant.

Thus, it was that when a small group of riders came up from the south towards Vanyamar, they found several half armored ellyn and ellith lying about with various kinds of bandages on them. None of them looked particularly upset by their injuries, though, and one or two were even comparing “injuries” and checking their splints with a clinical eye. Vorondil was actually humming to himself as he wrapped the bandages around Finrod’s arm, much to his master’s amusement.

When one of the riders recognized Finrod, though, she became quite upset. Leaping from her horse, Amarië ran to her betrothed. The other riders followed more sedately.

“Findaráto!” she shouted, surprising everyone there. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

Finrod looked up to see Amarië running towards him and started to stand, but Vorondil pushed him down, frowning, and actually pointed a finger at him. “Don’t move, Master, I’m not finished.”

Glorfindel, who was sitting nearby sporting a wrapped head, laughed out loud and others joined him at the imperious “healer’s” look the elfling had given the King of Nargothrond.

“I think you’ve created a monster, brother,” Glorfindel said even as Amarië reached them, looking both alarmed and confused. The riders came up right behind her and Finrod’s expression brightened at the sight of his amillë and anamillë dismounting to join Amarië. Eärwen and Lirillë smiled fondly at him and cast amused looks at Vorondil happily wrapping the splint on Finrod’s arm. Everyone else in the meantime had risen to give the Noldotári and the Queen of the Teleri their obeisance, which they acknowledged with gracious nods of their heads.

Finrod turned his attention to Amarië and gave her a brilliant smile. “Peace, meldanya,” he said, gesturing with his other hand for her to join him under the tree. “I am well. We all are. We’re just letting Vorondil practice his... er... bedside manners.” He glanced at his thrall and gave him a look that Laurendil, had he been there, would have recognized as his “the-king-is-not-happy” look. Vorondil merely stuck his tongue out and went back to work. Finrod threw back his head and laughed.

Amarië looked about in bemusement, noticing the amused expressions on the others’ faces and felt her mouth quirk into a small smile. “I see. Well, in that case, I suppose I should leave you all to suffer your injuries in peace.” Several elves snickered at that. “When you are finished playing... um.... healer’s victim, beloved, perhaps you will join me and Amillë Eärwen in the city for tea.”

Finrod looked up at Eärwen standing there serenely and nodded. Amarië leaned over and gave Finrod a chaste kiss which he returned. “I will join you as soon as I am free,” Finrod said with a wink.

“My lady,” Vorondil suddenly said with an exasperated sigh, “please move. You’re blocking my light!”

There were chuckles all around as Amarië gave the elfling a disbelieving look. Manwen simply rolled her eyes. Eärwen leaned over and kissed the top of Finrod’s head, brushing his locks and whispering something in her son’s ear, before stepping away. Finrod gave his amillë a wicked grin and a wink. Suddenly he grabbed Vorondil, ignoring the splint on his arm, and began tickling him, eliciting shrieks of laughter from the ellon. Glorfindel then joined him in tickling the elfling and there were amused grins all around. When they eventually calmed down, Finrod declared that the “break time” was over. Immediately, everyone began unwrapping their bandages, much to Vorondil’s disappointment and disgust.

“But I wanted to show Laurendil,” he complained as Finrod and the others began handing him back neatly wrapped bindings. Finrod gave him a warm smile.

“I’m sure Manwen will let him know how well you did. Now, I need you to go with Alassiel and see to dinner arrangements. We’re entertaining the High King and Queen this evening before the ceremonies and I want the dinner to be extra special. Think you can manage that?”

Vorondil suddenly looked concerned. “Th-the High King?” he squeaked. “Wh-what does a high king eat?”

Glorfindel smirked as he joined Finrod and gave Vorondil a grin. “I have it on the best authority that Ingwë will eat anything that isn’t nailed down, so don’t worry about it. He’ll eat whatever we give him, just ask Alassiel.”

Vorondil glanced at Alassiel who was sporting her own bandages, though these were for real. She had accidently tripped during a sparring match and sprained her left wrist when she fell on her shield. Manwen had handled that case as Alassiel had been too hysterical with shame and anger to let anyone else tend to her injuries. Finrod and Glorfindel had had to hold her down, the two of them softly singing Lord Námo’s lullaby to calm her.

Eventually she had quieted down enough to start apologizing to Finrod for ruining everything, but Finrod had just laughed, giving her a kiss on the brow and telling her about the time he managed to trip during a sortie against some orcs, breaking his leg, and how he had had to hop on one foot all the way back to where his men were defending the treeline. He had everyone laughing hysterically by the time he finished describing his mad dash to safety, fighting off orcs on one foot.

“You made that up!” Alassiel had gasped between bouts of laughter, but Finrod had merely shook his head.

“Just ask Laurendil,” he had said with a teasing smile. “He was there.”

Now, however, Alassiel, still feeling somewhat subdued over her accident, smiled gamely at Vorondil and nodded. “Yes, my uncle will eat whatever is placed before him. Come, I cannot help with the preparations with my wrist in a sling but I can help you select the dishes.”

Vorondil looked mollified at that and with a nod and a bow to Finrod, the two of them made their way back to the encampment, leaving Amarië looking thoughtfully at the other elleth’s retreating figure. She then returned her attention to Finrod, giving him an enquiring look.

Finrod merely smiled. “It’s a long story, beloved,” he said. “My cousin and I have a certain... arrangement at the moment. I will explain it all over tea.”

Amarië frowned slightly, not too pleased with Finrod’s explanation but knew it was neither the time nor the place to pursue the subject. She nodded and went to her horse. “Tea, then,” she said. “Don’t be late...and bring your brothers.”

Finrod merely smiled and went to kiss his amillë and anamillë. Eärwen smiled at her firstborn before nodding to the rest of the riders and then Finrod helped the two queens to horse. Soon, the warriors were alone again. Finrod and Glorfindel bade the others farewell and made their way back to their tent where they washed up and changed into fresh tunics. Sador, who had been speaking with the heralds while his brothers sparred now joined them and soon the three of them were making their way to the city.

****

The three ellyn followed a page through the corridors of the palace. Finrod was surprised when they had been informed that the tea would not be held in the Noldóran’s apartments, but in the apartments of Lady Amarië’s parents who were high officials in Ingwë’s government. Lord Castamir worked on the Judiciary and Lady Almáriel was a member of the High King’s Privy Council. Finrod remembered that he liked Lord Castamir, who was easy-going and more interested in reading and writing poetry than in politics, while his feelings towards Amarië’s amillë were more ambivalent. Lady Almáriel, as he recalled, was rather strong-willed and opinionated and no doubt had been saving up her thoughts about him deserting her daughter during the long centuries of separation. He suddenly was not looking forward to the tea.

Glorfindel gave Finrod a shrewd look when he noticed he was grimacing as they walked behind the page. “It can’t be that bad... can it?” he asked, feeling a bit unsure.

Finrod gave him a wicked grin. “Lady Almáriel is... very forthright.”

Sador chuckled. “I think Finrod means that he’s not looking forward to being told off for leaving Amarië behind.”

Finrod sighed dramatically. “That too.”

“You’re afraid of her, aren’t you?” Glorfindel asked, suddenly divining Finrod’s reluctance. A look of glee at his brother’s expense spread across Glorfindel’s face and Sador snickered.

Before Finrod could do more than glower at the other two they were there. The page knocked on the doors to the apartment and then opened them at the command from the other side. She gave a bow as she announced them.

“Prince Findaráto, and Lords Glorfindel and Sador, my lady,” the elleth said, then she moved aside to allow the ellyn entrance before stepping back to close the doors behind them.

If they were expecting to be greeted by an irate matron, they were disappointed (or relieved). Amarië stood there, looking radiant in a gown of summer green figured silk, her eyes dancing with joy... and something else that Finrod could not quite put a name to, until she began speaking.

“It’s so good of you to come, my lords,” she said, sounding somewhat breathless. “Amillë will be out presently.” She cast a look in the direction of the inner apartments and her eyes darkened with desperation.

Finrod smiled in understanding and took his betrothed into his embrace, giving her a kiss and whispering in her ear as he did so. “Fear not, my love! I am here now.” He felt the elleth sag with relief. Then he stepped back and said more loudly, “Thank you, my lady, for your gracious invitation. Will my amillë be joining us?”

“Oh, yes,” Amarië replied, her voice brittle with forced cheerfulness as she allowed Glorfindel and Sador to greet her with kisses on the cheek. “Eärwen is helping my amillë at the moment. They won’t be long.”

The expression on her face told them that it wouldn’t be long enough. Glorfindel and Sador exchanged bemused glances; Finrod merely shrugged resignedly. His smile never faltered but his eyes darkened somewhat and had Laurendil been there he would have recognized the look:

Finrod, erstwhile King of Nargothrond, was about to go into battle.

The doors to the inner apartments opened just then, causing Amarië to start slightly. Eärwen and Almáriel came out. Eärwen gave the three ellyn a soft smile of welcome while Almáriel looked upon them with cold disdain. She was tall and imperious as many of the Vanyar seemed to be, her flaxen hair braided and held in a woven net of pearls and emeralds. She was wearing a gown of shimmering green silk shot with rose with close-fitting sleeves. The collar and cuffs were embroidered with vines and leaves in shades of green and gold interspersed with pearls. Over this was a sleeveless robe of dark peacock blue brocaded silk, trimmed with ermine, the sides open to just below the hips.

Eärwen was wearing a gown of muted shades of blue and grey that reminded them of the sea in winter and looked almost dowdy in comparison to Almáriel’s peacock brilliance, yet, to the ellyn standing there, she seemed more beautiful, for a smile lit her face and an inner beauty shone forth that was lacking in Almáriel’s expression.

“I assumed, Findaráto, that you would not be so cowardly as to bring... reinforcements with you,” Almáriel said without preamble as she swept into the room. She barely bowed her head in acknowledgment of his rank and refused to even look at Glorfindel and Sador. “Especially a thrall and... a potter.”

Both Glorfindel and Sador bristled at the elleth’s tone. Sador was angry, but not on his behalf, for in truth he was a potter and proud of it and saw no reason to apologize for the talent which Eru had given him. His anger was for his henair, especially Glorfindel. As far as he was concerned, whatever had happened — and he was still unsure just what that was — it was between Glorfindel and the High King and others had no right to pass judgment.

Glorfindel merely went white and Finrod had to grab his arm to stop him from turning and walking out right then and there. Eärwen and Amarië looked equally affronted but they were wise enough not to interfere. Finrod’s smile never left his face, but his voice was cold, though he remained unfailingly polite.

“They are not reinforcements, Lady Almáriel, they are my brothers. Lord Sador is the Noldóran’s Ward and Lord Glorfindel is, in spite of appearances, still in the High King’s favor... and mine.”

Almáriel merely huffed and offered no apologies. Amarië looked appalled at her amillë’s bad behavior. Eärwen’s expression was unreadable as she came forward and gave all three ellyn a kiss in greeting, lingering the longest with Glorfindel whose own expression was still one of fury. Eärwen stroked the ellon’s unbraided hair and the look of love and acceptance in her eyes helped to bring him back to himself and he smiled somewhat sheepishly at her. Satisfied that he would be well, she turned her attention to Almáriel.

“I think tea would be in order, my dear,” the Noldotári said in a voice that brooked no dissent. That seemed to be the key to breaking the tension that was now palpable between the various parties, for Almáriel nodded and gave the Queen a proper curtsey.

“As you wish, my lady,” she said and gestured for them all to follow her into an enclosed tea garden situated off the main room of the apartments. It was not very large, but it was private. Finrod suddenly realized whose idea it was to have the tea there and raised an enquiring eyebrow at his amillë, who merely smiled beatifically at her firstborn.

Finrod and Amarië sat together around the table that was already laden with the tea. Glorfindel sat on Amarië’s right and Sador on Finrod’s left. Eärwen sat next to Sador with Almáriel flanking her. Glorfindel did not look too pleased to be seated so near the formidable elleth but refused to move even when Amarië whispered the suggestion to him. He shook his head, giving her a feral smile that brought her no comfort.

Almáriel ignored the interplay between her daughter and the Noldo and poured the tea, all the while speaking to Finrod. “I was not pleased to hear you had been released from Mandos, Findaráto, but I certainly expected you to present yourself to Amarië’s atar long before this.”

“For what purpose, lady?” Finrod asked, not bothering to keep either the confusion or the rising annoyance out of his voice.

“Why, to apologize, of course,” Almáriel said in a tone of voice that suggested that Findaráto was being deliberately obtuse. She put the teapot down and picked up the sugar tongs. “One lump or two?”

Finrod raised an eyebrow at the lady’s manner. “None, thank you.”

Sador leaned over to whisper into his brother’s ear even as Almáriel handed Finrod the teacup. “One balrog or two, my lord?”

Finrod nearly dropped the cup. Amarië took it and calmly placed it before him, giving Sador a sour look which the ellon returned with an apologetic shrug. Glorfindel smiled grimly, while Eärwen smothered a laugh. Almáriel, if she even heard the comment, chose to ignore the interplay and continued pouring the tea.

“I told Amarië soon after you... left... that she should return to Vanyamar, but she refused to leave Tirion,” Almáriel continued, sounding both hurt and affronted at her daughter’s lack of good sense. Finrod had the terrible feeling that the lady actually thought that the Rebellion had been staged for the sole purpose of snubbing her and causing her political and social embarrassment.

“I had my reasons, Ammë,” the elleth said quietly and Finrod reached under the table to take her hand and squeeze it in sympathy.

Almáriel snorted. “Reasons that even now are specious. You have been released from Mandos for over a century, my lord, yet you even now dishonor my daughter by refusing to set a date for the wedding.”

“Dishonor Amarië.... or you, lady?” Finrod asked baldly. Both Sador and Glorfindel flinched at his tone, never having an experience of seeing Finrod in this mood.

Almáriel’s eyes flashed. “I’m not the one who’s had to wait over a millennium for you, my lord. I’m not the one who’s had to sit back and allow others to sneer at me and laugh behind my back because my betrothed hides in trees like an elfling. I’m not...”

“Enough, Ammë!” Amarië nearly shouted, looking incensed.

Almáriel gave her daughter a cool stare but otherwise did not apologize, merely sitting back with a satisfied look on her face, as if she had scored a point in some game. Finrod glanced at Eärwen who sat there with hooded eyes and he suddenly had the feeling that more was going on than he knew. He glanced quickly at Glorfindel and Sador and saw by their expressions that they were thinking along the same lines. Sador was looking thoughtful and Glorfindel was merely glowering in a way that brought a thin smile to Finrod’s mouth. He had seen that same glower many times before, just before his brother was about to do something stupid... or brilliant.

He turned his attention back to Almáriel. “How does Lord Castamir feel about all this?” he asked, taking a sip of his tea.

Eärwen and Amarië gave him looks of approval. Castamir, for all his easy-going manner, was a shrewd and canny ellon who brooked no dissent from his benign despotism. Almáriel might act as if she was the one in charge, but Finrod knew it was Castamir who ruled his household. Amáriel grimaced slightly at Finrod’s question.

“Lord Castamir would like to see our daughter properly wed, but will not force the issue,” she replied with obvious reluctance.

“And you, lady?” Glorfindel suddenly asked. “What would you like to see?”

Almáriel gave the ellon a sour look. “Findaráto has had over a century to... reacquaint himself with my daughter. I think it’s high time an announcement was made setting the date for the wedding. An announcement at tomorrow night’s Ball followed by a Midsummer wedding would be most agreeable.”

Before either Finrod or Amarië could offer a protest Glorfindel nodded, smiling at the Vanyarin lady. “I agree,” he said to everyone’s amazement. “My brother has delayed the announcement far too long.”

“I think so, too,” Sador suddenly chimed in, much to Finrod’s disconcertment. Some message passed between his two brothers that Finrod could not catch, but they both looked far too satisfied with themselves for his liking.

Almáriel gave the ellyn a penetrating look but finding no deceit in their expressions inclined her head gracefully. “I am pleased to know that at least some of us here have some sense,” she said somewhat imperiously. Both Amarië and Sador grabbed Finrod’s arms under the table to stop him from rising in indignation. Glorfindel simply gave him an innocent looking smile, though his eyes told a different story. Eärwen decided to intervene at that point.

“Then it is settled,” she said softly, her expression giving nothing away of how she felt about it all. “Findaráto and Amarië will announce their wedding tomorrow night. In the meantime, we will move on to other topics of interest.” Her tone of voice was laced with royal disapproval and Almáriel had the grace to look abashed at the implied reprimand, but she still refused to apologize.

After a couple of minutes of uncomfortable silence, Amarië turned to Finrod and asked him about Alassiel. When Finrod explained the circumstances surrounding his cousin, Almáriel tried to object to such an arrangement as being unbecoming of an affianced ellon but Eärwen firmly told her that Findaráto’s behavior was unimpeachable and Almáriel had no cause to be concerned, as her daughter apparently was not.

Amarië nodded. “I do not doubt that Findaráto has conducted himself honorably with his cousin and there is no cause for accusing him of any impropriety. I trust Findaráto.” The smile she gave her beloved was brilliant and full of love.

Finrod returned her smile with one of his own that was no less brilliant and love-filled. He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you, beloved. I hope never to abuse that trust.”

At which point Glorfindel stood and gave them all a short bow. “As much as I am enjoying this little get together, I fear I must depart. There is a ceremony to be gotten through tonight and I must prepare.”

Finrod nodded and rose as well, followed by Sador. “We must go as well. Ingwë is dining with us and I must see that all is in readiness for his arrival.” He turned to Amarië and kissed her hand. “Thank you for the invitation to tea, beloved. I will see you on the morrow.” Then he turned to his amillë and gave her a gentle smile and a kiss on the cheek, whispering in her ear as he did so. “I know you’re up to something, ammë. I don’t think I approve of your deviousness.”

Eärwen gave her son her own kiss and whispered, “Where do you think your atar learned his own brand of deviousness, my son?”

He stepped back, raising his eyebrow at the implication of her words. Eärwen smiled serenely, giving him a brief nod. Collecting himself, he gave his betrothed’s amillë a proper bow. “Lady Almáriel, a pleasure as always.”

The lady in question gave a most unladylike snort of disbelief. “Of that I have my doubts, my lord.”

Glorfindel and Sador gave the ladies their own farewells and Amarië offered to see them to the door. With a promise to breakfast with her in the morning, Finrod followed his brothers out. Only when they were safely beyond the walls of the palace did Finrod stop Glorfindel with a hand on his arm.

“What did you mean by agreeing with Lady Almáriel about Amarië and me announcing our wedding at the Ball tomorrow night?” he asked with more sharpness than he had intended.

“Peace, brother,” Glorfindel said, raising his hands in protest. “Lady Almáriel’s reasoning is actually sound, if misguided. You have had a century or more to mature to the point where you need to either honor your oath to Amarië to marry her or release her so she may pursue her own path to love.”

Finrod shook his head. “She would not allow me to release her, even if I wanted to, which I don’t.”

“So I do not see where there is a problem,” Glorfindel said, refusing to back down.

“Midsummer is too soon and Amarië...” Finrod protested lamely, but stopped when he saw the looks of disbelief on both his brothers’ faces.

“That may or may not be true, Finrod,” Sador said with a wicked smile, “but Lady Almáriel didn’t specify on which Midsummer the wedding should be held, only that it should be held at Midsummer.”

For a moment Finrod could only stare at his two brothers in surprise and then as the implications of what they had just said began to sink into his consciousness he grinned and then he laughed, spinning around in an impromptu dance of delight. Soon his brothers joined him. It took a few moments for them to calm down. The guards at the gate remained impassive at the sight of the three ellyn dancing and laughing with abandon for no particular reason they could fathom, though their eyes brightened with amusement.

“Wait until I tell Amarië!” Finrod exclaimed in relief as they continued back to the tent city. Glorfindel gave Sador a smirk and Sador gave him a wink, both very pleased with themselves.

****

Eärwen was admitted into the High King’s study and found Elindis, Olwë, Lirillë and her own beloved spouse with him. Ingwë gave her an enquiring look as she took a seat next to Arafinwë.

“Well?” Ingwë demanded.

“Almáriel was as pleasant as ever,” she said with a straight face and paused while the others responded with guffaws, knowing the lady all too well. When the laughter died down she continued. “They will be making the announcement at the Ball... Almáriel is looking forward to a Midsummer wedding.”

“Oh?” Ingwë asked, raising an eyebrow.

Eärwen nodded. “Glorfindel and Sador both agreed with her,” she said diffidently and was pleased to see them all look nonplused. “Which can only mean they have thought of something to foil Almáriel’s plans in that regard.”

Arafinwë chuckled. “And knowing our elflings, Findaráto will readily agree with them.”

“But do we want them to foil Almáriel’s plans?” Elindis asked gently. “Findaráto and Amarië have been putting this wedding off for far too long. They need to be married. More importantly, Aman needs to see them married.”

Ingwë nodded. “I agree, but it must be on their terms or they may come to resent being forced into something for which neither is entirely ready.”

“Findaráto is only now reaching a level of maturity that will allow him to make such a momentous decision,” Arafinwë said. “I do not want to risk pushing him in a direction he is not ready to go.”

“He has matured remarkably in the short time since the day he and Glorfindel and Sador fell into the audience chamber,” Olwë said with a smile. “It seems having the responsibility of two younger brothers again has helped.”

Arafinwë nodded. “That and the recent events. That is why I do not want to push it, however much we here believe that their wedding is something Aman needs. We’ve waited this long, we can wait a bit longer if necessary.”

“They love each other,” Eärwen said. “That much is obvious, but both have been reluctant to take the next step, each fearing the other will reject them. Almáriel’s insistence and Glorfindel and Sador’s support may be what tips the balance.”

Ingwë nodded, then gave them all a wry look. “Now if we could only figure out what those three are up to.”

They all started laughing in agreement, and while some of them had their guesses, none of them came close to the mark.

****

Noldotári: (Quenya) Queen of the Noldor; modeled after Noldóran, which is attested.

Henair: (Sindarin) Plural of hanar: Brother. It is unclear if Tolkien meant for this word to replace the older 'Noldorin' muindorHanar is the cognate of the Quenya háno.

112: Dinner and Diversion

Ingwë was both impressed and annoyed by the guards at the entrance to the tent city who stopped his party politely with a challenge. By their dress and mannerisms he thought they were Tol Eressëan Noldor. Their speech was somewhat slurred, sounding more sibilant. He wasn’t sure he liked that. No doubt their Quenya had been influenced by the speech of the Sindar during their long sojourn in Endórë.

Still, he found them to be clear-eyed and competent in their dealings with his own guards and the Vanyarin escort responded in kind. As Ingwë looked over the encampment, listening to the mixture of Quenya and Sindarin being spoken, he saw that only a few of the more brightly dressed Amaneldi held themselves aloof from the more sober Tol Eressëans. He was surprised to see Vanyarin warriors there, for he simply assumed that they would remain in Vanyamar, leaving the tent city to the visitors from Tirion, Alqualondë and the Lonely Isle, but on reflection realized that that thought was both naive and unworthy of him.

He recalled the conversation he had had with Lord Manwë when he had first sought permission to allow the Tol Eressëan elves to compete in the tournament, knowing that the Valar’s ban still held...

****

“More of a precaution rather than an absolute ban,” the Elder King said as Ingwë made known his concern. “You and they little realize how much they were affected by Melkor’s taint.”

Ingwë gave Manwë a perplexed look. “How so, lord? Our sundered kin are not evil.”

“Nor do we say so,” Lord Námo replied for his brother Vala. All of the Valar, in fact, were there, for it was Valanya and, as was customary, Ingwë had come to Taniquetil to pay his respects to the Elder King and all the Valar. “The key to understanding our meaning, Ingwë, is in the word ‘sundered’. The Sindar were separated from us for long ages and fought against our Fallen Brother’s minions after Angamando was reinhabited. The Noldor who went into Exile joined them in that fight. You have seen the results of that even in the Reborn with their memories of those dark times. None came away from that unscathed. Even the Amaneldi have been affected to some degree, as we have seen by the unrest that has swept through this land of late.”

Manwë nodded. “In time, those who are now living on Tol Eressëa will be imbued with our Peace. Already, those who arrived in the early years of this age have been... purged, let us say, of much of the darkness their lives entailed. They are learning to live in a land of peace without the constant need for vigilance against evil. It will take time, though, and as each succeeding wave of Returnees reaches these shores, those who came before will desire to remove themselves to the mainland. That is part of the unrest we have been experiencing lately. Some of the Tol Eressëans are already looking to move on, to explore new lands and establish new kingdoms of their own.”

Ingwë looked at the Valar in surprise. “New kingdoms! Is that possible, nay, is that even wise?”

“Wise or not, Ingwë, it is as it is,” Námo said. “Yet, fear not. It will take time for these things to be worked out. That is where the Reborn come into play....”

****

Ingwë shook his head as he cleared his thoughts of that conversation. He had come away from that meeting with much to think on and even now he was unsure of his feelings towards the words of the Valar. Still, as Lord Námo had pointed out, it would take time to work out all the details and if there was one thing they all had plenty of, it was time.

He smiled to himself as they approached the entrance to Findaráto’s compound and waited while his guards had words with the guards standing before his nephew’s tent. The presence of the guards within the encampment surprised him, but then he realized that they were there to give Findaráto some privacy. As the only Beleriandic king to have been released from Mandos, Findaráto was, in the eyes of many of the Tol Eressëans, their High King even before Ingwë himself.

He wasn’t sure he liked that idea either...

“Fair greetings, my lord king.”

Ingwë felt Elindis give him a slight nudge and he looked up to see the object of his musings standing before him, smiling at him.

“And to you also, my lady,” Finrod bowed to Elindis and kissed the hand that was offered him. “Please, enter and be welcome.” He stepped aside and Ingwë and Elindis entered along with the two guards that propriety and good sense demanded should accompany them. The guards joined their fellows by the entrance as Finrod led his guests into the pavilion.

Ingwë saw that the dining table was covered with a white linen tablecloth edged with lace. The plates were of cut-glass as were the goblets. The silverware gleamed in the light of the candelabrum that graced the center of the table. Standing around the table were Sador, Laurendil, Manwen, Glorfindel and Ingwion who had come down earlier in order to visit with his otornor before dinner. Alassiel and Vorondil, both neatly dressed in tabards, stood to one side waiting to serve the first remove. All of them gave the High King and his spouse their obeisance, which the royals acknowledged with nods and smiles.

Soon they were all seated with Ingwë at one end and Finrod at the other. The High King was flanked by Elindis on his right and Ingwion on his left. Glorfindel sat next to Elindis and Manwen next to Ingwion. Laurendil sat on Finrod’s right while Sador sat on his left. Alassiel and Vorondil quietly began setting out the bread, honey butter, hard and soft cheese and bowls of cassia and chicken soup that would be the first remove of the meal. A mulled cider was served with this particular course. Ingwë eyed Alassiel and gave her a wry look.

“By rights, my dear, you should be eating with us instead of serving,” he said as Alassiel placed a basket of bread on the table. She was still sporting the sling so she could not do any of the actual serving, which was left for Vorondil to do.

Alassiel shook her head. “I only brought this upon myself, Uncle.” She stole a glance at Finrod sitting at the other end of the table. The ellon smiled at her and she smiled back. “And beside, someone needs to keep an eye on Vorondil. He tends to get a little excited.”

The ellon in question was heard to sigh rather loudly and several people around the table snickered. Ingwë found himself smiling in spite of himself. He turned his attention to Glorfindel who he saw was formally dressed. Around his neck was the pendant he had been wearing the night Ingwë had turned him over to Martandur, but his hair was still unbraided. He noticed that Findaráto, Laurendil and Sador had their hair carefully braided with their outlandish beads and gems glittering in the light of the candelabrum.

“Why have you not rebraided your hair, Glorfindel?” he asked quietly and saw the ellon flinch slightly at his question.

It was Finrod who answered, though. “Glorfindel has his reasons, Uncle. We will respect them.”

The underlying sense of authority in Finrod’s tone made Ingwë raise an eyebrow. He noticed that both his wife and son had looks of amusement on their faces and scowled to himself. “I see,” was all he said in response before taking a sip of his soup. It was quite good, actually, and he thought he tasted cinnamon in the mixture.

Glorfindel, meanwhile, kept his eyes on his lap and was the only one not eating. Then he looked up at Ingwë. “What will happen tonight, lord?” he asked in a whisper.

Ingwë stopped eating, as did everyone else. They were obviously waiting to hear the High King’s answer. Ingwë gave Glorfindel a sympathetic look. “We will make it as simple and as painless as possible. You will be called before me and you will formally ask for my forgiveness and I will formally accept it. We have already done this in private, my son,” he said when he saw Glorfindel turn pale, “this is just a mere formality for the sake of propriety. Many will need to be visibly shown that you and I are reconciled... if that is what you truly wish.”

Ingwë sat there, eyeing the ellon, waiting for a response, as did everyone else. Glorfindel did not look up from his plate and did not speak for several minutes. When he did speak, it was barely above a whisper. “It is what I wish.”

“Then there is nothing more to be said,” Ingwë replied. “Let us simply enjoy this meal together and worry about the ceremony when it comes, shall we?”

Glorfindel cast a quick glance at the High King, then nodded.

“Good,” Ingwë said with a relieved smile. “Now I can truly enjoy this most delicious soup and we can talk of inconsequential matters for the rest of the evening.”

Glorfindel smiled slightly back. “How inconsequential?”

“Who’s going to win the tournament, for instance?”

Glorfindel and Finrod stole glances at each other before answering in unison, “I am, of course.”

Everyone laughed and the two ellyn joined them.

****

The second remove consisted of a cheese, onion and currant tart, twice baked fish in a red wine sauce and peas in almond milk. A lovely white wine with honey and spices accompanied this particular course. Conversation was light and centered around the tournament and what they hoped to accomplish with it. The third remove came in due course, consisting of a venison pie with raisins, apples, prunes, dates and figs. A side dish of cracked wheat in almond milk and broth for dipping accompanied the pie and the course was completed with gingerbread and a raspberry wine that had a hint of oak in it. It went well with the venison. All throughout the meal the conversation remained good-natured as they drifted from talking about the tournament to talking about the weather and the hope for a seasonable spring.

At one point Ingwë managed to convince the three Reborn ellyn to talk about their experiences after their deaths. They all refused to speak of what had occurred within the Halls of Mandos, preferring instead to talk about the troubles they had had adjusting to a body again and trying to integrate their memories with their present experiences. For the Once-born, it was an eye-opening revelation of what these three had gone through before ever leaving Lórien.

They were enjoying the fourth and final remove of pears in a honey and wine syrup topped with raisins and bogberries, along with oatcakes and shortbread and a heady mead when Mithlas entered the pavilion and went straight to Finrod without even acknowledging anyone else’s presence. He bent down and whispered something in Finrod’s ear. Everyone saw Finrod’s eyes widen.

“You’re sure of this?” he asked quietly.

Mithlas nodded and the onlookers were surprised to see the Sinda smiling. “The Nandor in the trees saw them attempting to pass unnoticed as they made their way across the field. Gilvagor has ordered the guards not to interfere, but sent me to warn you.”

Finrod suddenly looked feral. “Alassiel, get me my sword,” he demanded as he stood up and grinned wickedly at Ingwë. “Care to join me in a little hunting, Uncle? It seems that some elflings from the city are thinking of sneaking into the encampment. Would you like to come watch as we... er... stop them?”

Ingwë raised an eyebrow and smiled back with a nod. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

“Let me get my sword,” Glorfindel said with a wicked smile of his own as he stood up and ran to the sleeping section. Sador laughed and joined him. Laurendil and Manwen gave each other looks and Manwen shook her head.

“You’d best go, love, and make sure the children don’t hurt anyone,” Manwen said. Laurendil grinned.

“Which children would that be?” he asked, casting an amused look at Finrod as the ellon was buckling his sword.

Finrod laughed, knowing what Laurendil really meant, and pointed a finger at him. “Just for that, you can lead the sortie. Alassiel, lend Laurendil your sword.”

“Yes, my lord,” the elleth said and left the pavilion.

Laurendil looked at Finrod with an unreadable expression. “I foreswore the bearing of arms, aranya,” he said.

“But not your oaths to me, Amborondanya,” Finrod retorted, something in his expression turning dangerous. Even Ingwë and Ingwion found themselves flinching.

Laurendil was still vacillating when Alassiel returned and thrust her sword into his hands, giving him a wry grin. “It’s no use arguing with him, Laurendil,” she said. “You know you won’t win, so you might as well humor him... like I do.”

Glorfindel and Sador were returning when they heard Alassiel’s remark. Glorfindel snickered and winked at Sador who grinned back while Finrod just stood there feigning indignation but all the time laughing.

Laurendil looked about and sighed. “Ve merilyes, aranya,” he said and Finrod merely nodded.

Elindis indicated that she would remain behind to keep Manwen company and Finrod asked Alassiel to stay behind as well. “Your injury will only make things dangerous for you,” he said and Alassiel agreed, stating she preferred to visit with her Great Aunt anyway.

In the meantime, Vorondil was trying to convince Finrod to let him come. “Please, Master, don’t leave me behind with the ellith,” he whispered pleadingly.

Finrod gave him a fond smile and nodded. “But you must practice silence and you are not to leave Sador’s side.” He cast a look at his gwador, who nodded, accepting the responsibility.

Vorondil nearly jumped up and down in delight, for he had been convinced even as he asked that Finrod would refuse him. “Thank you, Master.”

Finrod turned to the Sinda waiting patiently for them. “Lead the way, Mithlas,” he ordered and Mithlas gave Finrod a quick bow and they followed him out of the compound with Laurendil by his side. Finrod was right behind with Ingwë, while Sador, Ingwion and Vorondil brought up the rear.

They made their way through the encampment, silently picking up an escort, much to Ingwë’s surprise and Finrod’s amusement. A soft word was passed around and Ingwë heard quiet snickers among the Tol Eressëan elves with their warrior braids. At one point Mithlas stopped and whispered something to Finrod, who nodded, then gave quiet instructions in Sindarin to the other warriors. Ingwë was impressed by how silently these warriors melted away and he had a sick feeling that whatever ambush strategy Findaráto had devised, this was not the first time any of them had ever done anything like this. Even Laurendil looked deadly now that he had accepted Findaráto’s orders. He cast a glance at Ingwion and was dismayed to see the same glow of excitement emenating from his own son’s eyes, though the ellon was unarmed.

Finrod motioned to Ingwë, who stepped closer so the Noldo could whisper in his ear. “The elflings have been spotted heading for the northeast corner of the encampment. I’ve sent my people to outflank them so they can’t escape back to the city.”

“Your people?” Ingwë asked, stepping back.

Finrod’s smile was brilliant even in the dark. “For the moment. Shall we go?”

Ingwë stared at his nephew, feeling as if he’d been transported to Endórë and Melkor’s minions were about to attack. He suddenly realized that to Findaráto and the other elves of the encampment, this was not a game, but had once been their reality. He blinked and the sense of disconnect faded and he nodded. “Yes, let us go.”

They continued on with Finrod cautioning those who were unarmed to stay back. “Do not interfere,” he admonished them. “I mean to teach these children a lesson they won’t soon forget, though I don’t intend to do them any serious harm.”

“You may not,” Ingwë retorted, “but I just might.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that but otherwise did not comment.

They were now near the northeast quadrant of the encampment and Ingwë realized that it was quieter and darker here than elsewhere. He noticed that the perimeter guards were few and seemed curiously to have all fallen asleep. He almost snorted out loud when he realized what his nephew had planned for the unsuspecting elflings.

The rustle of grass beyond the dark perimeter and stifled giggles alerted them all to the elflings’ presence. Even Vorondil raised an eyebrow and shook his head, feeling superior to the younger elflings, for he at least knew how to move silently, or so he imagined. The older elves around him suppressed smiles at his expression. Then the smiles disappeared as Finrod drew his sword. Laurendil and Glorfindel did the same and Mithlas silently drew his bow. Sador put a hand on Vorondil’s shoulder and placed a finger in warning on the ellon’s lips. Ingwion, Ingwë noticed with approval, stood on Vorondil’s other side.

The encampment, Ingwë knew, was surrounded by a fence similar to the one around Findaráto’s pavilion. It consisted of thick ropes between poles that were evenly spaced with panels of heavy silk draped over the rope and  tied together. It was not meant to be anything but a courtesy screen, though Finrod’s patrols lent it a more serious air. From the sounds coming from the other side of the fence, including one or two muttered curses, the elflings were having difficulty finding the ties, but at last one part of the curtain shifted and dark forms slipped through.

Ingwion counted five elflings: three ellyn and two ellith trailing behind. They looked to be no older than thirty, which surprised him, as he thought they would be older. He was going to have to have a chat with their parents when all was said and done.

The adults had arranged themselves so their presence wouldn’t be obvious to the children. Finrod, Glorfindel, Laurendil and Mithlas were absolutely still. If Ingwë hadn’t known they were there he would never have detected them. Laurendil let all but the last elfling pass him before he reached out and lightly touched the elleth on the shoulder. The poor child shrieked and attempted to flee. The other children tried to run in different directions as well only to be confronted by nearly thirty well-armed warriors who suddenly appeared out of the darkness, their swords drawn. They ran shrieking back towards Finrod’s group. The other elleth ran right into Ingwë’s arms, while Sador, Glorfindel and Ingwion each snatched up one of the ellyn.

“Let’s have some light,” Finrod called out and immediately torches were lit. Finrod then went to each shrieking elfling, starting with the one in Laurendil’s arms, and placing a gentle hand on their foreheads, spoke a soft word of command that sent them all into a deep sleep.

When silence reigned once more around them, Finrod gave Vorondil whispered instructions that sent the ellon running back to the pavilion. Finrod looked over the now sleeping elflings, his expression unreadable. “Bring them,” he commanded quietly as he set off towards his pavilion.

“What do you mean to do with them, Nephew?” Ingwë asked as he cradled the elleth in his arms.

“Make an example,” Finrod replied.

They made a rather strange procession through the encampment with Finrod in the lead. By the time they reached his pavilion it seemed as if half the population of the tent city was following them, curious to know what the once King of Nargothrond intended to do with five elflings.

****

Ve merilyes, aranya: “As you wish it, my king.”

Finrod’s Dinner Menu: The menu for Finrod’s dinner with the High King is based on authentic medieval recipes, which can be accessed at the following websites:

http://www.medievalcookery.com/recipes.shtm and http://www.godecookery.com/latest/latest.htm

First Remove: Bread with honey butter; Cheese, Cassia (Cinnamon) Soup, Mulled Cider.

Second Remove: Ember Day Tart (cheese, onion and currant tart), Green Pesen Royal (peas in almond milk), Salomene (twice baked fish with red wine sauce), Claree (white wine with honey and spices).

Third Remove: Venison Custarde (venison pie with prunes, dates, raisins and apples), Frumenty (cracked wheat in almond milk and broth; traditionally served with venison), Gingerbrede, Raspberry wine.

Fourth Remove: Peeres in Confyt (pears cooked in honey and wine syrup, topped with raisins and bogberries; the addition of the fruit topping is original to me and is based on variations of this popular dessert), Oatcakes, Shortbread, Mead.

113: iArachûd Finrod Aran

When they arrived at the pavilion it was to find that a throne had been set up before it. It was one of the dining chairs draped with a blue silk cloth. Behind it were two standards. One belonged to the House of Finwë in Aman: argent on a roundel azure a sun of eight beams extending to the field or. The second showed Finrod’s personal emblem set on a lozenge: azure, a harp argent and a torch or enflamed gules, a bordure alternating or and argent. Torches stood on either side of the throne, lending a rather barbaric air to the scene. Several warriors rushed to their own pavilions to hastily don armor to act as Finrod’s honor guard. On their return they lined up on either side of the throne, forming an avenue down which the elflings would have to pass before reaching the throne and the one who sat in it. It was obvious that Finrod meant to impress the elflings and took the coming “trial” with all seriousness. Yet, Ingwë detected a gleam of amusement in everyone’s eyes as they rushed about to ready the stage.

Ingwë laid his burden on the cot in Alassiel’s tent at his nephew’s direction. Laurendil did the same with his and Manwen indicated she would watch over the ellith. The ellyn were placed in Laurendil’s tent.

“We will wake the ellyn first,” Finrod told them as they met in front of the throne to listen to his instructions. “I have no doubt that they are behind this little escapade.”

“How do you figure that, aranya?” Manwen asked.

Finrod smiled. “Because if it had been the ellith, they would’ve been in the front.” Everyone snickered at that.

Finally, all was in readiness. Ingwë indicated that he would remain in the background and would not interfere with what Finrod planned. He and Elindis sat by the dining table where they could see and hear all that occurred without themselves being seen. Ingwion asked to stand beside Glorfindel, curious to see how his younger cousin would conduct himself and both Ingwë and Finrod gave their permission. Thus, Finrod was flanked by Glorfindel and Ingwion on his right and Sador on his left. Alassiel and Vorondil stayed with the High King and Queen, acting as their attendants on Finrod’s orders. Laurendil and Mithlas would act as bodyguards to the elflings, escorting them before the throne.

Finrod, still dressed formally in a knee-length peacock blue brocaded silk tunic in a diaper pattern of stars and diamonds with a silk shirt the color of buttercups, sat upon the throne with his sheathed sword across his knees. He wore a crown of yellow chrysanthemums on his head, indicating that this was not a court of war but of peace, though the elflings would probably not appreciate the distinction. Finrod looked around, nodding in satisfaction at the scene they presented and turned to Laurendil. “Bring the ellyn to me.”

Laurendil nodded and he and Mithlas went to where the ellyn still slept. It was a matter of minutes before they herded three half-awake and confused looking ellyn down the corridor of armed warriors, their front braids glittering in the torchlight, their armor of mithril and silver casting a white glow about them. Their expressions were solemn and all stood with swords drawn, their points to the ground. The ellyn stumbled towards the throne, their eyes glued to the august figure sitting before them. Finrod’s eyes shone with the light of the Two Trees, but there was something darker, something not of Aman in his gaze and the elflings nearly whimpered, trembling at the sight of Finrod’s majesty.

Laurendil and Mithlas brought them before the throne and made them kneel before Finrod who gazed at them in an implacable silence that lengthened to nearly an intolerable degree before he spoke.

“I thought you said these were orcs, Mithlas,” he said, casting an amused look at the Sinda standing behind the elflings. “They don’t look like any orcs I’ve ever killed.”

All three ellyn turned absolutely white at Finrod’s words. Mithlas merely shrugged, willing to play his beloved friend’s game.

“I said they moved about like orcs, aranya,” he retorted. “The Nandor in the trees heard them long before they were seen.”

“Ah, I see,” was Finrod’s only reply and then he cast his gaze upon the ellyn again and they all quailed. “Your names, elflings,” he demanded.

Two of the ellyn were too terrified to speak, merely shaking their heads mutely. The third, who looked to be slightly older than the others, gathered his courage to ask a question of his own. “Wh-who are you, lord, and wh-where is m-my si-sister and... and Eruanna?”

Finrod stared at him for a moment before answering. “I am Findaráto, King of Nargothrond that was, and Haryon to the Noldóran. As for your sister and the other maid, they are well and will join us presently. For the nonce, I would have words with you and your... otornor.”

The three ellyn straightened somewhat at Finrod’s words but they still looked suitably terrified. Finrod repeated his question. “What are your names?”

“M-my name is Sorondil and... and this is Oromendil and Veryandur,” the older ellon answered, pointing to the other two as he named them.

Veryandur looked ready to faint and Finrod gave a quiet command to Sador who quickly went to the sideboard and poured water into three cups, placing them on a tray, and at Finrod’s direction gave them to the ellyn. All three drank eagerly and it seemed to steady them, for their color returned to normal and they were not trembling as much. When they were finished drinking, Sador took the cups and placed them on the sideboard before returning to Finrod’s side. Finrod resumed his interrogation.

“Whose brilliant idea was it to attempt to infiltrate an armed encampment?” he asked sardonically.

The three ellyn exchanged glances and then Sorondil timidly raised his hand.

“I see,” Finrod said, leaning back on his throne as he contemplated the elflings before him. Then he looked up at Laurendil. “Let’s have the ellith join us, Amborondanya.”

“Of course, aranya,” Laurendil said with a bow and went to do Finrod’s bidding. While they waited, Finrod ignored the three ellyn, indicating to Glorfindel to bend down so he could whisper something. Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at whatever Finrod said to him, but nodded as he straightened up, his gaze fixed on Veryandur, much to that ellon’s horror, as the light of the Two Trees emanated from Glorfindel’s eyes. The poor child was nearly in tears now, wishing he had never agreed to join his friends in this venture. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to be safe in his emmë’s arms, even though only hours before he would have scorned such a need, considering himself too old for it. Now, he thought differently and wondered how it would all turn out.

Sorondil and Oromendil had similar thoughts, though they were making valiant attempts to appear calm and in control, attempts that both amused and impressed the warriors standing about them. Veryandur, they could see was probably much younger than his companions and they had nothing but sympathy for him, though not even Finrod would show him or the others any mercy in that regard. The elflings little realized what a dangerous game they were playing and how very close they had come to serious harm even unto death. Had this been Endórë, there would have been no doubt as to the outcome, for it would have been a situation of acting first and asking questions later.

A stir from Alassiel’s tent brought everyone’s attention to the two ellith making their frightened way towards Finrod’s throne. One of them saw Sorondil and with a cry started to run to him. Sorondil tried to stand to gather his sister in his arms, but Mithlas stayed him and Laurendil held the weeping elleth back. The other maid merely stood there rooted on the spot and with a nod from Finrod, Manwen gathered her gently into her arms and put her beside Veryandur while Laurendil brought Sorondil’s sister forward, making her kneel beside her brother.

Finrod looked at them for a moment before turning to Sorondil. “Introduce us to the ellith.”

Sorondil paled somewhat but complied. “Th-this is my sister, Lindorillë, and the other one is Eruanna. She’s... she’s Oromendil’s cousin.”

Finrod nodded to the two ellith. “Greetings, little maids. I regret we must meet under such grievous circumstances.”

Lindorillë swallowed visibly before plucking up her courage to speak. “P-please, sir, do-don’t hurt us. W-we didn’t mean to... to...”

Finrod raised a hand and his expression softened. “Be at peace, child. None here will harm you. But you must all realize the seriousness of what you have done.”

“We... we just wanted a look,” Veryandur whispered, then hid his face in his hands and started weeping, appalled by his own boldness. Eruanna put an arm around the ellon’s shoulders and started weeping as well.

Surprisingly, Oromendil turned to Sorondil with a disgusted look. “I told you we shouldn’t have brought the babies with us.”

Finrod leaned forward to gaze at the ellon intently. “Babes they may be in your eyes, child, but you are not much older. Do not disparage their tears. They are honestly come by and speak much of their innocence.”

Oromendil gulped and looked down, his expression sheepish. Sorondil took the opportunity to address Finrod. “What are you going to do to us, lord?” he whispered.

Finrod leaned back again, idly fingering the sheath of his sword in an unconscious manner. All the elflings watched him, mesmerized. None of them noticed the faint smile on Finrod’s face. He looked up at Glorfindel and nodded.

Glorfindel took a step forward and the elflings were forced to look up at him towering over them. He looked down at them dispassionately for a moment before he spoke. “Invading the king’s encampment is a serious offense, my children. In Endórë the punishment would have been death.” He paused for a moment to let his words sink in and all saw the elflings sway in terror of them. “However... this is not Endórë,” he continued. “Nevertheless, the King’s Peace has been seriously breached and punishment must be meted out.”

“Wh-what sort of punishment?” Sorondil asked.

“As you broke the King’s Peace you will each take an oath of fealty to him for a period of time and be in his service until he releases you.”

“B-but we’re just elflings,” Veryandur protested. “We’re too young...”

“Too young to take oath, but not too young to disturb the King’s Peace?” Glorfindel countered coldly. The elflings all cowered at his tone. “I think not. At any rate, the decision has been made and in this you have no choice.”

Lindorillë spoke up then. “Our parents...”

“I will apprise them of your misdeeds, and the High King will be told as well,” Finrod interjected and at the mention of Ingwë all the elflings paled even more.

“What so-sort of service, lord?” Eruanna stammered in a voice barely above a whisper and Finrod gave her a sympathetic smile which comforted her and she began to relax somewhat.

“That remains to be seen, child,” Finrod said, “but I assure you it will not be onerous or against your deepest will. You little realize how much danger you put yourselves in trying to sneak into the camp for a look. I mean to make you an example for any other elflings with the same idea.” He stood then and Glorfindel stepped back. The elflings just stared at Finrod with their mouths agape for he seemed to glow in an aura of silvery-golden light. He drew his sword out slowly from its sheath, then held it out with the hilt pointed towards them, handing the sheath to Sador as he did so.

“Now, who will take oath first?” he asked mildly.

For several tense moments no one spoke. Sorondil and Oromendil exchanged looks but otherwise made no other move. Lindorillë was looking at the ground before her, biting her lips. Veryandur and Eruanna clung to one another, then surprisingly, Eruanna straightened, her eyes wide, her face white. She made to rise and Manwen, standing behind her, aided her.

“I... I will,” she stammered faintly.

Veryandur looked up and nodded, his tears glittering in the torchlight. “M-me, too,” he whispered though he made no move to rise. Finrod suddenly smiled at them both and gestured for Veryandur to stand up. Laurendil gave him a hand and then he and Manwen led them forward to stand before Finrod.

“You may both take the oath together if you wish,” he said gently.

They nodded mutely but before anyone could do or say anything more, there was a stir of air and then Eönwë was there with the Book of Oaths in his hands, looking solemn, though there was just a hint of levity in his voice when he spoke.

“Did someone mention oaths?”

Eruanna and Veryandur shrank from the sight and nearly everyone else took a step back at the presence of the Maia. The warriors, to an ellon, gave the Herald of Manwë and Captain of the Host of Valinor a salute, their swords upraised, which Eönwë acknowledged with a bow of his head. Finrod merely gave the Maia a small smile.

“Aren’t you pushing the point a bit, my lord?” he asked with amusement. “I haven’t even invoked the Valar yet and you are already here.”

“It’s going to be a busy night,” Eönwë said pointedly, giving Glorfindel a significant look which did not go unnoticed by any of them, though the elflings all had confused looks on their faces, not understanding what was being said. “Shall we get on with it... your Majesty?” he asked as the Book of Oaths opened of its own accord.

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that but then nodded, turning his attention to Veryandur and Eruanna still standing before him. “If you will do this, then kneel.” They did so and Finrod continued speaking, looking at Eruanna with a smile. “Because you were the first to offer to take oath to me, my daughter, your servitude will be for only a short while.” Then he turned to Veryandur, smiling at him as well. “As will yours, Veryandur.”

The other three elflings glanced worriedly at one another, wondering how long their own service to this strange and terrifying Elf-lord would be and what manner of service he would require of them.

Finrod instructed the two elflings to place their hands on the hilt of his sword. “Do either of you know how to take an oath of service?” he asked them. When they both shook their heads, he nodded and gave Glorfindel a look. Glorfindel gave Finrod a short bow and then moved to kneel behind the two elflings, placing a hand on each of their shoulders to offer them some comfort.

“Just repeat after me using your own names,” he said gently and then spoke the words of the oath using simple language for their sakes.

“As the Valar are my witnesses, I promise to be obedient unto my lord Findaráto, to go when he says go and to come when he says come. In all things I will be loyal to him and do whatever service my lord requires of me from this hour henceforth until my lord releases me of my duty.”

The two of them were in tears by the time they stammered out the last part of their oaths. Finrod gave them a sympathetic smile. “And I shall not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given. Fealty with love, valor with honor, disloyalty with wrath.” He looked pointedly at Eönwë then before he continued. “Valar valuvar.”

Eönwë gave him a gracious nod as he continued to write in the Book. Then Finrod gave his sword to Sador and stooped to raise up first Eruanna and then Veryandur, giving them both a kiss on the forehead and gently wiping their tears from their cheeks before instructing them to stand beside Manwen. Glorfindel, in the meantime, stood and resumed his place beside his brother.

Finrod then turned his attention to the other three elflings. “Your servitude will be somewhat longer I think,” he told them, “as I have no doubt that you three, and in particular Sorondil, were the ringleaders. For that reason, I will require that you each take the oath separately.”

He motioned for Lindorillë to come forward, which she did with some reluctance. “Do you remember the words of the oath or do you need Lord Glorfindel to repeat them for you?” he asked her.

Lindorillë looked chagrined, admitting that she did not remember all the words, so Glorfindel repeated them, though he did not kneel behind her as he had for Eruanna and Veryandur. When Lindorillë finished, it was Oromendil’s turn and then finally Sorondil’s. When it was over, Finrod gave his sword to Sador, but he did not offer to kiss them as he had the other two elflings. Instead, he gazed upon them solemnly.

“The hour grows late and no doubt your parents are wondering where you are. I will have my people go to them and explain what has happened. You will all remain here for the night under guard.” He turned to where the High King still sat and motioned for Alassiel to come forward. “I will place these two ellith in your safekeeping, Cousin,” he said and Alassiel gave Finrod a curtsey.

“I will see that they are properly taken care of, my lord.”

Finrod nodded. “Then take them and see that they lack for nothing in the way of comfort. Your tent is somewhat small for the three of you, though, and I regret any inconvenience.”

Alassiel shook her head. “Do not fear for us, my lord. We will be fine. If you wish I shall take the opportunity to instruct them as to their duty to you.”

“That is well, Cousin,” Finrod said. “Go now and we will see each other in the morning. I fear you will miss the ceremonies at the High King’s court.”

Alassiel shrugged. “I am yours to command, lord, in all things. I’m sure Lord Glorfindel will fill me in on all the details later.” Here she cast a grin at the Noldo who nodded and gave her his own grin.

Finrod nodded and turned to Laurendil. “Sorondil and Oromendil I give into your keeping, Amborondanya. I trust you and your lady will not be too inconvenienced.”

Laurendil bowed. “You have our lives, aranya. The ellyn will be safe with us.”

Veryandur was now looking very white, unsure why he was not going to stay with his friends. He was about three years younger than the others, including Eruanna, and wondered if he was going to be punished for being such a baby. Finrod divined his thoughts and smiled, motioning for Vorondil to come forward even as he placed a comforting arm around Veryandur’s shoulders.

“This is Vorondil,” he said to Veryandur. “He’s in my service, too. Vorondil, I’m giving you Veryandur to watch over tonight. I think he would appreciate your company.”

Vorondil bowed to Finrod. “Yes, Master. I would be happy for the company as Mithlas is on duty tonight, so I’ll be all alone otherwise.”

“That is well then,” Finrod said. “Go now, and take these children to their rest,” he commanded and with bows from all, the elflings were taken away.

At that point, Ingwë came forth from the shadows, giving Eönwë a brief bow before speaking to Finrod. “Very impressive, Nephew. So what will you do with them and what should I say to their parents?”

Finrod smiled at Ingwë. “As soon as I have that figured out, Uncle, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

For a moment there was silence and then Ingwë threw back his head and laughed. All there joined him. When the laughter died down a bit Finrod gave Glorfindel an amused look. “Now, háno, it is your turn, or it will be soon.”

Ingwë nodded, clapping a hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Yes, it is almost time. Let us hence to my court and get this over with.” Glorfindel nodded.

“In the meantime,” Finrod said, “I would ask that the parents of these elflings be found and brought to your court, Uncle,  that you and I may have words with them together. By now, I suspect they are in a panic over the whereabouts of their children.”

Ingwë nodded and began issuing orders. Soon the compound was empty of warriors and spectators as Finrod and Ingwë led the way to Vanyamar for the New Year’s ceremony that would take place an hour hence at midnight. Behind them were five very frightened elflings who now slept from exhaustion, their dreams troubled by images of their oathtaking and the stern king who had stood before them, accepting their oaths.

****

iArachûd Finrod Aran: (Sindarin) The Court of King Finrod. [Arachûd, literally, “royal assembly” which is the meaning of the word “court” in this context.] As Finrod spoke Sindarin at the court he held in his own right as King of Nargothrond, it seemed appropriate to use Sindarin here rather than Quenya.

A note on Finrod’s heraldic standards: I have adapted these from attested descriptions by Tolkien of the various heraldic devices used by the Eldar. Personal emblems were apparently placed on a lozenge or diamond. The House of Finwë in Aman standard is actually Arafinwë’s emblem tipped forty-five degrees to form a square.

Thus, the House standard is a white background with a blue circle in the center on which is a sun with eight straight sunbeams reaching to the edge of the square. Finrod’s personal emblem is blue with a silver harp and a gold torch with red flames. There is a border of alternating strips of white and gold. See http://www.forodrim.org/gobennas/heraldry/heraldry.htm.

A crown of golden flowers was also used by Finrod as a personal emblem. During the “trial” he wears a crown of yellow chrysanthemums (Glebionis coronaria, syn. Chrysanthemum coronaria “crown daisy” or “garland chrysanthemum”) The chrysanthemum (Greek for “golden flower”) is a symbol of nobility and in modern flower language means “friendship”.

114: Reconciliation

By five minutes to midnight Ingwë’s court was assembled and waiting for the drama they knew was about to unfold. There was an air of excitement and expectation that bordered on the prurient. Glorfindel muttered an oath or two as he waited to be summoned, being careful not to invoke either Eru, the Valar or even Ingwë’s name for fear of having Eönwë show up with that damnable Book of his. Finrod stood patiently beside him, smiling faintly at his brother’s nervousness. Sador was there as well, looking unaccountably calm and cool. His only reaction to Glorfindel’s muttering was to pour himself another goblet of wine from the sideboard in the antechamber to the throne room where the three were congregated.

"Cursing isn’t going to help any, Glorfindel," he said mildly, taking a sip of the wine and smacking his lips appreciatively. "Take a deep breath and remember that you are a Lord of the House of the Golden Flower and brother to a Prince of Eldamar."

"They’re like vultures out there," Glorfindel snarled, "just waiting to see me falter so they can pick my bones clean."

"Nice imagery," Finrod said drolly. Glorfindel gave him a sour look and shook his head. He was saved from having to actually respond to Finrod’s words by the appearance of the chamberlain beckoning to the ellyn to follow him. Glorfindel unconsciously straightened, suddenly going pale. Finrod stood in front of him, brushing off nonexistent lint from the ellon’s tunic while Sador put his goblet down and stood at Glorfindel’s back, rubbing it gently as a way of calming him.

"Take a deep breath," Finrod told him. "Remember, in spite of appearances, we’re all family here. Ingwë loves you, Glorfindel. He wants only to acknowledge that love before others."

"He’s going about it in a funny way," Glorfindel muttered with a scowl.

"He’s going about it the only way you left open," Sador said, clapping Glorfindel on the shoulder as he moved to face him. "I’m wondering if I wasn’t the only one released from Mandos sooner than I should have been. Your behavior of late has been most erratic, my brother. I can’t keep up." He gave Glorfindel a brilliant smile and Finrod chuckled.

"You may have the right of it, Sador," he said, taking Glorfindel’s arm and pulling him towards the door. "Come, let’s get this over with so we can enjoy the Ball."

Glorfindel sighed but allowed Finrod and Sador to lead him into the throne room. As soon as they stepped past the threshold the chamberlain announced them.

"His Highness, Prince Findaráto, Haryon of the Noldóran and King of Nargothrond." There was a stir at this last title but it quickly died down as the chamberlain continued the introductions. "My lord Sador Bronwegion of Lestanórë and Royal Ward of the Noldóran. My lord Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Ondolindë, Valarauconehtar."

The chamberlain stepped aside and Glorfindel, flanked by Finrod on his left and Sador on his right moved purposefully towards the throne where Ingwë sat in royal splendor with Elindis by his side. Arafinwë and Eärwen sat on thrones that were one step down on Ingwë’s right while Olwë and Lirillë occupied similar thrones on Elindis’ left. Ingwion, as Haryon and Aranaráto stood beside his atar’s throne to the right of his sire. Ingwë, Glorfindel saw with some trepidation, wore the Crown of State rather than the simple circlet of mithril set with a single diamond that the High King usually wore when conducting royal business.

The Crown of State was a much more intricate affair. It was white gold and mithril, intricately wrought in the shape of two stylized eagles facing one another, their wings closed. Each had a claw outstretched between which was set a single star sapphire the size of a pigeon egg. The eyes of the eagles were also sapphires. Ingwë’s sword lay across his lap and Glorfindel had a sick feeling that he would be made to swear an oath to the High King, an oath he might not in good conscience give. He glanced nervously at Finrod, who merely shook his head slightly, giving his brother a swift smile. For some reason, Glorfindel did not find that smile reassuring.

They reached the dais and all three ellyn bowed deeply to the High King, then bowed to Arafinwë and Olwë. At that point, Finrod left Glorfindel’s side to stand beside his own atar, while Sador similarly stood beside Olwë, leaving Glorfindel to face Ingwë alone. Only those on the dais noticed Glorfindel surreptitiously rubbing the peridot ring against his thigh as he stood there staring at the foot of the dais waiting for Ingwë to make the first move.

Ingwë, for his part, stared at the ellon standing before him, wondering how they had ever come to this point. Alassiel still would not speak to him directly and he had gotten a tongue lashing from everyone, including one from his own wife. Elindis was never one to criticize her husband’s decisions, but this time she let him know in no uncertain terms exactly what she thought of his treatment of Glorfindel. He sighed inwardly and gave his chamberlain a brief nod. The elf turned to the court.

"Will Master Martandur and Mistress Míriel come before the throne."

There was a brief stir when Martandur and Míriel, dressed in their most formal robes, came forward to give their obeisance to Ingwë. They stood to Glorfindel’s right. He refused to look at them, keeping his eyes resolutely on Ingwë’s feet.

Ingwë addressed Martandur. "Master Martandur, We ask you before this court if you are satisfied with Lord Glorfindel’s conduct while he was in your service."

"I am, your Majesty," Martandur said. "Lord Glorfindel was the soul of propriety for all the time he was with us. Neither I nor my wife have any cause to complain about his conduct."

Ingwë nodded. "Thank you, Master Martandur, Mistress Míriel. We regret having placed you both in such an untenable position and apologize on behalf of myself and any others who may have caused you any pain or embarrassment because of it."

Martandur bowed and Míriel curtsied, then stepped to one side at Ingwë’s direction. Ingwë then turned his attention to Glorfindel. "Lord Glorfindel."

Glorfindel nearly jerked at the sound of his name and against his will looked up at the High King. Ingwë merely nodded. "I would hear thine apology before this court."

A look of panic flashed across Glorfindel’s face and for a moment several people, Ingwë included, wondered if the ellon would simply bolt, but then he seemed to gather himself together and, taking two steps forward, knelt before the High King. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper.

"I apologize, your Majesty, for any grief I may have caused thee in my actions on the night of the Winter Solstice and ask in all humbleness for thy forgiveness."

Ingwë then gave his sword over to Ingwion and stood, stepping down to face Glorfindel and gently raising him. "Full gladly do I accept thine apology, Glorfindel of Ondolindë-That-Was. Let us now be friends from this day hence. Nai maruvar sérë ar nilmë imbë met tennoio." Then he took Glorfindel by the shoulders and gave him the kiss of peace, which Glorfindel reciprocated somewhat shyly.

Ingwë then stepped back. Glorfindel made to bow, thinking that that was the end, but Ingwë forestalled him. Silence reigned throughout the court as the spectators waited for they knew not what. Ingwë then turned to Finrod and motioned for him to join them, which he did. There was a stir among the crowd when Ingwë then removed the crown from his head and gave it to Finrod, who looked somewhat surprised to receive it, but gave the High King a short bow of acceptance before stepping back a pace or two. Ingwë, meanwhile, turned back to Glorfindel and gave him a wry smile before his mien became more serious.

An audible gasp rose from the court when he suddenly knelt before Glorfindel. Glorfindel was so shocked that he actually took a step or two back, his face pale, his eyes wide in disbelief. Ingwë remained kneeling, his expression one of calm and when he spoke his voice was clear and strong.

"And, I too, ask for forgiveness, my son," he said, his eyes never leaving Glorfindel’s, "for doing what I did without thy knowledge or consent. I regret any enmity that may lie between us because of it and hope that we may find a way back to the love and friendship that existed between us previously."

There was absolute silence. Glorfindel could only stare at Ingwë in shock, not sure how he was to respond. Then, the strain of the events proved too much for him and he suddenly found himself kneeling as well, weeping. Ingwë, still kneeling, gathered the ellon into his arms and cradled him, whispering something in his ear that none heard, but they saw Glorfindel’s weeping still until he was calm again. Ingwë gave him a kiss on the cheek as he continued to rub the ellon’s back, waiting for Glorfindel to calm down.

Finally, Glorfindel straightened and with tears still in his eyes, he whispered, "Nai maruvar sérë ar nilmë imbë met tennoio."

Ingwë smiled at him warmly and rose gracefully, helping Glorfindel up as he did. He turned to Finrod again and with a gesture took the crown from him and replaced it on his head. Then he turned back to Glorfindel.

"There is one more thing that must be done," he said quietly. Glorfindel could only stare at him, unable to muster up the energy to respond. Ingwë motioned for Sador to join them and with a nod to him and to Finrod he stepped back, though he did not resume his throne. Finrod and Sador gave the High King their obeisance, then turned to Glorfindel, who looked upon them with curiosity.

Without a word both Finrod and Sador reached into pouches hanging from their belts and began pulling out beads and gems. Glorfindel recognized them and knew then what was intended and started to protest, but Finrod forestalled him.

"Nay, brother," he said, "it is only meet that Sador and I rebraid your hair. Whatever else you may or may not be, now or in the future, you are always and foremost a warrior and you will wear the braids that you have earned."

With that, the two began braiding Glorfindel’s hair while all looked on. Glorfindel found it easier to lock gazes with Ingwë, who stood there watching the braiding with mild interest. It did not take long and when they were finished Ingwë nodded and looked out upon the crowd of elves.

"The matter between Lord Glorfindel and myself has been resolved. Let none seek to sunder what has been mended, upon pain of Our royal displeasure." He then nodded to the chamberlain who stepped forward, rapping his staff upon the floor three times before speaking.

"This court of the High King is ended. Let all adjourn."

All the elves gave the High King their obeisance while Ingwë took a still stunned Glorfindel by the arm and led him back up the aisle with the rest of those on the dais following him. Ingwion brought up the rear, his atar’s sword firmly in his grasp. In spite of the grimness of his appearance there was an incongruous smile plastered on the ellon’s face as he followed the rest of the royal entourage out of the throne room.

****

Valarauconehtar: Balrog-Slayer.

Aranaráto: King’s Champion.

Nai maruvar sérë ar nilmë imbë met tennoio: "May peace and friendship abide between us forever".

115: A Meeting With Parents

Ingwë led the way to an antechamber, keeping a firm grip on Glorfindel’s arm. The ellon was still in a state of shock and barely responded to Ingwë’s enquiry. When asked if he was well, he simply nodded, though no one actually believed him. As soon as the doors of the antechamber closed, there was pandemonium as several people tried to speak to Ingwë at the same time.

"What were you trying to prove..." Olwë began.

"Are you mad, Uncle?" Arafinwë interrupted.

"And everyone says my methods are odd," Finrod chimed in, smiling faintly, though no one heard him.

"Are you all right, hanno?" Sador asked Glorfindel, who did not respond.

"SILENCE!"

Everyone, except the still stunned Glorfindel, turned in surprise to stare at Ingwion, who was still carrying his atar’s sword. The ellon stood by the door, looking both pleased and disgusted at the same time. Ignoring the stunned looks of the others he went to Ingwë and with a brief bow handed back the High King’s sword, which Ingwë accepted.

"I’m proud of you, Atar," Ingwion said fervently. "I don’t think I would have such courage."

Ingwë gave his son a warm smile. "Thank you, hinya. I am honored that you think so, but I disagree with you about the last. You are more courageous than I on many levels."

Ingwion was about to reply to that when Glorfindel spoke up, sounding somewhat distant and detached. "Is it all right if I’m sick now?" he asked no one in particular.

Immediately, everyone’s attention was on Glorfindel. Sador, ever practical, grabbed a flower vase, emptying it of its chrysanthemums and tiger-lilies, and thrust it under Glorfindel’s nose. Finrod placed a solicitous hand on the ellon’s forehead and sang softly a song of renewal of the fëa, while the other three kings advised him to put his head between his knees and take deep breaths. Glorfindel ignored them all, swaying slightly, his eyes half-closed.

At that point Manveru and Erunáro appeared, looking concerned. Manveru actually snapped his fingers in front of Glorfindel’s face and receiving no real response turned to his brother in the Thought of Ilúvatar. "Find Lord Námo."

Erunáro nodded and was gone. Manveru, meanwhile, took Glorfindel by the shoulders and led him to a couch and convinced the ellon to lie down. Sador pulled the ellon’s boots off to make him more comfortable.

"He’s very pale and his skin is clammy," Finrod said worriedly.

"He’s in a state of shock," Manveru replied. "He may be ready to slip his leash again."

Everyone stared at the Maia in consternation.

"Slip his leash?" Olwë asked, sounding perplexed. "What do you mean by that?"

Before anyone could answer him, though, there was a stir in the air and then Námo was there, his visage grim. "What happened?" he demanded, looking directly at Ingwë.

Several eyebrows went up at that and Námo hid a smile. "Contrary to popular opinion, my children, we are not privy to everything that goes on in Aman. Now, what happened?"

Ingwë swallowed and then briefly explained what had occurred at the ceremony between him and Glorfindel. Námo’s eyes brightened when Ingwë got to the part about removing his crown and asking Glorfindel for his forgiveness. "I fear he wasn’t expecting that," Ingwë finished ruefully.

Both Arafinwë and Olwë snorted at that. "None of us were, Uncle," Arafinwë stated.

Námo merely nodded and looked compassionately down at the supine ellon staring up at the ceiling. He bent over Glorfindel and placed a gentle hand on his forehead. "Come back, child," he whispered, though there was a sense of command in his tone that brooked no denial. For several minutes Glorfindel did not respond, then suddenly he gave a gasp and his body arched before settling back down on the couch. He blinked several times before his eyes focused on Námo.

"M-my lord?"

"How are you feeling, best beloved?" Námo asked.

Glorfindel shook his head. "Tired."

"Then you should rest," Námo told him. A blanket appeared from nowhere and he covered the ellon with it. "The Ball will not start for a couple of hours yet, so rest now until it’s time to attend. You’ll feel better after a brief sleep."

Glorfindel merely nodded, not having the energy to argue. Shortly thereafter, his eyes unfocused and he was slipping onto the Path of Dreams. Námo motioned to the others that they should leave Glorfindel to his rest, ordering the two Maiar to remain on watch. The rest followed the Lord of Mandos into an adjacent antechamber.

Once they were altogether again, Námo turned to Ingwë with a look of approval. "We wondered if you would own up to your mistakes in this little farce of yours, Ingwë."

The High King paled at the reprimand but he bowed briefly in acknowledgment of the Vala’s words. Námo nodded.

"I am pleased that you did what you did. It took much courage on your part... though it probably would have been better had you at least warned Glorfindel of your intent. He’s suffered enough shocks lately and his fëa was close to leaving his hröa, something we don’t want happening again, do we?"

He gave Ingwë a meaningful look. The High King merely shook his head, suddenly feeling like an errant elfling being scolded by his atar. And I was never an elfling, errant or otherwise, to begin with, he thought to himself with grim humor.

Námo nodded again, his mien lightening. "That’s good. Let us all remember that. You... Once-born," — several eyebrows went up at that and Námo actually smiled — "little understand how fragile Glorfindel’s state is at this point. Findaráto and Sador probably understand better, but Glorfindel...." The Vala shook his head and gave Sador a knowing look. "You are right, best beloved, to think that you were not the only one released from Mandos earlier than would be normal. Glorfindel’s Judgment came sooner than I liked, but the circumstances..." he shook his head somewhat ruefully. "Well, that’s neither here nor there now. Glorfindel should be recovered by the time he must appear at the Ball. Now, if you will excuse me."

Námo gave them all a brilliant smile and was simply not there. Everyone unconsciously gave a sigh of relief. Ingwë turned to Finrod.

"I’ve had the parents of those five elflings you... er... captured brought here. They are waiting for us, if you care to join me."

Finrod nodded. "Yes, let’s get this over with. Sador, with me."

Sador gave him a look of surprise but gathered himself together and nodded. Ingwë indicated that Ingwion should accompany them. Elindis acted as hostess to the others, but Arafinwë slipped out after five minutes to go back to Glorfindel and help the Maiar watch over the still sleeping ellon.

****

The parents were waiting in the small audience room. It was only a third the size of the main throne room and had only a simple one-tier dais and a gilded chair before a wall of stained glass depicting Oromë coming upon the Eldar in Cuiviénen. The light of Isil shone coldly through the glass, casting an eerie glow of colors across the white marble floor. Chairs had been set up before the throne for the parents. Another more ornate chair was placed to the right of the throne for Finrod to sit in. Sador took a position on Finrod’s right, while Ingwion stood between the two thrones. Ingwë had removed the Crown of State and now wore only a simple mithril circlet. Finrod continued wearing his crown of chrysanthemums.

The parents, anxious and tearful, gave Ingwë their obeisance and the High King asked them to be seated. Introductions were made and the parents looked with wonder upon the Reborn prince. None of them were members of the High King’s court, but were artisans and merchants.

When the introductions were made, Ingwë said, "I regret that I must call you here, but I fear that circumstances warrant it."

One of the ellyn spoke up then. "Please, Sire, where are our children? All we were told was that they were in the king’s custody."

Finrod spoke then. "That king would be me."

"You?" the same ellon asked in surprise.

Finrod nodded. "Rest assured, your children are safe and well. At the moment they are asleep within my compound and are under my protection."

One of the ellith, who turned out to be Veryandur’s amillë, then spoke, looking confused. "I don’t understand. Why are they there? How did they get there? They were fast asleep."

"Or they merely wished for you to think so, Mistress," Finrod said with a grim smile. "As to how they ended up in the encampment... it seems that Sorondil and his sister along with Oromendil decided they would sneak into the encampment at night to see what there was to see, little realizing that at night the patrols would be more vigilant, not less."

"Young Veryandur and Oromendil’s cousin, Eruanna... tagged along," Ingwë added.

"We caught them sneaking in," Finrod continued, "and as punishment, they have taken an oath of service to me."

"What?" Veryandur’s amillë stood up in shock. "What do you mean? They’re just elflings. You can’t do this!"

The other parents equally began protesting, but Ingwë gave them all a quelling look and they subsided. "Peace," he said. "All has been done with my approval. Now please, resume your seats and we will explain."

The parents sat and Ingwë and Finrod looked upon them with compassion. All of them had looks of disbelief and concern for their children. Veryandur’s amillë was softly weeping, her husband wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders.

Finrod sighed and gave Ingwë a glance. The High King nodded and Finrod returned his attention to the parents. "Believe me, I wish it were otherwise, but your children put themselves and us in grave danger. We mean to make them examples so that other children from the city are not tempted to do something similar."

Oromendil’s atar spoke up, sounding somewhat belligerent. "What do you mean to do with them then? Turn them into thralls like that... what’s his name... that Noldo brat?"

Finrod’s demeanor turned suddenly cold and his expression was darker than Ingwë remembered seeing. The parents all stared at him in dread. "Your children," he said softly, "are not my thralls. They are in my service. Nothing will be done to them that would shame them or dishonor them or cause them any kind of pain. They will be treated as if they were my own elflings. That is not to say, however, that they will not be punished for what they did."

"What sort of punishment?" Eruanna’s amillë asked. "Is it not the right of the parents to punish their own children? Why have you arrogated this duty to yourself, lord?"

Finrod sighed, not sure these Vanyar, with no understanding of what it means to live in a military society, would understand. "The moment they stepped into the encampment, your children ceased to be under the protection of the High King. They unlawfully entered my domain. It would be as if they had transgressed a law of Tirion or Alqualondë, except they are answerable to me rather than to my atar or anatar."

"You still haven’t told us what you mean to do to our children," demanded Sorondil’s atar.

Finrod gave him a cool glance. "Your son and daughter and Oromendil appear to have been the ringleaders of this little escapade. For that reason I have decided that their term of service will be for one year of the Sun. They will act as my pages, running errands, serving at table, and such. I will see that their usual studies are not neglected. If they are not serving me directly, they will be living in Tirion under my atar’s protection."

"And Veryandur?" his amillë asked. "What of our son?"

"And our daughter?" asked Eruanna’s atar.

Finrod actually smiled. "They were the first to offer to take oath to me, and for that reason their term of servitude will be shorter. I will take them to Lórien with me when I return there and they will remain there until Midsummer."

"What will they do there?" Eruanna’s atar asked, looking perplexed.

"I’m sure Lord Irmo or Lady Estë will have some ideas," Finrod replied and no one felt brave enough to gainsay his words.

"May we see them?" Oromendil’s amillë asked somewhat fearfully.

Finrod shook his head. "They are fast asleep by now. You may see them later today for a brief time an hour past noon. I will supply them with anything they need in the way of clothes and such but if they have a favorite toy that they might wish to have you may bring them with you. I will arrange for you to see your children separately, however, you will not be allowed to see them alone. My own people will chaperone the meetings."

At this point Ingwë spoke up. "I assure you that my nephew will treat your children with respect and even love. You need have no fear for their well-being or safety." He gave Finrod a brief glance and a smile before resuming speaking. "If it helps any, I will have my people check on your children from time to time."

"I will not sever all communication between you and your children," Finrod said then, "but it will be severely limited. Letters will be acceptable." He looked at Sorondil, Lindorillë and Oromendil’s parents. "You may see them again at Midsummer and on their begetting days. They will be released from my service at the next New Year. As for Veryandur and Eruanna," here he turned to their parents, his expression softening, "I will allow you to see them on their begetting days if they come before Midsummer, as well as one day each month until they are released from my service."

Veryandur’s amillë spoke then, looking uncertain. "They’ve never been away from home before."

Finrod nodded. "And I will endeavor to so overburden them with duties they will be too tired at the end of the day to feel homesick. In time they will adjust... as will you."

Ingwë stood then and everyone else rose. "It is settled then," he said solemnly. "Again, I regret this has happened, but if it had not been your children, it would have been someone else’s. Yours simply got to the encampment first. Let us hope they will also be the last. Go now, and later today I will send my people to escort you to see your children."

The parents reluctantly gave their obeisance to the High King and then, even more reluctantly, to Finrod. In moments they were being escorted away. When they were alone, Ingwë turned to Finrod with a thin smile. "So now you have six elflings to contend with. Your entourage is growing, Nephew. Should I be worried?"

Finrod gave a short laugh. "Actually, Uncle, you’ve miscounted. I have seven elflings to deal with."

Ingwë gave Finrod a surprised look. "Oh? Who’s the seventh?"

At that point both Ingwion and Sador snickered. "Glorfindel, of course," Sador answered the High King.

Ingwë suddenly laughed. "In that case, I think I really should be worried," he retorted.

The others joined the High King in laughter.

116: The New Year’s Ball

They returned to the antechamber where Glorfindel was still sleeping. Finrod went directly to Glorfindel’s couch and gently caressed his forehead, calling to him softly. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Glorfindel’s eyes focused and he looked up at Finrod with a slight smile which Finrod returned.

"Time to get up now, hanno," he said. "The Ball will be starting soon."

Glorfindel nodded and rose, never noticing the two Maiar fading from sight at that point. Arafinwë came over and gave the ellon a brief hug.

"Are you feeling better, child?" he asked quietly.

Glorfindel nodded. "A little, Atar."

Then Ingwë came over and brushed a hand through the ellon’s braided hair. "I’m sorry for distressing you, Glorfindel. It was not my intent and indeed, until the very last moment I did not know myself if I would do... what I did."

Glorfindel ducked his head, looking sheepish. "I’m sorry I... I made it necessary for you to demean your..."

Ingwë put a finger to Glorfindel’s lips. "Hush now. Is that what upset you so, child, thinking you were the cause of my humiliation?" At Glorfindel’s nod, Ingwë took him in his arms and hugged him. "Child, acts of true humility are never demeaning, not to the one who expresses them nor to the recipients of such acts. I did what I did, not for you, but for myself. It was something I needed to do in order to be able to live with myself. Do you understand?"

Glorfindel frowned slightly then shrugged. "I guess," he said shyly.

Finrod decided to intervene then. "Come, hanno, let’s go and refresh ourselves before we attend the Ball. I wish to speak with Amarië first, anyway," he gave both Glorfindel and Sador significant looks which the two ellyn returned with smirks. "If my lords will excuse us," Finrod then said as he turned to Ingwë and Arafinwë with a bow. Glorfindel and Sador followed suit. The two kings gave their consent with nods. Ingwion gave his atar a knowing smile and, after his own bow, followed the other ellyn out.

When they were alone, Ingwë turned to Arafinwë with a thoughtful look. "Do you wish to lay bets on who disrupts the Ball first, Glorfindel or Findaráto?"

Arafinwë merely smiled.

****

The New Year’s Ball always began two hours after midnight. Normally, there would be a special ceremony at midnight welcoming in the new coranar, but that ceremony had been put aside for the one involving Ingwë and Glorfindel. The Ball, itself, would continue into the early morning hours, ending with a breakfast feast. The rest of the day would be devoted to concerts and picnics, if the weather held. This year, there was the added bonus of the tournament, which would start the following day.

The Ball was held in the main ballroom overlooking the High King’s gardens with a view of the Pelóri range in the distance. Oiolossë itself rose to the east, majestic and daunting in all its granitic glory. The room was about two hundred paces long and only about eighty paces wide. Along the south wall were panels of floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflecting the light from the mithril-wrought candelabra that stood elf-high before each mirror. Between the mirrors were frescoes detailing Elves dancing in woodland glades or otherwise making merriment. Opposite were a series of open arches leading to a balcony. Stairs at either end of the balcony led to the gardens below. On the east wall hung a large tapestry, a gift from Lady Vairë, depicting the Wedding of Lord Tulkas and Lady Nessa when the Valar resided in Almaren. Before this was a dais where stood Ingwë and Elindis’ thrones. The main entrance was at the west end with a musician’s gallery above it. Side doors beneath the frescoes led to smaller antechambers where those not interested in dancing could congregate and talk or take refreshments. The ceiling was painted the dark blue of a midnight sky and small diamonds studded it, imitating the heavens. The floor was a mosaic map of Arda showing all the lands with Aman at the center.

When Finrod entered the ballroom, flanked by Glorfindel and Sador, most of those attending the ball were already there. For all the glitter and opulence of the elves’ garb, this was a strictly informal affair. Only Ingwë and Elindis would be formally announced upon their arrival. Others, whatever their rank, were free to mingle as they pleased. The three ellyn made their way along the southern wall to where Finrod had spied Amarië standing with her parents. Along the way, several elves greeted the Reborn prince and Glorfindel, though none bothered greeting Sador, unsure who the strange ellon was with his single front braid. Sador didn’t mind, finding the attitude of the Vanyarin nobles amusing rather than insulting. Both Finrod and Glorfindel, however, were not amused and took pains to introduce Sador to the others. Even then, he was still looked upon with some degree of surprise and even suspicion on the part of some elves.

Eventually, they found themselves joining Amarië and her parents. The ellyn gave them all bows of greeting. Almáriel frowned slightly but her daughter welcomed them with a tremulous smile while Castamir greeted them with an open expression of delight and amusement.

"I understand, young Findaráto," he said, giving the ellon a wink, "that you and my daughter will be making an important announcement tonight."

"Yes, my lord," Finrod said smoothly, "and for that reason I wish to have speech with Lady Amarië to discuss how we might best present the announcement."

Almáriel spoke then. "And these two are needed to complete the discussion?" She nodded imperiously at Glorfindel and Sador.

Glorfindel merely grinned, all evidence of the shock he had experienced earlier gone. "Sador and I are here to assure them their privacy, my lady. We don’t want any... er... interruptions."

Before Almáriel could comment, Castamir nodded, making slight shooing motions. "Go then, my children, and discuss what you will. We look forward to the announcement."

The three ellyn bowed again and Finrod offered Amarië his arm, which she accepted gratefully, though there was a slightly puzzled look in her eyes as she tried to fathom what her betrothed and his brothers were finding so amusing. Finrod led them, not into one of the antechambers, but out onto the balcony and down the eastern stairs into the garden. He seemed to know just where he was going and indeed in a matter of minutes they found themselves in a cul-de-sac where a small gazebo was surrounded by poplars offering shade during the day. At night, with Isil shining down upon them, it was gently bathed in moonlight... and very private.

Both Sador and Glorfindel stood before the entrance to the cul-de-sac while Finrod led Amarië to the gazebo. Neither of the two ellyn could hear what was said, but at some point they heard Amarië give a shriek of surprise, quickly suppressed, followed by soft giggling. Then there was silence that spoke volumes to the two standing guard. They exchanged knowing grins, immensely pleased with themselves.

****

By the time they returned to the ballroom, the dancing was just about to begin. They entered from the balcony in time to see Ingwë and Elindis heading the line for the first pavane. Finrod gave Amarië a grin and the two of them joined the end of the line just as the music began. Glorfindel and Sador watched with amusement as their brother effortlessly escorted Amarië through the stately steps, their demeanor less sober than propriety perhaps allowed, but neither noticed the slightly disapproving glances of the other couples or even Almáriel’s haughty glare as they swept past her. Castamir was too busy comparing Amanian and Beleriandic poetic forms with Haldir and Gwilwileth, who were there at Arafinwë’s invitation, to pay any attention.

The dance eventually ended and Finrod and Amarië began to mingle, making their obeisance to Ingwë and Elindis, apologizing to the royal couple for not being present at their arrival.

"We had... um... something to discuss," Finrod said diffidently. Amarië tried to maintain a neutral air, but her excitement was palpable, though neither Ingwë nor Elindis suspected the real reason for it. Both royals gave the young couple knowing smiles and graciously accepted their apologies.

"When will we be given the pleasure of hearing your announcement?" Ingwë asked, trying not to leer, and was pleased to see the two children blush.

"Later, Uncle, when most of the guests are... er... less sober."

Ingwë laughed merrily at that. "But do not delay overlong, my son," he said. "We still want them sober enough to remember you even made the announcement. It wouldn’t do to have to repeat it later on."

The couple bowed at that point and Ingwë released them to join the rest of the crowd. Eventually they made their way to where Glorfindel and Sador still stood by one of the arches leading to the balcony, each sipping some wine.

"Well?" Glorfindel asked.

"As dawn is breaking," Finrod said. Glorfindel and Sador nodded.

"What do you think Lady Almáriel’s reaction will be?" Sador asked.

Finrod looked at Amarië who smiled wanly, knowing full well how her amillë would react. Finrod turned back to his brothers and shrugged, giving them a wry grin. "I’m wondering what everyone else’s reaction is going to be. I get the feeling that others beside Amarië’s amillë are manipulating us into making this announcement."

"Well, if so, they’re not going to be pleased when you tell them," Glorfindel said shrewdly. Then he shrugged and gave them his own grin. "It should be fun, nonetheless, to watch."

They all laughed, even Amarië.

Watching them from a distance, the three High Kings of Eldamar and their wives looked on with fond indulgence, little suspecting that things were not as they imagined.

****

The Ball continued without incident over the next few hours. Glorfindel and Sador both took turns dancing with Amarië, as well as with some of the other ellith. All three ellyn danced with Eärwen, as was only proper and Finrod also danced with Elindis, since she was his great-aunt, and with Lirillë, his anamillë. Wine flowed, as did the speculations, when many began to notice that Finrod danced mostly with Amarië, and outside of Glorfindel and Sador, she refused to dance with any of the other unattached ellyn.

As the sky outside was lightening, Ingwë signalled for the musicians to cease playing and people began to quiet, knowing that something was about to happen. Ingwë and Elindis stood before their thrones, with Arafinwë and Eärwen on Ingwë’s right and Castamir and Almáriel on Elindis’ left. Finrod and Amarië stood off to one side with Glorfindel and Sador flanking them. The couple looked nervous and there were many knowing smiles among the spectators.

Ingwë was just about to address the crowd when a stir in the air alerted everyone to the presence of more than one of the Valar. All made their obeisance when, not only Manwë and Varda, but all the other Valar appeared, clothed in brilliant finery that outshone even the most exquisite garb worn by any elf.

Manwë smiled benignly at Ingwë. "Pray excuse our rather sudden appearance, my children, but we have been awaiting this announcement for as long as you and wish to be here to witness it."

Ingwë bowed to the Elder King. "We are honored that you would wish to be here, my lords, my ladies. I was just about to address the court."

"Then please do," Manwë said and the Valar all seemed to step back to give everyone room without seeming to have moved at all.

Ingwë cleared his throat and motioned for Finrod and Amarië to approach, which they did. Amarië suddenly looked shy and uncertain. Finrod merely gave Manwë a skeptical look which the Elder King returned with a wide grin. Ingwë began to speak.

"It is my great pleasure to tell you that my beloved Great-nephew, Prince Findaráto, and the Lady Amarië have an important announcement to make."

Finrod and Amarië gave Ingwë their obeisance before turning back to the crowd. Finrod took Amarië’s hand and kissed it gently, giving her an encouraging smile, before turning his gaze on the court.

"Many have looked to this day with great anticipation," he began, taking care not to look towards where Amarië’s parents stood. "After... um... due consideration, Lady Amarië and I would like to formally announce our betrothal."

Murmurs of surprise ran through the crowd, which quieted when Finrod raised his hand. "It has been suggested that a Midsummer wedding would be appropriate." Here he stole a quick glance at Glorfindel and Sador, both of whom gave him a brief nod. He took a deep breath and continued. "Amarië and I agree..."

"Finally!" Almáriel uttered loud enough for all to hear. There were titters of amusement at that.

"...agree," Finrod repeated, "that Midsummer twelve years from now..."

"WHAT!?" Almáriel shouted in furious disbelief.

"... twelve years from now, will be most appropriate," Finrod finished quickly.

Almáriel continued to fume, making her displeasure known to all, while her husband attempted to calm her. Ingwë exchanged rueful glances with Arafinwë, shrugged and reached into a pouch to draw out a single silver coin, handing it over to the Noldóran, who did his best not to smirk. Glorfindel and Sador laughed, doing an impromptu jig. At that moment, there was another stir of air and Eönwë appeared, looking harrassed, and carrying the Book of Oaths. He shook his head at Almáriel in disbelief even as the Book opened and he began to write while the Valar all smiled benignly as chaos erupted throughout the ballroom.

****

Coranar: Sun-round.

117: All Elflings Great and Small

Finrod returned to his pavilion alone, leaving Sador and Glorfindel to deflect the ire of many, especially Almáriel. Amarië had also sneaked out and he had escorted her to her apartments in the wing set aside for the Noldóran and his family. They had exchanged passionate kisses, speaking few words between them, only promising to see one another later in the day.

Now Finrod stepped into his pavilion, having left orders with his guards not to let anyone into the compound except for his brothers. He peeked in on Vorondil and Veryandur before seeking his own rest and was surprised to see the cots empty. A slight stir from the space between the two cots alerted him and stepping softly, he peered down to find the two ellyn lying on a pile of blankets. Veryandur was clearly asleep, but Vorondil was awake. He saw his master and putting a finger to his lips, whispered. "We decided to go camping."

The words brought a smile to Finrod’s lips and he sat on the edge of the nearest cot and gently stroked the sleeping ellon’s head as Vorondil looked on. He watched his master with some concern.

"What are you going to do with them, Master?" he continued to whisper.

Finrod gave his thrall a considering look. "Are you jealous, child?"

Vorondil ducked his head slightly, reddening. "It’s just... everyone gets to be in your service for real. Alassiel’s your squire and now these... these elflings get to take an oath to you. I’m just your thrall." The last was said in a dejected tone and Vorondil refused to look up.

Finrod smiled fondly at him and leaned over to caress the ellon’s hair. "You are not just my thrall, Vorondil. That is a legal fiction, nothing more. You are as much in my service as Alassiel or Veryandur here. There is no need for oaths between us, child. Your atar gave me that oath for you both."

Vorondil shivered at that and he looked stricken as he gave Finrod a glance. "I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to be bad. Atar shouldn’t be punished because of me."

Finrod moved to sit on the ground so as to gather the now weeping child in his arms. "Your atar wasn’t punished, Vorondil," he said softly in the ellon’s ear so as not to disturb the still sleeping Veryandur. "It was his choice to do what he did. Your actions may have precipitated that choice but you are not ultimately responsible for your atar making it. That is your atar’s province alone." He gave Vorondil a kiss on the brow. "I think if you ask him he will tell you that he does not regret taking oath to me, nor should you."

Vorondil sniffed a bit and nodded. "I’m still just a thrall though," he muttered disconsolately.

Finrod gave him a slight shake. "No you are not, child. Do you forget that you are also an apprentice Lóriennildo? True, your apprenticeship will last as long as your thralldom, but you are a true apprentice. The oath you took before Lord Irmo and Lady Estë was not a sham, child. Never forget that."

Vorondil nodded, looking more appeased. Finrod gave him another kiss on the brow and stood. "I am going to get some sleep for a few hours," he told Vorondil. "At noon I will speak to the elflings and tell them what their fates will be. Ingwë and I have spoken to their parents and I am allowing them to see their children an hour past noon. When Veryandur awakes, you and he can put together breakfast for whoever wants it."

Vorondil nodded again. "Yes, Master."

Finrod smiled. "It will be well... for all of you, child, never fear. Now, I must rest. It’s been an eventful few hours and tomorrow is the tournament."

Vorondil smiled slyly. "Can you arrange to break something so I can get a chance to practice my healing skills, Master?"

"I’ll break something, you young scoundrel, if you’re not careful," he threatened though he was smiling. Vorondil chuckled and settled back down on the pile of blankets, careful not to disturb the younger ellon still sleeping. Finrod nodded his approval and left, going to his own cot to get what sleep he could, knowing that in a few short hours there would be no rest for him at all.

****

Noon found Finrod facing the five elflings again. He was dressed informally in a light blue tunic of worsted wool over a shirt of heavy muslin dyed a deeper blue. His head was bare of any kind of crown, but there was no doubt in the elflings’ eyes that this was the same dread Elf-lord of the night before.

While Finrod had slept, the elflings had been given various tasks. Veryandur had helped Vorondil with breakfast, though none of the elflings had much of an appetite. Laurendil had taken the other two ellyn to collect wood for the fire and draw water. Alassiel had taken the two ellith with her to do some shopping. With five extra mouths to feed, they would be running out of supplies soon.

Before meeting with the elflings Finrod sought out Laurendil, Manwen, Alassiel and even Vorondil, asking how each of the elflings had fared. Laurendil grimaced. "The ellyn have been surly and uncooperative all morning," he said, looking unamused. "Every order was followed by much whining and whimpering. Honestly, I didn’t realize how spoiled the children of artisans can be."

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing, merely turning to Vorondil, giving the ellon a fond smile and drawing the younger elf into his embrace. "How did Veryandur fare?"

Vorondil gave him a brilliant smile. "He’s a worse cook than I am, Master," he exclaimed and everyone chuckled, "but he did his best to help me, even if he wasn’t very good at it." He leaned closer to Finrod, his demeanor more sober.

"He only cried once," he whispered, "wanting his ammë. I... I tried to comfort him but I don’t think I did any good."

Finrod drew the ellon closer and kissed him on the brow. "I’m sure he appreciated you trying, child. Fear not, he will be reunited with his ammë in a few months. In the meantime, you and I must treat him kindly and with much patience."

Vorondil nodded. "I like him. I always wanted a younger brother."

"And now you have one, for a time," Finrod said gently. He released Vorondil and turned to Alassiel. "And the ellith?"

"Eruanna was very helpful and kept asking questions," Alassiel said. Then, with a sly smile, she pitched her voice to sound very much like a young elleth. "‘Is Lord Findaráto married? Does he have any ellith to play with? Can I wear armor some day?’"

Finrod threw back his head and laughed and the others joined him.

"And Lindorillë?" he asked once the laughter died down.

Alassiel shook her head. "She was not uncooperative, but more than once she snarled at Eruanna and said some things meant to frighten the child."

"Such as?" Finrod asked with a frown.

Alassiel shrugged. "The only thing I heard plainly intimated that you would most likely treat her as a... a plaything."

Finrod felt the blood rush from his head and he became suddenly angry. He had to force himself to take deep breaths to stop himself from going to the elleth and shaking her... or worse. Laurendil and Manwen both hissed in shock at Alassiel’s words. Vorondil simply went white and Finrod had to grab him to steady him as he stood there swaying.

Alassiel herself looked grim. "Eruanna is just young enough and innocent enough that she didn’t understand Lindorillë’s insinuations. She merely wondered what sort of games you liked to play."

That last was said without any expression and it was a moment before Finrod responded with a grim smile. "Well, as to that... these elflings are about to find out."

So now Finrod sat in a camp chair with Glorfindel and Sador on either side of him. The two ellyn had returned to the encampment some time before and Finrod had asked them to join him while he spoke to the elflings. He stole a glance at his two brothers, but they merely smiled back at him. He sighed and gave his attention to the elflings. Laurendil, Manwen and Alassiel stood behind them while Vorondil stood behind Finrod’s chair ready to provide whatever service his master required.

"I spoke to your parents last night," Finrod said without preamble. "You will be permitted to see them in an hour’s time."

The five children looked both terrified and relieved. Finrod hid a smile as he continued. "As for what I will do with you..." he paused for a moment, thinking. Then, coming to a decision he nodded to himself and turned to Sador. "Will you take Eruanna and Veryandur to the tailor’s and have them measured for tabards? Bring them back in an hour so they can see their parents."

Sador raised an eyebrow but otherwise made no comment except to say, "As you wish, brother," before standing up and giving Finrod a short bow. He turned to the two younger children and smiled at them, holding out his hands. "Let’s go, hínyar, and maybe on the way back we’ll stop at the baker’s and buy some sticky buns." He gave Finrod a wink as he said this and Finrod hid a smile, merely nodding his approval. The two younger children glanced nervously at Finrod, not sure what was going on.

"Go with Sador, children," Finrod said gently. "If you are going to be in my service you need to be properly attired. When you come back your parents will be here to greet you."

That seemed to mollify them and Eruanna even smiled. They took Sador’s hands and soon were away, leaving the three older children still facing their new lord. Finrod turned to Glorfindel and smiled.

Glorfindel took one look at his brother and scowled. "Whatever it is, the answer is no."

Finrod laughed. "What makes you think I was going to ask anything of you, gwador?" he asked, speaking Sindarin.

Replying in the same language, Glorfindel said, "I know that look too well, brother."

Finrod nodded, giving Glorfindel a fond smile. When he spoke again it was in Quenya. "Still, I would ask that you and Laurendil take Sorondil and Oromendil to the lists with our armor. They can carry most of it I think. We’ll want to put in some practice before tomorrow."

Glorfindel stared at Finrod for a moment, then smiled. "Ah, well, in that case, I have no objections." He stood up and gave an imperious gesture to the two ellyn. "Up you get, younglings. Sorondil, you may carry Lord Findaráto’s armor and Oromendil, you may carry mine. Laurendil and I will take the weapons. Neither of you is strong enough to be able to carry any of our swords."

With that Laurendil unceremoniously hauled the two ellyn up by the scruff of their tunics and with a brief bow to Finrod marched them away. In a few moments the others saw the two ellyn staggering out of the compound laden with hauberks and helms, greaves and vambraces, while Glorfindel and Laurendil happily compared notes on the number of orcs they had killed while in Endórë.

And that left Lindorillë. Finrod stared at the elleth for some time before speaking. "Vorondil," he said without taking his eyes off Lindorillë who was now visibly squirming under Finrod’s regard. "I would have some refreshments for our guests readied for when they arrive. Would you see to it?"

"Yes, Master," Vorondil said without protest. "Should I make mulled wine?"

Finrod turned his head to look at the ellon and smile. "Best to make it cider so the younglings can have some."

"As you wish, Master," Vorondil said and soon only Alassiel and Manwen, both flanking Lindorillë, were left. Finrod returned his attention to the elleth kneeling before him. "Alassiel told me something of what you said to young Eruanna. I am curious to know why you think I would act in such a manner as you suggested."

Lindorillë went white and started to stammer something of an apology, but Finrod raised a hand to forestall her. "Come, come, child, let’s have a little honesty here. Tell me why you said what you said to Eruanna."

Now the elleth was weeping even as she made her confession. "A-atto says..."

Finrod’s expression darkened but his voice was gentle. "What does your atto say, child?"

"He... he says we c-can’t trust the Noldor be-because they did un-unspeakable things and th-that you were all still tainted w-with evil."

"And do you know what these unspeakable things were?" Finrod asked softly, suddenly understanding where the child was coming from and wondering when the hate and distrust would end.

Lindorillë shook her head, not taking her eyes off the ground.

"Then neither will I tell you," Finrod replied. "for you are too young to be burdened with such knowledge." He stood up and reached down, bringing Lindorillë to her feet, gazing at her intently. She found that she was unable to take her eyes off his and trembled even more. He rubbed her back to calm her and spoke in gentle tones. "Your atto is wrong to say such things, child, especially in your hearing. Much evil was done, it is true, but we have paid for it in ways you will never comprehend. For now, know this: I will never do anything to you or any of the others that will bring you shame or that will go against your deepest will. Nor will I allow anyone else to do such things to you. While you are in my service you and the other elflings will be treated with respect and even with love, much as your own parents treat you. Have no fear for yourself or for any of the others. Do you believe me?"

Lindorillë blushed and nodded but otherwise did not speak. Finrod took her in his embrace and gave her a brief hug and kissed the top of her head.

"Good. Now, your parents will be here in a short while. Why don’t you and Manwen set the table and help Vorondil with preparing refreshments?"

Manwen gently took the young elleth by the arm and giving Finrod a curtsey, which Lindorillë echoed somewhat clumsily, led her away towards the cooking tent. Finrod turned to Alassiel and gave a sigh, rubbing the space between his brows. "I fear the hatred will never end, Cousin," he said somewhat dejectedly.

Alassiel gave him a brief hug to comfort him. "But that’s not to say we should not try to end it," she replied and Finrod returned her hug with one of his own.

"You are correct, of course," he said, giving her a smile. "Come, let me see how you are faring." He gently took hold of the sprained wrist and after a thorough examination declared that it was healed but cautioned her not to put too much strain on it for another day or two.

Sador returned shortly thereafter with Eruanna and Veryandur, the elflings covered with baker’s sugar and huge smiles. Finrod took one look at them and silently pointed to the washtub by the cooking tent. Sador grinned and led them away while Finrod and Alassiel exchanged smiles. Glorfindel and Laurendil returned not long afterwards with the two ellyn, who looked somewhat subdued as they rubbed their arms. Glorfindel gave Finrod a nod and Laurendil merely shrugged.

"Why don’t you go clean up," Finrod told the ellyn, pointing to where Sador and the younger elflings were happily splashing each other. The two ellyn nodded and, with a gentle reminder from Laurendil, gave Finrod their bows before joining the others around the washtub. Laurendil followed them to give Sador a hand and in short order they managed to clean the children up and make them more presentable. On Finrod’s orders they were herded into Laurendil and Manwen’s tent to wait for their parents.

When the parents finally arrived it was in the company of Arafinwë and Valandur. Finrod raised an eyebrow at the sight of his atar, but Arafinwë merely smiled as he gave his firstborn a hug in greeting.

"I was coming to see you when I came upon Valandur escorting these good people to you," Arafinwë explained.

Finrod nodded. "I’m glad you are here, Atar. I would ask of you a favor, if I might."

"You need not ask, hinya," Arafinwë replied. "I will do whatever you wish if it is within my power to do so." He gave his son a shrewd look. "Does it have to do with these children and their parents?"

"Yes," Finrod answered. "But wait and all will become clear in a short while."

Arafinwë smiled and nodded. "I’ll just take my ease by the fire then until you have need of me." With that he sat down on one of the camp chairs by the fire and accepted a mug of mulled cider from Vorondil.

In the meantime, the parents were herded into the pavilion and were asked to sit at the table. Extra chairs were brought in to accommodate not only the parents, but Finrod, Glorfindel and Sador. Vorondil and Alassiel placed mugs of mulled cider before everyone and Manwen came in with a couple of platters of sliced fruits and cheese. Finrod noticed with approval that Eruanna and Veryandur’s amilli each clutched a toy, obviously belonging to their children. The other parents did not seem to have brought anything of their children’s with them and Finrod sighed to himself.

When all were seated, he spoke. "I will reiterate and expand on what was said last night so all will know what has been decided concerning your children. Afterwards, you will be permitted to see them one at a time and in full view of myself and my people."

Sorondil’s atar looked as if he might protest, but one look at Finrod’s expression and he subsided. The other parents looked anxious and Veryandur’s amillë clutched the stuffed toy to her, looking bereft.

Finrod decided to address Veryandur and Eruanna’s parents first. "I will take your two children with me to Lórien after the tournament," he said. "Now that Vorondil is a full-fledged Lóriennildo apprentice, much of his time will be taken up with his studies. With that in mind, I am making Veryandur and Eruanna my pages. Veryandur will stay with me and Eruanna will stay with Alassiel, or if you wish, I will put her in the care of Lord Laurendil and his wife, Manwen, both of whom are apprentice Lóriennildi."

The two sets of parents nodded and Finrod smiled at them gently. "You need have no fear for them. They will be closely guarded. Lórien is a place of peace and I have no doubt that Lord Irmo will have his own people keep an eye out for your children and assure that no harm comes to them. As I said before, you will be permitted to visit them once a month and if their begetting days occur before Midsummer you may visit them then. At Midsummer I will bring them back to Vanyamar."

Eruanna’s atar whispered a thank you that was echoed by the other parents and Finrod nodded. Then he turned his attention to the other two sets of parents and his expression hardened somewhat. "Your children, however, will not be accompanying me to Lórien. I have found their attitudes somewhat... disturbing, especially Lindorillë’s." He glanced at her atar but otherwise did not elaborate. "I have decided your children will return to Tirion under the care of my own atar and amillë."

As if on cue, Arafinwë chose at that time to enter the pavilion, having heard much of what had already been said. All looked up when the Noldóran entered. Some of the parents made to rise but Arafinwë motioned for them to remain seated. He smiled at Finrod. "I take it that is the favor you wished to ask me, hinya."

Finrod nodded. "Yes, Atar. I would ask that you take Lindorillë, her brother Sorondil and their friend Oromendil to Tirion and keep them in your safekeeping. I will come to Tirion on occasion to check on their progress."

"What exactly do you wish for me to do with them, Findaráto?"

"I leave that to your discretion, my lord, yours and ammë’s."

Arafinwë glanced at the parents of the children who would now be under his care and addressed them directly. "Then I will take them with me to Tirion where they will be a part of my personal household. Now that our other children are grown and flown," he smiled at the three ellyn who smiled back, "it will be a pleasure to have younglings making a mess again."

"We never made a mess, did we?" Glorfindel whispered loudly to Finrod and Sador. Finrod merely rolled his eyes and Sador snickered.

"There was the time when Finrod dumped cold water over you when you were sleeping," he said with a broad smile, "and then there was the other time when you and Finrod put frogs in Amarië’s bed and...."

"All right, all right," Glorfindel said, raising his hands in surrender. "You’ve made your point, but I beg to differ about the frogs. They were your idea, if I recall."

"But you’re the one who put them in her bed," Sador retorted with a laugh.

Arafinwë rolled his eyes and several of the parents started snickering when they saw that and there was a more relaxed air about them. Finrod merely smiled. He gestured to Veryandur’s parents. "You may visit with your son now. Go over to the fire and I will have him brought to you. I’m afraid the visit has to be short, but you will be able to see him again before we leave for Lórien later in the week. That holds true for all of you."

Veryandur’s parents rose and gave Finrod their obeisance and went out to the firepit along with Sador, who acted as chaperone. He went to Laurendil’s tent and shortly thereafter Veryandur came out. As soon as he saw his parents he gave a squeal and ran into his ammë’s arms, weeping. Sador stood nearby but did not interfere, allowing the little family some semblance of privacy as Veryandur’s parents hugged him and made sure that he was well. When his ammë handed him the stuffed toy the ellon clutched it and wept even harder. Sador came then and with gentle words led the child away. The parents stood there looking lost and with a word from Finrod, Alassiel went to them and led them to her own tent where they could compose themselves in private.

After that it was Eruanna’s turn. Unlike Veryandur, however, she did not weep, but talked excitedly about all the things she’d done that morning and told her parents how much fun she was having. Finrod hid a smile as he watched from the pavilion as the elleth’s parents tried to get a word in edgewise. Finally, her ammë held out the doll she’d been carrying and Eruanna gave a cry of delight and hugged it to her gladly. Then it was time for them to part and only then did the elleth start to cry. Manwen, acting as chaperone, led her gently back to the tent while her parents struggled to compose themselves.

By now, Veryandur’s parents had rejoined them around the dining table and Alassiel offered her tent to Eruanna’s parents but they thanked her and with great dignity returned to the table. Eruanna’s atar gave Finrod a rueful look. "I hope she doesn’t drive you to distraction between now and Midsummer, my lord."

Finrod smiled. "Not at all. I’m rather used to overly enthusiastic elflings by now. Your daughter is a delight and has been very brave through all this."

Oromendil’s parents were next and the meeting between them and their son was just as tearful but there was a sense of restraint on the part of the parents that worried Finrod. He gave his atar a glance and saw that Arafinwë was frowning. No toy was offered to the child and this, more than anything, grieved Finrod. Oromendil’s parents hugged their son and then simply turned away and returned to the table, leaving the child standing there looking hurt and confused. Sador came to him and placed an arm around the ellon’s shoulders and gently led him away. The look on the child’s face was heartbreaking to behold.

Lindorillë and Sorondil’s parents were nearly as cold to their children as Oromendil’s parents, but the two elflings seemed to take it in stride. Finrod was sure that it wasn’t a case of there not being any love between parents and children but rather that the parents had decided to divorce themselves emotionally from the trauma of separation and their children, taking their cue from the parents, were attempting to do the same.

Finrod sighed and motioned for Arafinwë to lean closer to him. He whispered something in his atar’s ear that none heard. Arafinwë nodded. "Do not concern yourself, hinya," he said aloud, "I will take care of it."

The former king of Nargothrond nodded and relaxed somewhat, satisfied that his atar would do what was necessary for the children in his care. When the last interview ended Finrod spoke to the parents again. "I think it best if you all leave now. Rest assured that your children are well, if not happy. The Noldóran and I will do all we can for your children and I have no doubt that Lord Valandur as the High King’s emissary will keep you abreast of all that happens to them."

Valandur, who had remained silent during all this, acting merely as a witness to what was happening, nodded and gave them a bow of his head. "The High King has asked me to check on your children from time to time and I believe that both their Majesties," he nodded to Arafinwë and Finrod, "will send me written reports as well."

Both Finrod and Arafinwë nodded at that, then Finrod stood and the parents rose as well, giving them their obeisance. Valandur then escorted the parents out of the compound. When they were gone, Finrod sank back into his chair with a sigh. Arafinwë gave him a wry glance. "You handled that very well, hinya. I can see why you want me to take charge of the older three elflings. Rest assured that your amillë and I will treat them as if they were our own."

"That is what I am hoping," Finrod said.

Arafinwë nodded. "But on one condition."

Finrod raised an eyebrow. "That being?"

"At Midsummer, when you release the two younger ones from your service, you take these three back with you to Lórien," Arafinwë said. "They did, after all, take oath to you, not to me."

"I had planned to," Finrod said with a smile.

Arafinwë nodded. "Then I will leave you to your little entourage. Will we see the three of you at dinner?" He looked at Glorfindel and Sador as he spoke.

Finrod nodded. "We’ll be there." The other two nodded as well.

Arafinwë smiled and giving them a salute, left. Finrod stood then and looked at Glorfindel. "Let’s go to the lists and see if there is anyone there with whom we can spar. I need to burn off some of my frustration."

Glorfindel simply grinned and in a short while the two were on their way to the lists followed by Laurendil and Vorondil, leaving Sador, Alassiel and Manwen to deal with five bereft elflings.

****

Hínyar: Contracted from híninyar, plural of hinya: my child.

118: The Tournament Begins

The day of the tournament dawned bright and clear. Even before Anar rose above the Pelóri, the encampment was a hive of activity as warriors went over their armor and weapons one last time and heralds scurried about making last minute changes to the order of the lists. A number of the Vanyarin warriors, upon seeing the grim competence of the Tol Eressëans had decided against competing, so the number of fighters in the tournament was fewer than expected. Still, Ingwë was pleased that of the sixteen warriors competing, five of them, including his own son, were Vanyarin.

"I had hoped for a better turnout among my own people," he said to Arafinwë and Olwë, but the Noldóran rightly pointed out that this was the first Aman-wide tournament and the Vanyar might feel intimidated by the more war-like Noldor and Sindar.

"I have no doubt," Arafinwë said, "that your archers will give the Sindar and Nandor pause. They are very good and should do well in the competition."

The tournament itself would be strictly sword and shield. It was a double elimination tournament, thereby giving each competitor at least two tries at winning before being dropped from the list. The winners of the first round of fighting would comprise the tinco-list while the losers would drop down to the parma-list and compete against each other. Losers of subsequent rounds in the tinco-list would also drop down to the parma-list to compete against the winners there. Eventually each list would produce a champion and they would fight one another. The rules were such that should the tinco-champion be defeated by the parma-champion they would go another round. However, if the tinco-champion won, that would be the end of the tourney. The parma-champion, therefore, needed two wins against the tinco-champion in order to place first.

The tournament was due to begin at the third hour following a brief ceremony whereby the sixteen competitors would be introduced and the rules of the tourney explained. Shortly before the third hour the High King and his royal guests made their way from the city to the viewing gallery set up for them on the west side of the field. The rest of the spectators ranged along either side of the royal gallery and along the east side of the list field. Two healers’ tents were set up, one to the north and the other to the south. There was also a smithy for quick repairs of armor and weapons. Behind the healers’ tent on the south boundary of the list field were two large pavilions for the use of the warriors. For the moment, they were all congregated in one pavilion, but later the parma-list warriors would take the other pavilion for their own use. The list field itself was divided into four sections so that four different battles would be fought at the same time. In this way, the first round of fighting would finish before noon. The first round of fighting among the parma-list warriors would commence a couple hours after the noon meal. After that there would be a respite for all the fighters until the next day.

It was planned that the tournament would go for five days, with two rounds a day, giving the fighters plenty of rest in between. Beginning on the second day, the archery contest would commence. This would be a single elimination tournament, with the first round beginning shortly after the end of the morning’s round of fighting. It was planned that that competition would see its end on the fourth day, thus allowing everyone a chance to watch the final rounds of the fighting between the two champions.

The sixteen warriors who were competing marched out onto the field with Ingwion, Finrod and Glorfindel leading. The warriors faced the royal gallery and, as one, drew their swords and slapped the flat of them against their shields in salute. Before anyone could respond there was a stir of air all around and a brightening of the sky as all the Valar, each with two attendant Maiar, suddenly appeared.

How they managed to all be there without seeming to take up any room, none could say. They were simply... there. All were garbed in splendor that outshone the Eldar, even more so than when they had appeared at the Ball. Manwë was garbed in an ankle-length indigo tunic made of a heavy silk brocade shot with rose. The sleeves were wide and underneath one could see a silk shirt of the same shade of rose. The tunic was trimmed with pearls and opals and the chest of the tunic was embroidered with his emblem of an eagle in flight. On his head he wore a wreath of purple tulips. Varda was garbed in ethereal white as usual, though her overrobe was a figured silk of ice blue trimmed with white fur. Her hair was caught in a diamond-studded netted snood and around her neck was a mithril chain from which hung a single cut diamond set in a star-shaped pendant.

The most intriguing garb, however, was Lord Námo’s. Gone was the usual black or grey. Instead, he wore a silvery-grey shirt with full sleeves and a high closed collar. The sleeves were cuffed with the cuffs embroidered with green ivy leaves as was the collar. The breeches were a very dark green sueded leather. His boots were black leather, coming to just below the knees.

Over the shirt he wore a knee length sleeveless tunic, with front and back slits for riding, in the same deep green color as the breeches but made of a heavy brocaded silk in a diaper pattern consisting of stars and diamonds. The chest of the tunic was embroidered with the Sun-in-Eclipse emblem. The hem, riding slits, and neckline were banded in black velvet, about an inch and a half deep, and where the black and green met, the stars of the brocade were embroidered over in strands of silver thread. The tunic was belted with black leather, with a mithril buckle shaped like the Sun-in-Eclipse.

Over all of it was a robe made of the green fabric that Vairë had purchased. It was open from throat to the mid-calf hem with an upstanding collar that could be left open or closed with mithril and emerald buttons. The sleeves were long and dagged, as was the hemline, and lined with sheared sable.

The outer robe sleeves were slit from the wrist to the shoulder and there were emerald and mithril buttons at the wrist, mid forearm, elbow, and mid upper arm, such that the sleeves could be worn with all of them fastened or only some. In this case the sleeves hung down from the shoulders with only the mid upper arm button fastened, showing off the silk of the shirt sleeves. The robe was lined in a figured silk that was a blend of the silvery-grey of the shirt and one of the greens used in the embroidery of the ivy.

Lady Vairë’s garb matched her lord’s. She wore an undergown of the silvery grey of Námo’s shirt, with sleeves tight to the wrist. There were mithril and emerald buttons from wrist to elbow. The neckline was embroidered with green ivy leaves matching the ones on Námo’s shirt.

Over this she wore a sideless surcoat of which the skirt was made of the same diamond and star patterned green brocade as Námo's tunic. The bodice of the overgarment was of sheared sable and the hem was bordered with a wide band of the dark fur. The neckline was off the shoulder, showing off the decorated neckline of the undergown. Just above the sable hem were stitched silvery ivy leaves of the same style that were embroidered on the neckline of the undergown in green. A line of mithril brooches ran down the front of the sable body set with emeralds, pearls and peridots. A heavily embroidered belt of green and silver could be seen circling her waist through the large side openings.

A mithril necklace with alternating emeralds and peridots graced her throat. Her braided hair was entwined in a crown of yellow asphodels, while on Námo’s head was a mithril circlet shaped to echo the embroidered ivy. It was also entwined with a living wreath of yellow asphodels to match the ones in Vairë’s hair. An emerald cabochon was set in the center of the circlet.

To say that they made a stunning pair was putting it mildly. Many people had to consciously remember to close their mouths. Ingwë found himself sharing a smile with Valandur who was seated behind him. Turning back to face the Valar he gave Vairë a wry grin. "Good choice, my lady," he said softly, sure that she would hear. The Valië gave a merry laugh which was echoed by Námo.

The other Valar and Maiar were equally garbed in elegance and beauty. Besides Varda, Nienna and Estë also wore netted snoods. Nienna’s was studded with pearls while Estë’s had sapphires. All the other Valar and Valiër wore garlands of different kinds of flowers and plants. Ulmo, for instance, wore a wreath of laurel while Aulë and Yavanna wore matching garlands of blue gentian. Irmo wore a crown of goldenrod. Tulkas and Nessa wore garlands of strawberries. Oromë had oak leaves in his hair, while Vána’s braids were entwined with white hawthorn flowers.

Manwë smiled indulgently at the expressions of awe that could be found on the faces of most of the elves, especially those from Tol Eressëa. He addressed Ingwë so all could hear.

"Please forgive us for inviting ourselves to your tournament, but we are rather curious to see who will win."

Ingwë laughed. "Far be it from me to discourage anyone’s curiosity. Be welcome, my lords and ladies. May you find the event as interesting as we hope it to be."

"Well, with Glorfindel, Findaráto and Ingwion all playing, I have no doubt of that," Manwë said with a laugh. "If you will permit it, I would offer the services of my own herald at this point."

Ingwë bowed. "You honor us with your offer, my lord. Thank you."

Manwë nodded to Eönwë standing nearby as he and Varda, along with their other attendants, Fionwë, Olórin and Ilmarë, joined the royals in the viewing gallery. Somehow the space within the gallery expanded to accommodate them without disturbing the physical structure of the gallery itself. The other Valar with their attendants ranged on either side of the two healers’ tents. Thrones appeared from nowhere so they could all sit and be at ease. Aulë, Yavanna, Oromë, Vána, Tulkas and Nessa sat along the south boundary of the list, while Námo, Vairë, Irmo and Estë, along with Nienna and Ulmo, sat along the north.

Arafinwë, seeing where the Fëanturi were seated wondered if it were deliberate, knowing that Vorondil had been assigned to that particular healers’ tent. Findaráto had told him about the elfling’s Judgment in a certain grove in Lórien. The very thought of it sent shards of ice through the core of his fëa. He shook himself, wryly taking note of the fact that, while the Amanian spectators seemed to take the presence of the Valar in their stride, many of the Tol Eressëans were somewhat nonplused at first. However, they soon forgot about the Valar in their excitement at watching the tourney.

Meanwhile Eönwë bowed first to Manwë and then to Ingwë and the other kings before stepping out onto the field. He wore his mithril hauberk over which was a dark blue silk tabard with two horns in saltire. The horns were silver silk appliqué with the edges trimmed with silver thread embroidery in a herringbone pattern. It was the traditional garb of heralds among the Eldar.

As soon as he stepped forth, every Tol Eressëan warrior present raised their swords (or in some cases, bows) in salute. Those Vanyar and Noldor who had fought in the War of Wrath but were not carrying weapons gave the Maia bows instead. Eönwë acknowledged the salutes with a nod before addressing the crowd.

"Hear ye, hear ye. Begins now the Tournament of Champions. Upon the field are sixteen warriors, faithful and true. In the order in which they shall compete: Lords Glorfindel and Calmacil, Prince Findaráto and Lord Ardamírë, Lords Aldundil and Findegil, Lord Gilvagor and Lady Region, Lords Haldir and Valacar, Lords Aldarion and Hallas, Prince Ingwion and Lord Cirion, Lords Vëantur and Mithlas."

There was some murmuring, quickly suppressed, at the mention of Lady Region’s name. She was a Noldo from Tol Eressëa and was the only elleth who had decided to compete. Mithlas, when he heard himself addressed as "lord", blushed and looked down at his feet in embarrassment. Vëantur, standing next to him, grinned and threw an arm around the Sinda’s shoulders, giving him a hearty hug of encouragement.

Everyone cheered when the names were announced. Then Eönwë explained the rules of the tournament. The first round would determine who would remain in the tinco-list and who would go to the parma-list. The Maia assured the crowd that losing in the first round brought no shame to the warriors, for there was still the chance of ultimately winning the tournament.

"Nor is there any shame for not completing the tournament," he explained. "All who compete already have the respect of the Valar and Maiar. Let none disparage them even in their losing, for some have fought bravely in battles fierce and deadly under the skies of Endórë and some have paid the ultimate price for their bravery." Eönwë paused, giving a brief bow towards Glorfindel, Finrod and Haldir, who acknowledged the Maia’s words with bows of their own. Eönwë then went on to describe to the warriors how winners would be determined.

"Points will be assigned whenever you score a blow upon your opponent’s body," the Maia explained, "with blows to the torso counting more than blows to the extremities. Blows to the head are not allowed. The one with the most points at the end of the round will be declared the winner if no one has yielded beforehand. Loss of your weapon will be an automatic win for your opponent."

It had been decided that the matches involving Glorfindel, Aldundil, Haldir and Ingwion would be fought first. The matches with Finrod, Gilvagor, Aldarion and Vëantur would then follow as each of the first matches concluded. Before they began, however, Finrod called all the warriors to him in the middle of the field. Catching the eyes of the Tol Eressëan warriors, he spoke first in Sindarin.

"Garo rîn, hîn nîn, sír ú-vaethim dan chyth, maethim na vellyn."

They all laughed at that. Glorfindel sighed and rolled his eyes. Ingwion gave Finrod a considering look. "All right, Cousin, just what did you say?"

Finrod smiled. "I was merely reminding some of us that we are among friends, not fighting Melkor’s troops."

That gave the Amanian warriors pause and one or two of them looked decidedly nervous at the grimly amused expressions on the faces of the Tol Eressëans. Ingwion merely raised an eyebrow. "We’ll try not to hurt you too much," he said offhandedly and that made everyone laugh and any tension between them broke as they left the field to ready themselves for the first round of fighting.

****

Garo rîn, hîn nîn, sír ú-vaethim dan chyth, maethim na vellyn: (Sindarin) "Remember, my children, today we do not fight against enemies, we fight with friends". [garo rîn, literally, "have rememberance", as there is no attested verb "to remember, to recall" in Sindarin as there is in Quenya.]

A note on the designation of the lists: Normally, the winners of the first round of fighting in a double-elimination tournament would be placed in the "A-list", while the losers would be placed in the "B-list". Tinco and Parma, being traditionally the first two "letters" in the Elvish writing system, are used here instead, with tinco substituted for "A" and parma for "B".

A note on the flower garlands worn by the Valar:

Purple Tulips (Manwë) symbolize royalty.

Asphodels (Námo and Vairë), also known in English as Daffodils, were deathless flowers that overspread the Elysian meadows. They were considered sacred to Persephone, wife of Hades. They also symbolize chivalry, an appropriate sentiment for the occasion.

Laurel (Ulmo) symbolizes glory and perseverance.

Gentian (Aulë and Yavanna) symbolizes integrity and intrinsic worth.

Goldenrod (Irmo) symbolizes encouragement.

Strawberries (Tulkas and Nessa) symbolize perfect excellence, something to which all warriors would want to aspire.

Oak leaves (Oromë) symbolize bravery, while Hawthorn (Vána) symbolizes hope — hope of winning, or simply surviving the battle.

Námo and Vairë’s garb: My thanks to Rhyselle for helping me "clothe" Námo and Vairë. Many readers were hoping the Valië would choose the green fabric and so I decided it was only fair to give a full description of Námo’s garb. Naturally, Vairë demanded equal time.

A netted snood is essentially a medieval hairnet intricately woven with gemstones and used to keep the woman’s hair in place. They were commonly worn during the Italian Renaissance.

119: The First Round

Glorfindel and Calmacil were assigned to the first list, while Aldundil and Findegil were given the second. These faced the royal gallery. Haldir and Valacar were in the list behind Glorfindel while Ingwion and Cirion were behind Haldir. Ingwë wasn’t too pleased by this arrangement, wishing he had a better view of his son’s first match.

"Which is probably why the heralds placed him where he is, dear," Elindis chided her husband softly, giving him an understanding smile. "He’s going to be nervous enough without your staring at him making things worse."

Ingwë blushed slightly at that, casting a rueful smile at Arafinwë and Olwë, both of whom chuckled. Then the first four pairs of warriors stepped out and there was cheering from the crowd. Heralds and marshals joined the warriors in their respective lists. Eönwë oversaw all the lists from his vantage point next to Lord Manwë. While Ingwë craned his neck for a better glimpse of Ingwion, Arafinwë kept his eyes on Glorfindel. He was fighting against one of the Noldor who had accompanied Arafinwë to Endórë during the War of Wrath. He would be a worthy opponent for the Balrog-slayer and would be unlikely to make it easy for the once-Lord of Gondolin.

Aldundil’s opponent, Findegil, was a Sinda who had survived the fall of Nargothrond and eventually came West after the War of Wrath. He was well versed in warfare and had actually fought beside Aldundil during that war. Arafinwë had listened to them exchanging war stories with great amusement as they had traveled to Vanyamar. The Noldóran was not acquainted with Valacar, but he was well aware of Haldir’s abilities, having watched him train. His respect for the Reborn Noldo had only increased over the months in which he and his wife had lived in Tirion. Arafinwë still was upset over the rift between Haldir and his atar, and hoped that when they returned to Tirion, Pelendur would have had second thoughts about his son’s worth.

"What can you tell me about my son’s opponent?" Ingwë suddenly asked Arafinwë.

The Noldóran reluctantly tore his gaze from the bout between Glorfindel and Calmacil. Glorfindel had just scored a point and the crowd was cheering. Arafinwë glanced at Cirion and Ingwion fighting. Neither had scored any points as yet, but he could see that the two ellyn were equally matched.

"Cirion fought in the War of Wrath," Arafinwë said. "He was one of my captains."

Ingwë gave Arafinwë a surprised look. "He appears to be rather young to have held such a position."

Arafinwë nodded. "Young indeed, yet he was a natural leader and a deadly fighter. Even the older elves respected him and he proved wise beyond his years."

Ingwë nodded, looking thoughtful. "Ingwion wanted to join you when you set off for Endórë," he said softly.

Arafinwë gave his kinsman a sympathetic look. "I know he did, but I understand why you did not grant him permission to come, though many of the Vanyarin warriors thought it would only be natural for their prince to lead them in the War. I know there was great disappointment among them when he did not."

"I don’t think he ever truly forgave me," Ingwë said in a whisper, looking somewhat despondent. There was old pain in his eyes, pain that he usually could hide even from himself, but the conversation was dredging up memories and feelings he had hoped had been laid to rest long ago.

Arafinwë leaned over and placed a comforting hand on Ingwë’s arm. "I do understand why you did not let Ingwion come with me to Endórë, Uncle. More importantly, I approve of your decision and would have refused him had he asked me."

Ingwë gave Arafinwë a surprised look, but seeing the sincerity in the other’s eyes, nodded. "Thank you. I think I needed to hear that."

Arafinwë nodded as well. The two kings’ attention was diverted by loud cheering and they looked up in time to see Haldir disarm his opponent, thereby ending the match. Arafinwë nodded his approval, while Ingwë looked chagrined to see one of his own people losing. Olwë, seeing the look on the High King’s face, leaned over and spoke in sympathetic tones.

"Lord Valacar actually scored more points against Lord Haldir, but that last maneuver was completely unexpected. Valacar has no need to feel shame, nor should you. He held out much longer than I expected, knowing he was facing a proven warrior who survived the Nirnaeth Arnediad."

"Olwë speaks truly," Manwë said, entering the discussion for the first time. "Valacar did quite well against Haldir and whether he wins or loses, he has earned nothing but our respect."

Ingwë appeared mollified by Manwë’s words and turned his attention back to Ingwion’s match with Cirion, though he also watched the other matches as well, especially Glorfindel’s. The ellon seemed hardly to be fighting, though Calmacil appeared nearly winded with the effort to keep up with the Reborn ellon. Ingwë wondered if Glorfindel was even exerting his full strength against his opponent and hoped the ellon was not merely playing with the other warrior. He heard Manwë chuckle, as if the Vala had divined his thoughts.

"Glorfindel is not ‘playing’ with Calmacil," the Elder King said suddenly. "He is, however, being careful. His last battle was against a Maia, whom he slew, though it cost him his life."

"But he’s sparred before," Ingwë protested.

"Sparred, yes," Eönwë interjected from where he was standing next to Manwë’s seat, his eyes never leaving the lists, "but this is a true battle for him, for all of them. Glorfindel well remembers the last time he was in battle." The Maia spared Ingwë a brief glance and a brilliant smile. "I do not think he wants to have to explain to Lord Námo why there is one elf more in Mandos than there should be."

Ingwë couldn’t help laughing at that and nodded his understanding, turning back to watch how the matches were progressing. His eyes drifted to the left to watch the match between Aldundil and Findegil, and he smiled. Vorondil was standing in front of the healers’ tent practically hopping up and down in agitation as he watched his atar fighting. Ingwë wondered if the ellon was also feeling nervous standing so close to the Valar, even though none of them appeared to be paying him any attention.

****

Vorondil nearly fainted when he realized that Lord Námo and Lord Irmo were seated on either side of the healers’ tent where he was stationed. He had lost his fear (mostly) of the Valar, or at least of some of them, but they still made him nervous and he didn’t want to think about a certain grove in Lórien. His mind tended to skitter from that particular memory and he had to force himself not to be sick in public. He stood outside the tent watching his atar fight and tried not to think about anything else. So focused was he on the fighting that he was unaware of Námo staring at him for a long moment, the Vala’s eyes dark with foreboding.

Vorondil was hopping up and down, wanting to shout at his atar to look out every time Findegil brought his sword down on Aldundil’s shield. He did not really understand what was happening or why his atar just didn’t go in and beat the other elf to pieces. Vorondil kept trying to remember what his master had told him about Aldundil having survived the War of Wrath, but it didn’t help all that much and he wanted to run out onto the field and tackle the Sinda hurting his atar.

Suddenly, and to his utter humiliation, he felt himself being picked up and found himself in Námo’s arms. The Vala held him close to his chest and bending down whispered in the ellon’s ear. "Take a deep breath, child. You are becoming overwrought for no good reason."

Vorondil bit back a sob of embarrassment and tried not to squirm as he did what he was told. He suddenly felt dizzy and Námo held him closer until the spell passed and he was clear-headed again.

"I-I’m sorry," Vorondil stuttered as Námo put him back down, though he did not release his hold on the ellon. "D-don’t let Atto get hurt," he implored the Vala and Námo rocked him gently in his embrace.

"Child, that is beyond my powers to effect," he said quietly. "Remember, this is but a tournament. It isn’t the same thing as fighting in a battle for your life. Your atar will be well, just have faith."

The Lord of Mandos then turned Vorondil around so he could continue to watch the match. For a few moments, not much happened, then, suddenly, Aldundil seemingly stepped into the path of Findegil’s sword as the ellon was completing the arc of his last swing. Aldundil’s shield was knocked away from his body, thereby exposing him to Findegil’s attack. Aldundil suffered a severe body blow before he had time to parry.

"Atto!" Vorondil screamed as he watched Aldundil stagger, receiving a second body blow that drove him to his knees. The elfling struggled in Námo’s embrace to no avail. The Vala held onto him, sending calming thoughts until the ellon finally collapsed in his arms weeping.

"Now, child," Námo said, rocking Vorondil and humming a soft melody. "Your atar is well. If you are going to be a Lóriennildo, you have to learn to be calm or you will be no use to your charges."

"My brother is correct, Little One," Irmo said, suddenly standing next to him. He gave the ellon a piercing stare which brought a whimper from Vorondil. "If you wish to remain in my service you must learn to control yourself. You do no one any good if you are acting hysterically. Your atar is not seriously injured, but if he had been your behavior would not have helped him."

Vorondil turned pale under the Vala’s regard and murmured an apology, forcing himself to stay calm. The two Valar traded looks and Irmo’s expression softened as Námo released the ellon into his brother’s embrace. "Now why don’t you go out and make sure your atar is well," Irmo said gently and gave the ellon a little push of encouragement. "And no attacking Findegil," the Vala said loudly, ensuring that those nearby would hear, and he and Námo laughed at Vorondil’s look of embarrassment as the ellon ran towards the opening that gave access to the list.

****

Ingwë watched with interest as first Lord Námo and then Lord Irmo took charge of young Vorondil when Aldundil lost his match. The Valar seemed genuinely to care for the child and he was glad. It had gone against his nature to have to put an elfling on trial, however guilty he may have been of the crimes for which he’d been accused. The Valar’s solution to that conundrum had been startling and Findaráto’s response had been totally unexpected, but now he realized it had been for the best, for all of them, himself not the least. He felt someone watching him and turning saw Manwë eyeing him.

"We usually know what we are doing," the Elder King said with a small smile. Ingwë had no choice but to agree. He bowed his head in acknowledgment, then turned his attention back to the list. He watched with approval as the two warriors left the list together speaking amiably to one another with Vorondil between them. Both Aldundil and Findegil each had a hand on the ellon’s shoulders and Vorondil seemed honestly relieved. Ingwë gave a small sigh of relief, glad that that situation had been resolved. With the match decided that left only Glorfindel and Ingwion still fighting their respective opponents.

****

Ingwion took a quick deep breath as he brought his shield forward to block the blow that was coming. Cirion had proved a most worthy warrior and Ingwion had been pleased that they seemed equally matched, though he was initially surprised at the strength of the younger ellon’s parries. He had feared that he would either be paired with a warrior of lesser skill than he, or even worse, of greater skill. Cirion, however, was neither and Ingwion had settled in for a challenging bout. He had stopped trying to keep score some time before and so had no idea who might be winning. He was confident as he parried Cirion’s blow and then delivered one of his own that he could eventually win, but it would not be easy. Cirion was just that good.

The two warriors circled one another, each looking for an advantage. Ingwion made a conscious effort not to look only at Cirion’s eyes to gauge what the other ellon might do, but kept his eyes on Cirion’s chest. It was a dangerous mistake to make, he knew, to rely only on your opponent’s eyes to tell you what was going to happen next. His shield was taking a battering as he used it to intercept most of Cirion’s oncoming attacks and his ears were ringing with the clash of their swords and the noise of the crowd. Ingwion vaguely wondered how Glorfindel was doing in his match, and though he resisted the temptation to take a quick glance, he was momentarily distracted by the thought. There came a sudden blur of movement as his opponent unexpectedly shifted his position. The brilliant sunlight on Cirion’s hauberk reflected brightly in Ingwion’s eyes. Momentarily blinded, he never saw Cirion’s sword come crashing down upon his shield, splintering it and driving him to his knees.

****

Ingwë was taking a few moments to watch the bout between Glorfindel and Calmacil when he heard a gasp from Elindis followed almost immediately by groans from the crowd. He turned in time to see Ingwion’s sword go spinning out of his hand and at the same time fall to his knees, his shield lying in pieces. Cirion, meanwhile, had doffed his helmet and was kneeling before the prince. A part of Ingwë hoped he was asking his son’s pardon, but he realized that the warrior was merely checking to see if Ingwion was badly injured. He forced himself to remain seated as he watched the marshal of the list approach the two warriors and the three of them hold a conversation which none could hear. Then Cirion extended his hand and Ingwion clasped it and allowed the ellon to help him to his feet. Cheers broke out as the two warriors, after giving each other a salute, walked off the list arm in arm.

Ingwë sighed in relief, glad that his son did not seem unduly injured but sorry he had not won his first match. Elindis put a hand on his arm and gave him a fond look. "He did very well," she said softly. "I’m very proud of him."

"As am I," Ingwë acknowledged, bending over to give her a brief but loving kiss.

Now only Glorfindel and Calmacil were left fighting and that bout did not last much longer, for Calmacil inadvertently gave Glorfindel an opening that allowed him to slip his sword under the other ellon’s shield. He knocked Calmacil to the ground, his sword at the ellon’s throat, thereby ending the match to much cheering from the spectators. Ingwë and the others in the royal gallery clapped in approval and soon the field was cleared and the next set of fighters appeared.

****

Finrod, Arafinwë noted, had been assigned to the first list, much to the Noldóran’s amusement when he saw Ingwë scowl and heard him muttering something about favoritism. The second list had been assigned to Gilvagor and Region. Aldarion and Hallas were behind Finrod while Vëantur and Mithlas were behind Gilvagor.

Finrod’s opponent was a Vanya named Ardamírë. He was one of the oldest elves to be fighting, for he well remembered the Light of the Two Trees. Arafinwë could not recall if the ellon had participated in the War of Wrath, but upon asking Eönwë, the Maia shook his head.

"Nay. Lord Ardamírë remained behind in Aman, but he has trained in the sword ever since our return from Endórë. He lost both his sons in the war and his wife faded soon after upon hearing the news."

Arafinwë frowned. "He feels guilty for not having accompanied his sons to Endórë then and perhaps protecting them from harm."

Manwë nodded. "Guilt and anger. Both emotions drive him," the Vala said with a sigh. "I only hope they do not drive him into Mandos."

"Is he a danger to others, then?" Ingwë asked as he watched the match between his great-nephew and the Vanya commenced.

"Nay," Manwë answered. "But he may be a danger to himself."

"Why did he not fade, along with his wife?" Olwë asked.

It was Ingwë who answered, his expression somewhat cold. "Because I forbade it. I told him that if he faded I would follow him to Mandos and haul him back to Life and then condemn him to two ages on bread and water for defying my orders."

Several of the elves chuckled at that. "And you would have, too," Arafinwë said with a smile. "I’ve never known you to make idle threats, Uncle. I’m sure Ardamírë knew that, too."

Ingwë nodded. "He is a good ellon and one of my most trusted advisors. I know how difficult it has been, but I’d already lost...." he shook his head before continuing, his expression darkening to something near to despair. "I needed him alive. I needed his strength for myself."

No one said anything after that, though Manwë and Varda exchanged glances and there was a look of sympathy on the faces of the four Maiar, Olórin’s especially. The others in the gallery studiously watched the matches begin, softly commenting on the various fighting styles and techniques, giving their High King a moment of privacy. Soon, Ingwë’s own expression cleared and he visibly relaxed, turning to Arafinwë.

"Findaráto seems to be doing well against Ardamírë," he said.

Arafinwë nodded. "He was telling me on the way here that he was not sure he was going to be able to compete with any confidence as he has not had an opportunity to do much training, spending much of his time working with Alassiel."

Ingwë scowled. "I was not pleased to learn that he had begun training her in the use of the sword. I asked him why he had done so and do you know what his answer was?"

Arafinwë shook his head, intrigued by his son’s motives. He had been as surprised as any to see Alassiel in Findaráto’s company but had not questioned either of them as to the situation, trusting in his son’s integrity. Ingwë continued to scowl.

"He told me that the elleth was very arrogant and he meant to beat it out of her if it was the last thing either of them did."

Several eyebrows went up at that announcement and Arafinwë noticed Manwë and Varda exchanging amused looks.

"I’m sure he didn’t mean that literally," Arafinwë said, keeping his tone and expression neutral and had the pleasure of hearing Ingwë’s snort of laughter, his humor restored.

For several minutes those in the royal gallery watched the matches, with only a few whispered observations about the fighters being made. Arafinwë kept his focus on his son, noting the economical manner of the ellon’s technique. He suddenly thought how much he would have enjoyed fighting alongside his son had Findaráto survived to meet him on the shores of Beleriand. He felt an old grief at the memory of one of Lord Námo’s Maiar informing him that his firstborn had entered Mandos. The pain of it had been more terrible than learning that his other two sons had also died sometime earlier. He was surprised that that particular memory still held so much pain now that he had Findaráto back. He felt someone touch his arm and looking down was surprised not to see a hand, yet the sensation was still there. Then he heard the Elder King in his mind.

*Some griefs are never fully assuaged, child. Do not be surprised that that particular memory still has the power to give you pain.*

Arafinwë stole a glance at Manwë who was not even looking at him, but nodded anyway. *Thank you,* he thought simply and felt an invisible pat on his arm before the sensation disappeared. He returned his attention to the matches, noticing that Gilvagor and Region were going at each other with great enthusiasm. He did not know the lady personally, but he could see that she handled her sword competently enough. Gilvagor appeared to respect her and treated her as he would have any other warrior. The crowd cheered when Region scored the first point.

The match between Vëantur and Mithlas was the first to end, and sooner than any had expected. All watched as Mithlas came unexpectedly underneath Vëantur’s guard and brought him down in a swift motion of his sword. The blade struck Vëantur in the solar plexus so that the mail links of his hauberk were driven sharply inward, forcing the ellon’s breath from his lungs. He buckled from the pain and in seconds he was falling to the ground, unconscious. Mithlas knelt beside him and attempted to remove the fallen ellon’s helmet. The list marshal ran over to see how Vëantur fared and Eönwë was suddenly not there in the gallery but was standing over Mithlas who seemed somewhat agitated. Eönwë placed a hand on the ellon’s shoulder and the Sinda seemed to relax somewhat as the marshal gave Vëantur a cursory examination. Arafinwë then saw Laurendil with Vorondil run out onto the field with a stretcher. They deftly placed the still stunned ellon on it, taking him away.

Mithlas stood up then, his head bare, looking concerned, but Eönwë bent down and spoke to him. Whatever the Maia said seemed to help for the Sinda’s expression cleared somewhat and he did not look quite as distraught. Arafinwë noticed Ingwë whispering something in a page’s ear before sending the elleth off. No doubt the High King would be getting a report on Vëantur’s condition soon.

"I hope it isn’t too serious," Olwë said. "He will need to fight this afternoon."

"If he isn’t able to," Arafinwë said, "then Ingwion will not be able to compete either, since according to the rules of the list, he and Vëantur will compete in the first round of the parma-list fighters."

Ingwë nodded and sighed. "It would grieve me if Ingwion is unable to compete, for I know how much he has been looking forward to this tournament. I would hate to have him done with the tournament before he’s even begun."

"I’m sure that will not be the case," Manwë said, giving them all a serene smile. "Vëantur is not seriously hurt, merely stunned. He will recover in time for his next match. If necessary, we can even delay the afternoon matches for an hour or so to give him more time to recover."

These words seemed to mollify everyone and they settled back to watch the other three matches. Arafinwë was pleased to see that Findaráto was still holding his own, and was even winning, having scored more points against Ardamírë. He was about to make a comment to Eärwen about their son’s prowess with the sword when Ardamírë did the most unexpected thing. He went to one knee just as Findaráto was about to bring his sword down on the ellon’s shield. The sudden change in Ardamírë’s position threw Findaráto off-balance and with a swift upward thrust of his sword, Ardamírë dislodged the prince’s own shield, causing Findaráto to lean back in compensation, trying to retain his balance. Unfortunately, the ellon overcompensated and ended up on his back. Ardamírë was quickly on his feet, his sword at Findaráto’s throat.

There was no cheering, merely a stunned silence. By mutual consent the other two matches came to a halt to see what was happening. Then off to the side where he had been observing the fighting, Glorfindel started laughing and the sound of it brought everyone out of their state of shock. Arafinwë found himself rising and felt both Olwë and Eärwen pushing him back down. Glorfindel continued to laugh, practically dancing onto the field with glee to stand over Finrod, clapping Ardamírë on the shoulder and looking terribly smug.

"It’s about time someone brought you down a peg or two, brother," he said loud enough for all to hear. "I’ve been teaching Ardamírë that trick for weeks now but this is the first time he actually got it right." He nodded to Ardamírë who stepped back with a bow. Glorfindel extended a hand and after a brief second Finrod reached out but instead of allowing himself to be pulled up he tugged on Glorfindel’s arm and forced the ellon to the ground so that now Finrod was looming over him. The prince removed his helmet and all could see him smiling, a glint of mischief in his eyes. Glorfindel’s own expression was priceless, a mixture of surprise and chagrin.

"Tricks, is it?" Finrod exclaimed loudly. Then, he quickly removed his gauntlets and before Glorfindel could move Finrod straddled his chest and began tickling him. Glorfindel started shrieking, trying to dislodge his brother, but Finrod in full mail was unmovable. Glorfindel continued shrieking in laughter and the effect was to set everyone else laughing as well. Eventually Finrod relented and stood up. He glanced at Ardamírë who was standing to one side with an uncertain expression on his face. For a moment the two warriors faced each other and then Finrod extended his hand.

"Good match," he said. "You’ll have to show me that trick sometime."

Ardamírë took the prince’s hand and smiled. The spectators began cheering and the other two matches resumed while Finrod and Ardamírë walked off the field, leaving Glorfindel still lying on the ground with a stupid grin on his face.

Arafinwë found himself shaking his head and gave Ingwë a wry look. "It appears that both our sons have been outdone."

Before Ingwë could reply, Eönwë spoke up, a smile on his face. "Outdone, perhaps, but not outclassed. Neither of you have any need to feel anything but pride in your firstborn sons. They are a credit to their sires and their race."

Manwë nodded. "Indeed. A very interesting turn of events, the last bit with Glorfindel not the least."

This caused everyone to laugh and they settled back to watch the two remaining matches. Neither lasted much longer. Hallas eventually yielded to Aldarion, who had scored several points more than the Sinda. Gilvagor’s match against Region went a little longer, for the elleth was deadly with the sword and Gilvagor was equally competent. Finally, though, Gilvagor was able to disarm the elleth with a maneuver that Ingwë remembered seeing Glorfindel using on Aldarion one time, and the match was over.

There was general cheering from the crowd which began to break up now that the first round of fighting was over. The people in the royal gallery began to stir and the Elder King and his spouse rose.

"An excellent beginning of the tournament," Varda said with a smile. "I look forward to seeing how it all plays out."

"As do I," Manwë said. "This afternoon’s round should prove most interesting. Until then." He and Varda gave the royals a brief nod of their heads and then they were gone, as were all the other Valar and Maiar.

Ingwë glanced around and shrugged. "It is almost time for the noon meal. I suggest we return to the city."

Everyone nodded and soon the royal viewing gallery was empty.

****

Historical Note: Finrod’s brothers, Aegnor and Angrod, were both lost during the Dagor Bragollach in I 455. Finrod would die thirteen years later, in I 468, three years before the Dagor Nirnaeth Arnediad.

My thanks to Rhyselle for the technical information concerning body blows and fighting techniques.

120: Interlude With Elflings

Finrod and Glorfindel made their way back to the encampment, picking up Ingwion and Aldundil along the way. Finrod threw an arm around Ingwion and smiled.

"It looks as if you and I are destined to be counted among the losers."

"You would’ve won that match but for Glorfindel’s trick," Ingwion said with a laugh.

Glorfindel said nothing, merely smiled. Aldundil gave Finrod a rueful glance. "I’m afraid Vorondil took my losing the first round rather hard, aranya. I tried to explain how the tournament works but I don’t think he was convinced that losing doesn’t mean failing."

Finrod nodded. "I will speak to him, Aldundil, if you wish." The Noldorin warrior nodded his thanks.

They entered the compound to see the elflings under the watchful eyes of Alassiel and Sador helping to put the noon meal together. The two ellith were setting the table while the three ellyn were in the cooking tent, following Sador’s instructions. When Finrod and the others approached, Sador looked up with a smile.

"So how did it go?" he asked them.

Finrod pointed to Glorfindel. "Our brother won his match," he said, "but the rest of us didn’t fare as well." Glorfindel tried not to smirk but failed miserably.

Sador raised an eyebrow. "Well, I’m sure you’ll all do better in the next round."

"But only one of us will make it to the final round," Finrod acknowledged.

Before anyone could reply to that Veryandur spoke up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "B-but y-you can’t lose. Y-you’re a king!"

The ellon started crying, much to the other two ellyn’s disgust. "What a baby," Oromendil muttered and Sorondil nodded. Finrod, however, gave them a cool stare that unsettled them even as he gathered Veryandur into his arms.

"Now, now, there’s no need for tears, Little One," he crooned. "Kings can lose just as easily as anyone else, and all it means is that I now lead my own team of warriors, including Prince Ingwion."

Veryandur stilled his tears, giving them all a considering look. "Y-you’re the leader?" he asked uncertainly.

Finrod nodded and so did Ingwion when the elfling gave him a glance. "Findaráto is the highest ranking warrior for our team, so he is our leader," Ingwion explained.

That seemed to mollify the youngster. Finrod gave the ellon a brief hug and stood up, letting the child go. "Now, I believe you were all putting luncheon together," he said in a no-nonsense tone and Veryandur nodded, as did the other two elflings.

"S-sorry..." Veryandur began to stammer but Finrod put a gentle finger on the ellon’s lips.

"Tush, child. There’s nothing to be sorry about. I am gratified that you felt concern on my behalf, but I assure you all is well. Now, let’s eat."

With that, the elflings scurried about to put the luncheon on the table and in short order Finrod and the other adults were sitting down to the repast. The five elflings were made to stand to one side while the adults ate. Vorondil was not there, nor were Laurendil and Manwen, for they were tending to some of the scrapes and bruises gotten by the warriors during the morning and Vëantur still needed tending. He had come out of his swoon and was now resting comfortably with Vorondil keeping a close eye on him. Lord Irmo and Lady Estë had looked in on the ellon and assured that all was well, had left the elves to themselves. Lord Irmo lingered long enough to give Vorondil a few words of encouragement, telling the ellon how pleased he was with Vorondil’s progress as an apprentice. The Vala left the ellon beaming for all he was worth, much to the other healers’ amusement.

Finrod watched the elflings from the corner of his eye, even as he continued his discussion with Ingwion on the possibility of translating some of the lore from Beleriand into Quenya. Ingwion thought it would be a good idea to have such translations available to the Amanian elves, though Finrod opined that it would be better for them to learn Sindarin and read the texts in the original.

"That’s what I hope to do myself," Ingwion said and Finrod nodded his approval. As expected, the elflings were not taking to standing still for very long and they all tried not to fidget. Veryandur had retrieved his stuffed toy from somewhere and was whispering something in its ear while Eruanna and Lindorillë were giggling over something that only they found amusing. The other two ellyn simply looked bored and restive. Sador had assured Finrod that the elflings had all eaten a hearty breakfast and he had encouraged them to nibble on fruit and cheese throughout the morning, knowing that Finrod would have them stand attendance as part of their training.

"Or punishment, depending on how you want to look at it," Sador had said with a grin.

Finrod had nodded and laughed. "That, too."

Sador spoke up just then, giving Finrod a wicked grin. "The tailor came by while you were out playing," — Finrod threw back his head and laughed and the others joined in — "and he says he will have Veryandur and Eruanna’s tabards ready by tomorrow. He noticed the other three elflings and wondered why you did not have them fitted for tabards as well."

"What did you tell him?" Finrod asked as he took a sip of wine.

Sador shrugged. "I told him you had other plans for them and assured him that the two tabards were all that were required of him at this point."

Finrod nodded even as he noticed all five elflings had stopped their fidgeting, blatantly listening to the conversation. Lindorillë turned white at Sador’s words and started to tremble, fear coursing through her. The two older ellyn looked concerned but not frightened, not knowing about Lindorillë’s conversation with their lord earlier. Finrod put his wine goblet down and gestured to Lindorillë to approach him, but the elleth started backing away, shaking her head in denial. When Finrod made to stand she gave a shriek and actually ran from the pavilion. Glorfindel, at the other end of the table was up and after her before anyone else could move. The other elflings stood rooted in shock and the rest of the adults quickly got up and gathered them in their arms to give them whatever comfort they could. Glorfindel returned with a still screaming Lindorillë and Finrod had to Sing her into sleep.

"What was that all about?" Sador demanded, looking almost as distraught as the elflings.

"It’s not your fault, Sador," Finrod said soothingly even as he held a weeping Veryandur. "Lindorillë misinterpreted your words."

"Misinterpreted... how..."

Finrod shook his head. "It matters not, only that she did. Come, let us put these children to bed. They are all distraught and a long nap will do them a world of good."

With that he strode out of the pavilion with Veryandur in his arms and the others followed suit. The three ellyn were placed in Laurendil’s tent and were soon fast asleep; Veryandur snuggled up with his stuffed toy. Lindorillë and Eruanna were taken to Alassiel’s tent and soon Eruanna was as fast asleep as the older elleth, her doll nestled in her arms. The adults returned to the main pavilion and resumed their seats. When Sador again demanded an explanation, Finrod told him what had passed between Lindorillë and himself earlier. Only Alassiel did not look shocked, having been there when Finrod had confronted the younger elleth.

"Do these... these Amanian elves truly believe we would do such a thing?" Glorfindel asked in disbelief.

"But we have," Finrod answered with a shake of his head, "or at least some of us have from what I have heard. Much evil was done for the sake of Fëanor’s Oath. The Amanians are correct to wonder, though I had hoped that by now we would have gotten past all that."

Sador shook his head. "I fear that it will take some time for such ideas to fade away completely. Perhaps while they are under your tutelage, these elflings will learn the truth."

"Valandur told me that I couldn’t change the minds of all the Amanians," Glorfindel added musingly, "but I could change the mind of one elf." He gave Finrod a considering look. "You have six elflings who hopefully will learn the truth from you."

"And those six will someday teach others the truth as well," Finrod said with a nod. "We have to begin somewhere to change the attitudes of the Amanians towards the Reborn and the Tol Eressëans. We are all together now, no longer separated by an unforgiving sea. We must learn to live in harmony, accepting the differences and taking joy in them instead of disparaging them and wishing all was as before."

Glorfindel snorted. "As I recall, it wasn’t all that peaceful even under the Light of the Two Trees. Your uncle Fëanáro made sure of that."

Finrod nodded and sighed. "That is certainly true." Then he gave himself a mental shake and poured some more wine into his goblet. "Let us resume our previous conversation and our meal. I would be rested for this afternoon’s match. Calmacil will be a most challenging opponent from what I saw of his match against you, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel nodded in agreement. "He is a worthy opponent."

Then the elves began dissecting the morning’s battles as they continued to enjoy their luncheon while five elflings slept on, oblivious to it all.

****

An hour before the afternoon match was to begin, Finrod gently brought the elflings out of their induced sleep, starting with Lindorillë. She had slept with her eyes closed and was blinking them sleepily as Finrod sat there patiently, waiting for her to waken all the way so he could speak with her. When she saw him, her eyes widened and she started to whimper but Finrod put a finger to his lips, pointing to Eruanna.

"Shh," he whispered conspiratorially. "Eruanna still sleeps."

Lindorillë looked over to see the younger elleth nestled with her doll, a soft smile on her face as she continued dancing along the Path of Dreams and then gave Finrod a considering look. He nodded. "You and I must have an understanding, child," he said, continuing to speak in low tones. "I told you that none of you will be harmed while in my service."

"S-sador said..." she started to say.

Finrod shook his head. "All Sador meant was that you will be going with my atar back to Tirion and he will see to whatever livery will be required for you to wear. You must not read into our words more than what is meant. I’m sorry Sador’s words upset you, but you must believe me that none here will ever do anything to you to shame you."

He let her think about that as he bent over Eruanna and gently called her back from sleep. The elleth focused her eyes and smiled sleepily at her lord as he brushed a hand through her locks. "Time to wake up, child," he said quietly. "You don’t want to miss seeing this afternoon’s match, do you?"

That woke the child completely and she sat up, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Truly?" she exclaimed.

Finrod nodded, giving both ellith a fond smile. "So, get yourselves cleaned up as we’ll be leaving soon."

He left them to go wake the ellyn. In a short while the elves of the encampment were amused to see five elflings trailing behind Finrod and Glorfindel like so many chicks with Eruanna, walking next to Alassiel, asking one question after another. Sador brought up the rear, a huge grin on his face.

121: Fateful Memories

Since only the parma-list warriors would be fighting, the tinco-list fighters took their ease. Glorfindel joined Aldarion and Mithlas near the royal gallery as Finrod and Ingwion would be fighting in the front lists. When the royals returned from the city, the Valar appeared as well. Before sitting down, Ingwë walked over to the edge of the viewing stand and called out to Glorfindel, who rose and gave the High King a bow. Ingwë gestured for him to approach, which he did.

"I want to congratulate you on your win, Glorfindel," Ingwë said quietly.

"Thank you, Sire," Glorfindel said, giving the High King another bow, "but it is only the first match and there are no guarantees."

"No, there are not," Ingwë agreed. "Still, I think you did very well." He paused for a moment. "I do hope, though, that before the end we actually see you fighting."

At first Glorfindel was unsure what Ingwë meant, and then he blushed and looked down. "So do I," he murmured and had the pleasure of hearing Ingwë laugh.

"Then we understand one another," Ingwë said and, with a nod, returned to his seat, effectively dismissing the ellon. Glorfindel returned to his seat beside Aldarion and Mithlas, each of whom gave him a considering look.

"What did he mean about seeing you fight?" Mithlas asked, looking confused.

Glorfindel just shook his head and did not answer. Mithlas gave Aldarion a look and the Vanya shrugged.

Just then, Eönwë appeared, announcing the start of the afternoon’s round of fighting. The second round had been delayed for an hour to give Vëantur sufficient time to recover. He now stood beside Ingwion where the other fighters were waiting to enter the lists. Ingwion was speaking to him softly. Glorfindel could see Vëantur shake his head and smile and the two ellyn clasped hands.

"Looks as if Vëantur is going to compete," he said to the other two warriors.

Aldarion nodded. "I’m glad. I was afraid that he would be unable to compete and then Prince Ingwion would also be disqualified."

Mithlas looked chagrined. "I didn’t mean to hit him so hard," he said. "I saw the opening and just went in."

Glorfindel put an arm around the Sinda and gave him a brief hug. "Do not be concerned, mellon nîn, all is well. Vëantur is lucky that it was you who hit him."

Mithlas gave him a surprised look. "Why do you say that?"

Glorfindel put on a virtuous air. "Everyone knows that the Sindar are not the strongest fighters. Now if it had been a Noldo..."

He didn’t get any further as Mithlas, quite forgetting where he was and who Glorfindel was, began beating up on him, though he was laughing as he did so. "Weak, are we?" he cried as Glorfindel attempted to evade him. "I’ll show you weak." He then changed tactics and started tickling the ellon and Aldarion joined in. Glorfindel started shrieking and those around them gave the three ellyn dirty looks, which quickly changed to looks of respect when Eönwë suddenly appeared before them.

"When you are quite finished, children," the Maia said with a smile.

Immediately Mithlas and Aldarion stopped their tickling, muttering apologies. Glorfindel attempted to catch both his breath and his dignity, not quite succeeding with either. He was gasping and looking a bit white.

"Are you well, sword-brother?" Eönwë asked with concern.

Glorfindel could only shake his head. Mithlas looked alarmed and Aldarion scowled, turning to someone and quickly asking for water. Almost at the same time, Námo showed up, which really gave everyone nearby pause. Mithlas and Aldarion attempted to move away from the Lord of Mandos without seeming to do so. Námo ignored them, his attention on Glorfindel.

"Look at me, Glorfindel," the Vala demanded softly, yet his tone brooked no denial and Glorfindel complied, fear in his eyes.

"What are you remembering?" Námo asked, but Glorfindel just shook his head, whimpering. Námo reached over and placed a hand on the ellon’s brow. "What are you remembering, child?" he asked again, gently.

Glorfindel looked at him with pain in his eyes. "Th-the Nirnaeth..." he whispered in Sindarin. "Hu-húrin and... and the retreat."

Mithlas and some of the Noldor and Sindar who were in the stands all gasped. The others, like Aldarion, being Vanyar, had puzzled looks on their faces. They did not understand what Glorfindel had said but they saw Eönwë and Lord Námo’s expressions darken to something too terrible to behold and many had to look away. Námo ran a gentle hand through Glorfindel’s braids.

"Look at me, child," he said, for Glorfindel’s eyes had unfocused, seeing something that none else could see. Slowly he complied. Námo, meanwhile, knelt before him. "It’s over with, child. It’s in the past. Let it go. Whatever you feel is just a memory of the pain. It isn’t real."

Glorfindel nodded, and attempted to take a deep breath. Aldarion handed him a goblet of water, which he drank thirstily. "Wh-why now?" he stammered as he finished drinking.

Námo shook his head. "I do not know, child. There is no rhyme or reason for when your memories will return." He continued to stroke the ellon’s hair. Aldarion and Mithlas took turns rubbing Glorfindel’s back. Slowly his color returned and he was breathing more normally.

By now the other spectators were giving the Reborn elf more considerate looks as the situation became clearer to them. One of the elves, a Vanyarin lord by his dress, gave Námo a puzzled look.

"He was remembering something?" the elf asked.

Námo nodded. "A memory of a terrible battle. The elves were forced to retreat, leaving the mortals who were their allies to cover them. Only one of the mortals survived."

The elf raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "That’s all right then. I’ve often wondered what use these mortals I keep hearing about really were."

Before anyone could respond, Glorfindel was on the hapless ellon in a towering rage. Námo deftly grabbed him before he could do the elf any harm and held him close, giving him a shake. "Behave!" he said quietly but with authority and surprisingly the ellon stopped his thrashing and snarling.

No one else moved, too shocked to do more than gape. Námo turned his gaze upon the Vanyarin lord and his expression was terrible to behold. Eönwë’s own expression was just as cold and unforgiving. The elves all began to feel faint under the regard of the Lord of Mandos and the Herald of Manwë. Neither spoke. Instead, there was movement from behind and then Manwë, followed by the three kings, joined them. Everyone stood in their presence.

The Elder King’s expression was mild but his tone when he spoke was icy. "Children," was all he said, yet that single word made every elf within hearing blush and look embarrassed. Manwë continued to stare at them for a moment or two longer before turning to Eönwë. "I do believe there is a tournament that needs seeing to."

Eönwë bowed and strode away. Námo put Glorfindel down and the ellon looked suitably chastened.

"Forgive me," he said quietly, not quite meeting anyone’s gaze.

Manwë nodded, casting him a sympathetic look. "Your actions, while deplorable, are nonetheless understandable." The Elder King sighed. "I regret that you’ve had to experience another disturbing memory at this time, child."

Glorfindel shrugged, still not looking at anyone directly.

"Súlimondil," Ingwë then said, addressing the Vanyarin lord who had started everything. "We will speak later of this. You may come to my study this evening an hour after dinner." Ingwë’s voice was nearly as cold as Manwë’s had been. Súlimondil pressed his lips together, his expression sour, giving the High King a bow.

Manwë nodded. "I think we will get back to the tournament then. It is after all why we are here." He smiled but none of the elves were fooled. "Aldarion, Mithlas," Manwë then said, "take Glorfindel to the healers’ tent. He can do with a rest."

The two elves bowed and without a word took the still quiet Glorfindel by the elbows and steered him towards the tent. Vorondil was there, looking wide-eyed, having witnessed everything. As soon as he saw the elves bringing Glorfindel he ran into the tent to ready a cot. Námo gave Manwë a wry look and followed them. With another mild look at the subdued elves, Manwë and the kings returned to the viewing gallery even as Eönwë began to announce the afternoon’s matches.

As soon as he had seen Námo appear before Glorfindel, Finrod had been all set to go over to see what was happening, but Eönwë forestalled him with a single silent command. Now he gave the Elder King’s Herald a questioning look as the Maia returned to the center of the list. Eönwë gave the prince a nod and Finrod nodded in turn, then addressed the other warriors.

"Let’s do this," he said and the others gave a shout of approval as they marched out onto the field to take up their positions.

****

As Arafinwë took his seat, Eärwen put a hand on his arm, looking concerned. "How is Glorfindel?"

"He remembered something from... before," Arafinwë answered with a shake of his head. "It was not pleasant."

Eärwen sighed. "Poor child. Much like Findaráto when he first came back to us."

The Noldóran nodded. "Except this time we’re better prepared to help him." He sighed, his expression rueful. "When I think back to how I treated our son..."

"How we treated him," Eärwen corrected him and Arafinwë nodded in agreement.

Manwë then entered the conversation. "Do not be too hard on yourselves, my children. You have done very well by Findaráto, by all three ellyn. We are quite pleased with how far they’ve come under your loving guidance."

They both bowed their heads to Manwë in acknowledgment of his words. The Elder King smiled. "Now why don’t we concentrate on enjoying the afternoon matches."

They turned their attention to the lists. Aldundil and Region, they saw, were fighting in the list behind Finrod and Calmacil, while Valacar and Hallas were in the list behind Ingwion and Vëantur. None of the matches were expected to last long and indeed the crowd was thinner than it had been that morning as many of the Vanyar from the city decided that the afternoon’s fighting would not prove very interesting.

Ingwë glanced to his right and saw Alassiel and Sador sitting with the five elflings between them. They were seated at one end of the first row and had an excellent view of Finrod’s match. From what he could see the children appeared to be doing well and he had no worries about them under Findaráto’s care. He smiled as he watched Eruanna hide her eyes every time Calmacil landed a blow on Findaráto’s shield and noticed how Sador gently took young Veryandur into his lap. The child looked somewhat distraught and Sador was obviously trying to comfort him.

****

Sador watched his brother fight with great interest. He himself would never pick up a sword again, but he respected the warriors who had sought to protect their people. Finrod appeared confident and competent, as was Calmacil. When Finrod scored the first point, hitting the other on his right shoulder, Sador turned to Alassiel with a grin and was surprised to see the elleth was not even paying attention to Finrod’s match. Instead, her gaze was fixed on Region, watching every move the elleth made and muttering comments under her breath. Sador shook his head in amusement and turned his attention back to Finrod and Calmacil.

The two ellyn came at each other with furious abandon. Sador gave the elflings a glance, noticing that Eruanna had her hands in front of her eyes, while the three older children were just sitting there with their mouths open. Veryandur, however, was clutching his stuffed toy as if it were a lifeline, his eyes white with fear. Sador reached over and gently took the ellon into his lap to comfort him, looking down at the child with a smile and giving him a hug.

"It’s all right, child," he whispered soothingly. "Do not be afraid for Findaráto." Then he looked up to watch the fight and everything changed.....

He was back in Doriath on that fateful day. He was playing with a ball in one of the courtyards with his friends when chaos erupted. People started screaming... and dying. Sador glanced at the elflings cowering beside him.

"We cannot linger," he whispered and, picking up the youngest ellon, he began to run....

.... right into Námo’s embrace with Veryandur still in his arms screaming. Sador looked at the Lord of Mandos confusedly, not sure what had happened. Námo gently took the child from him and with a single word stilled Veryandur’s screams. Sador only realized that Alassiel was there beside him when Námo handed her the now quiescent child. Without another word the Vala gently took Sador by the arm and led him towards the healers’ tent. Sador found he didn’t have the strength to resist. It was only when Námo pushed him onto a cot while one of the healers pulled off his boots for him that he came out of his stupor.

"But I wanted to see Finrod fight," he protested weakly even as he allowed them to cover him with a blanket.

Námo shook his head. "There will be other opportunities, Sador, for Finrod won his match."

"B-but I didn’t see..."

"Hush now, child," Námo said gently, "do not fret so. All is well."

The Lord of Mandos then began humming an ancient lullaby and in spite of himself Sador drifted off to sleep. Námo silently summoned Maranwë who, along with Tindomerel, was acting as his attendant. The Maia appeared and gave his lord a bow.

"Keep an eye on him for me," Námo said, then strode out of the tent without another word, looking pensive. He stopped where Alassiel, now joined by Eärwen and Elindis, were comforting the children. Finrod was there as well, kneeling before the elflings and speaking to them in soft tones. The children looked calmer and Veryandur even smiled at something the prince was saying. As Námo approached, Finrod stood up and gave the Vala a questioning look.

"Doriath," was all the Lord of Mandos said and Finrod hissed in surprise. He started to head towards the tent but Námo forestalled him. "He’s sleeping now. Let him rest."

Even as the Vala was speaking to Finrod he was holding another conversation with Manwë, indeed with all the Valar. To the elves, it appeared as if none of the Valar had moved, yet they met together in the tenth spatial dimension, a dimension where the landscape was eerily similar to the one in which they inhabited. The Valar met on an open plain under a brilliant blue sky. Manwë addressed them all.

"First Glorfindel and now Sador within a space of a few minutes. That cannot be coincidental."

Námo shook his head. "I think the fighting is triggering memories."

"Glorfindel did not suffer a similar episode at the solstice tournament," Ulmo pointed out.

"I have no answers, brother," Námo admitted. "Each Reborn is a separate case. No two are the same, though their experiences are similar in scope."

"What about the other Reborn who are fighting?" Estë asked.

"Findaráto does not seem to be affected... yet," Námo said, "but that may be due to the fact that he has grown beyond all that. His memories are nearly intact, and the few that are missing are inconsequential. Haldir, on the other hand, is still quite... young emotionally, younger even than Glorfindel. He may suffer as well, but there is no way to predict when or if it will happen."

"Are there any other Reborn who may be affected by the fighting simply by witnessing it as Sador did?" Manwë asked.

Námo nodded, sending a part of himself back along the space-time continuum to the morning’s event, quickly scanning for all the Reborn who were there, for he knew each intimately by name, then he checked them against those who were attending the afternoon’s round. It did not take long even by Valarin measurements. "Fifty all told, from this morning and this afternoon. I’ve alerted my people and there will be a Maia standing watch over each of them until the tournament’s end, and maybe even afterwards in case of delayed reactions."

Manwë nodded. "That is well then. I admit I did not foresee the possibility of a tournament being a source of trouble where the Reborn are concerned."

"Nor I," Námo admitted ruefully. "This will not make it easier for the other elves to be accepting of them."

The Elder King nodded. "Unfortunately, I fear you are correct, my son." He gave them all a wry look. "I have sometimes wondered if we did the right thing bringing the Firstborn to Aman. They seem no end of trouble."

Most of the other Valar snorted in amusement and Aulë spoke up. "Just as well. If they weren’t so troublesome they wouldn’t be half as interesting."

"Or amusing," Varda added with a small smile. "They are the closest thing to offspring we will ever have. They are often annoying but in the long run they’ve been good for us. We were getting a bit... bored."

"You mean, boring," Vairë retorted with a laugh and the others joined her.

Manwë ended the meeting and they all returned to the tournament. The entire conversation had taken place between one blink of the eye and the next.

"... I’ll look in on him later then," Finrod was saying, never realizing that the Vala who nodded his acceptance of the ellon’s words had not been fully there for a brief second.

122: Rumors Among the Eldar

As predicted, the afternoon round of fighting was not as exciting as the morning’s round had been. Finrod and Ingwion both won their matches, though not easily. As Laurendil later commented, their opponents made them work for their wins. Region and Aldundil were evenly matched but the ellon managed to score a "mortal" blow, thus winning the round. Valacar lost to Hallas when he failed to block a thrust that caused his shield to drop so as to give Hallas just enough of an opening to drive the ellon to the ground.

So, it was not the fighting that had everyone talking, it was what had gone on in the stands. Those who had elected to stay away that afternoon soon regretted their decision as rumors flew, each one more outrageous than the last. One rumor had Glorfindel not only attacking but murdering the Vanyarin lord. Another had Sador attempting to kidnap a Vanyarin child. In both cases, the miscreants were apparently aided and abetted by Lord Námo himself.

When Námo heard that one he nearly exploded. "Have they all gone insane?" he shouted in outraged disbelief as the Valar congregated in the throne room on Taniquetil that evening. "Perhaps Ulmo should recheck their water supply!"

Ulmo burst into laughter at that and gave the irate Vala a hug. "Ah, Little Brother, you are too funny."

"Being accused of complicity in kidnaping and murder is not funny, Ulmo," Námo retorted though he could not resist a faint smile at the absurdity of the charges. Ulmo continued to hold him in his embrace for a moment or two longer, allowing the younger Vala to calm down. The Lord of Waters smiled fondly at his younger brother in Ilúvatar’s Thought, remembering earlier ages when Námo had been less sure of himself. Now he was the dread Lord of Mandos, a role he took on with great dignity and not a little humor, though the Children were rarely aware of the latter trait, poor things. Ulmo chuckled to himself and gave Námo a brief kiss before letting him go.

"No, it is not funny," Manwë said solemnly, though there was a hint of laughter in his eyes.

"Such an insult, not only to us, but to Glorfindel and Sador, should not go unanswered," Varda then said, her expression neutral, though only Manwë knew just how furious she truly was.

"And what do you propose we do, my love... kill them?" the Elder King asked in a mild tone that fooled none of them. Vána actually snickered and Tulkas’ booming laughter soon followed when Varda blushed at the unspoken reprimand. That broke the tension that had been building among them and they all, including Námo, laughed.

"Varda is correct, though," Námo said when they had calmed down. "Not so much for our sake, but Glorfindel and Sador shouldn’t be accused of crimes they’ve not committed."

"Do you think Ingwë is unaware of these rumors, or even who may be spreading them?" Manwë asked with a lift of an eyebrow.

Námo shook his head. "Nay, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t use a little help." He sighed then, looking less aggrieved but more sorrowful. "It does not help that it is the Reborn who are the targets of these rumors, nor the fact that their apparent victims were Vanyar. It’s only going to make things worse."

"Or better," Yavanna interjected. They all gave her questioning looks. She merely smiled. "When Ingwë exposes these rumors, and any others that may come along, for the absurd lies that they are, when he can prove that Súlimondil is alive and well and that the child is equally well and happy, those spreading the rumors will be shown for what they are: liars and malcontents. That can only be a good thing, can it not?"

Manwë nodded. "We will let Ingwë handle this as he sees fit, and Námo," he looked pointedly at the Lord of Mandos, "if you’re thinking of taking your own revenge on these rumormongers, remember our conversation from the last time."

Námo blushed and bowed to Manwë. "Yes, my lord." Then he scowled and muttered to no one in particular, "Sometimes being good and noble really sucks."

This set everyone laughing again. Vairë reached up and gave her husband a fond kiss.

****

When Ingwë heard the rumors later that evening he stood in stunned surprise as Valandur recounted the more absurd lies to his lord. The other royals, including Ingwion, were gathered in Ingwë’s private sitting room, taking their ease. It was just after dinner and Ingwë was about to go to his study for his meeting with Lord Súlimondil, but when Valandur came in with the news he just stood there in fury. The others looked equally stunned and furious at the same time.

"And do you have any ideas as to who is spreading these rumors?" Ingwë asked softly when Valandur finished his report.

The High King’s chief loremaster and spymaster shrugged. "I have my theories," he said diffidently.

The High King raised an eyebrow. "Would you care to share them with us?" His voice was low and dangerous.

Valandur, used to his lord’s moods, merely shook his head. "Not at this time, my lord. There are one or two points I wish to check first. I do not wish to make false accusations against the innocent."

Ingwë was about to make a retort when Arafinwë cut him off with a question of his own. "What about the Valar? Surely the insult to Lord Námo will not go unpunished."

"I’m sure the Valar are quite capable of taking care of themselves," Ingwë snarled brusquely. "It is Glorfindel and Sador for whom I am most concerned."

"And any of the other Reborn," Olwë added. "They could easily become targets of people’s rage if these rumors are not quashed immediately."

Ingwë nodded and turned back to Valandur. "Have extra guards placed around Findaráto’s encampment, but be discreet about it. In the morning I will have both Lord Súlimondil and the child appear with us at the tournament. That should take care of the rumors. Glorfindel can’t be accused of killing someone when the supposed victim is standing there alive and well. Same goes for the elfling, though I regret subjecting the child to the ordeal." He sighed and shook his head. "Well, I’d best go see Súlimondil."

But Súlimondil never showed for his meeting with the High King and then Ingwë’s rage knew no bounds. He summoned his chief guards. "Find him and bring him to me, even if you have to tear this city apart. Have his family brought to the palace as well. They may know where he’s hiding."

The guards left and Ingwë sat at his desk... and waited.

****

Glorfindel and Sador slept most of the afternoon away, both of them waking around sunset. They made their way back to the encampment along with Laurendil, Manwen and Vorondil. When they arrived Finrod drew Sador aside and spoke to him quietly, then the two ellyn went into the main pavilion together while the others remained outside at Finrod’s request.

Inside, Sador followed Finrod to their sleeping quarters where he saw Veryandur asleep in Finrod’s cot, his stuffed toy snuggled in his arms. Finrod sat on the cot and gently called the child awake. Sador kept out of the ellon’s line of sight.

Veryandur woke and gave Finrod a sleepy smile. "How are you feeling now, Little One?" Finrod asked gently.

"Hungry," came the reply around a yawn.

Finrod chuckled. "Well, dinner will be soon. In the meantime, there’s someone who wants to talk to you."

It was only then that Sador stepped into Veryandur’s view. The child clutched his toy and tried to move away but Finrod took him in his arms and held him. Sador knelt beside his brother, his expression full of regret.

"Hello, Veryandur," he said quietly. "I hope you can forgive me for what I did earlier."

"You scared me," the child said accusingly.

"I know," Sador replied. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was lost in a memory and had no idea what I was doing."

Veryandur gave Finrod an uncertain look. Finrod nodded. "Sador was remembering something bad that happened to him when he was an elfling and he did not realize he was scaring you."

"How bad?" the ellon asked, now curious.

"It was very bad, child," Sador said. "I will not tell you about it, but I will tell you that I did not mean you any harm. Lost in my memory though I was, my only thought was to see you safely out of harm’s way. Do you believe me?"

Veryandur considered Sador’s words for a few moments and then nodded. He then looked at Finrod, his expression still accusatory. "I didn’t like the fighting. It was scary."

Finrod gave the ellon a light smile. "Then I am sorry as well. Perhaps you would rather stay here from now on?"

"A-alone?" Veryandur asked.

Finrod shrugged. "Well, everyone else will be at the tournament."

The ellon thought this over for a moment, then sighed. "I guess I can close my eyes like Eruanna when it gets too scary."

Finrod and Sador both chuckled at that. Sador ruffled the ellon’s hair, giving Finrod a conspiratorial wink. "I tell you what. We’ll close our eyes together. I don’t like watching the fighting either. Is that all right with you?"

Veryandur gave Sador a smile and nodded. "Narmollë can watch the fighting for us," he said, holding up his stuffed toy. "He’s not afraid."

Finrod smiled, pleased that this particular crisis had been resolved. "That’s settled then." He released Veryandur from his embrace and stood up. "Now who’s ready to eat?"

****

Finrod decided to make dinner that evening a festive affair to celebrate everyone’s wins. Aldundil and Calalindalë came by, having been invited by Finrod earlier, and Ingwion, as well, though the Vanyarin prince did not stay very long, having promised to meet with his atar after dinner. The children were delighted to be allowed to eat with the grown-ups and laughed along with the others when Sador and Glorfindel suddenly got into a food fight. Soon everyone was covered with food and Finrod declared a truce, ordering his brothers to do the washing up. Then they were startled to see their own lord help haul the hot water, even giving Sador a hand with the drying. The three older elflings especially were looking thoughtful as they watched the prince of the Noldor and his two brothers teasing one another as they did the dishes together.

Afterwards, they sat around the fire, the children growing somewhat sleepy but determined to stay awake as long as possible. Veryandur was already nestled in Manwen’s arms, Narmollë firmly in his grasp. Lindorillë and Eruanna were attempting to braid the hair of Eruanna’s doll Yávië to match the braids that Finrod sported. Finrod, when he learned what they wanted to do, smiled and gave them some small beads and gems to play with, explaining the pattern of the twists. He did not bother to tell them the significance of the warrior braids, pleased as he was that the two ellith wanted to imitate him in some fashion. It meant that they were beginning to accept him as a parental substitute. Alassiel sat next to them, giving them pointers and even fashioning a sword for the doll from a dinner knife. She promised Eruanna that they could also make a mail coat for Yávië later when the elleth asked about it. The other adults looked on with indulgent smiles.

When Oromendil tentatively asked Finrod about Tirion, the prince regaled them with stories of the first city of the Eldar in Eldamar, telling them about growing up there and the things he had done as an elfling, giving them an idea of what their own lives might be like.

"Atar will probably place you with Mistress Lótemalda, who cares for all the court pages," Finrod told them at one point and gave them a conspiratorial look. "She’s a real terror, so you’d best behave."

Glorfindel laughed. "And you know this from personal experience, do you?"

Finrod gave his brother a deprecating grin. "Mistress Lótemalda was never impressed by the fact that I was a prince of the Noldor in my grandfather’s court. She meted out punishment without showing any favoritism."

"Probably on Atar’s orders," Sador said as he took a sip of wine.

Finrod nodded. "Probably. So, my children, you had best mind yourselves around Mistress Lótemalda, but have no fear of her. She is strict but not cruel and you will learn much from her."

Sorondil and Oromendil nodded their understanding, as did Lindorillë. Sorondil then asked what it was like living in Endórë. Finrod asked Sador to tell them about growing up in Doriath and Sador took a few minutes to tell them about Menegroth and playing in the forests of Region with his friends. He was in the middle of recounting the time they had built a raft to float down the river that ran before the gates of Menegroth when Ingwion showed up, looking distraught.

Finrod got up and drew the Vanyarin prince aside while Sador quickly finished up his story. Then Laurendil and Manwen began herding the sleepy children to their cots, though there was much protest from the older elflings. Veryandur was already asleep and Eruanna was yawning away. Soon, however, all five elflings were safely abed and slipping onto the Path of Dreams.

Meanwhile, Ingwion was telling the others about the rumors that were spreading. When Glorfindel heard about what he was supposed to have done, he grimaced. "It would serve them all right if I’d done just that," he muttered.

Sador simply looked distraught and Finrod put an arm around the ellon’s shoulders and gave him a hug. "Do not be concerned, my brother," he said soothingly. "They are only rumors and no one who knows you will take them seriously."

"But few of the Vanyar know me," Sador protested.

"I know you," Ingwion stated firmly. "You are my otorno, even as Glorfindel is. That is all that is important. Atar will find who is spreading such lies and put an end to it. We think that Lord Súlimondil is behind them."

He told them that the Vanyarin lord never showed for his meeting with Ingwë and that the High King had put out a warrant for his arrest. "He’s hiding somewhere in the city," Ingwion said. "Eventually he’ll be found."

"Assuming he stayed in the city," Laurendil said.

"Where else could he go?" Ingwion asked. "It’s not as if he knows anyone in the encampment."

"There’s Lord Valacar."

They all turned to look at Vorondil in surprise. The ellon had been sitting by the fire with his parents and had been listening to the exchange.

"What do you mean, child?" Ingwion asked.

Vorondil looked at Finrod who gave him a nod of encouragement. He turned back to Ingwion. "It’s just that Lord Valacar came to the tent to have his hurts from the fighting tended to and Lord Súlimondil came soon afterwards. I think they may be cousins, leastwise that is how they addressed one another." Ingwion nodded and Vorondil continued. "Lord Súlimondil was very upset and Lord Valacar invited him to return to his tent with him."

"Valacar has a tent here in the encampment?" Ingwion asked.

Finrod nodded. "Except for you, all of the other Vanyarin fighters do. It’s more convenient to the lists after all."

Ingwion nodded his understanding, then addressed Vorondil, giving the ellon a smile. "Thank you, Vorondil. You’ve been most helpful. Findaráto is lucky to have you in his service. You do him great credit." He gave the ellon a respectful bow that left Vorondil speechless, though obviously pleased by the praise. His parents looked equally pleased, especially Aldundil, who gave his son a hug, much to the ellon’s delight.

"Do you know where Valacar’s tent is?" Ingwion then asked Finrod.

"No," Finrod answered, "but that is not a problem." He went to the gate and told the guards there what he wanted. One of them left in a hurry and returned several minutes later with another elf who turned out to have been in charge of assigning tent spaces in the encampment. A soft word from Finrod and the elf was happily pulling out his map of the encampment, pointing out where Lord Valacar’s tent was located.

Finrod gave them all a wicked grin. "Shall we go see if Lord Valacar is entertaining?"

They all laughed. Glorfindel ran to get his sword along with Finrod’s. Sador was planning to remain in the encampment to watch the children but Finrod insisted that as one of the injured parties, he should be there.

"Vorondil can watch over them for us," Finrod said, for both Laurendil and Manwen as well as Alassiel asked to join them and Finrod had agreed. Aldundil stated that he and his wife would remain with their son and give him a hand until the others had returned. Finrod gave his consent and then turned to the others. "Well, let us go see if we can put these rumors to rest, once and for all."

In minutes, the compound was empty except for Aldundil, Calalindalë, Vorondil and five elflings. Vorondil gave a sigh as he watched his master leave with his brothers and the other elves. Aldundil gave him a sympathetic smile and gathered him into his embrace, giving his son a kiss on the brow.

"Why don’t you tell your ammë and me about your training as a healer," Aldundil suggested, hoping to distract his child.

Vorondil reluctantly complied but soon began to speak more enthusiastically about his studies, forgetting for a time his own disappointment at not being by his master’s side. Aldundil and Calalindalë traded fond looks as they listened to Vorondil regaling them about his life in Lórien.

****

Narmollë: Little Wolf. In English, ‘Wolfie’.

Yávië: Autumn.

123: Rumors Arrested

They approached the area where Valacar’s tent was located without picking up an escort. Finrod had to order several warriors not to follow them as they made their way through the encampment, but asked them to stay alert in case of need. This mollified the ellyn somewhat but it was obvious that everyone was curious to know what was happening. Finrod and Glorfindel would not normally walk through the encampment armed.

"There," Finrod said quietly, pointing towards a small pavilion set within a compound that had been reserved for some of the Vanyarin fighters. "His tent is the third one on the left."

The others nodded. As they reached the entrance they were unsurprised to find guards there asking their business.

"Prince Findaráto, Prince Ingwion and Lord Glorfindel to see Lord Valacar," Laurendil said, acting momentarily as their herald.

Most of the guards raised their eyebrows in surprise, but their leader was not so obviously impressed. "And these others?" he asked, gesturing towards Alassiel, Sador and Manwen.

"Lady Alassiel is my squire," Finrod said imperiously.

"And Lord Sador is mine," Ingwion said smoothly.

Sador forced himself not to react, especially when Alassiel unobtrusively stepped on his right foot.

"And these two?" the captain of the guard gestured to Laurendil and Manwen, both of whom evinced an innocent air.

"They’re my personal healers," Glorfindel said without missing a beat, "on Lord Irmo’s orders. I never go anywhere without them."

The captain decided to ignore that and asked his next question, pointing to Finrod and Glorfindel’s swords. "And you plan to see Lord Valacar so armed... my lords?"

"Ah," Finrod said brightly, "Lord Valacar was admiring our weapons earlier and wished to have a closer look. Now, captain, if you are through interrogating two princes of Eldamar and the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, we wish to enter. No need to announce us, we know the way." This last was said as he and Ingwion attempted to pass the guards, who stood about somewhat uncertainly, not sure what to do.

The captain, however, was made of sterner stuff and neatly stood before Finrod, his aspect respectful but unmoving. "I cannot allow you to enter this compound so armed, my lord," he said. "I have strict orders to that effect."

"What is your name, Captain?" Ingwion asked.

For the first time, the captain looked hesitant, but answered readily enough. "Tulcandil, my lord."

Ingwion nodded. "I will remember to tell my atar how well you perform your duties, Captain," the Vanyarin prince said, "but I assure you, that preventing us from entering will not help your case when you are brought up on charges of obstructing the High King’s Justice."

Tulcandil and the other guards all paled at that and seeing the absolute truth of his statement in Ingwion’s eyes, the captain saluted and stepped aside.

"As I said," Finrod said with a smile, "no need to announce... Glorfindel! Cut him off!"

Everyone looked to where Finrod suddenly pointed. They saw a dark figure slipping out of the tent Finrod had identified earlier as Valacar’s. The person was attempting to run to the right behind the other tents in hope of eluding capture.

Glorfindel ran around the first tent, his sword drawn. There was the sound of a scuffle and then a yell, that was quickly cut off. Tulcandil started towards the sound but Ingwion stopped him with a shake of his head. In the meantime, Finrod hadn’t even bothered to wait to see if Glorfindel had succeeded in capturing whoever was trying to escape, but had sprinted towards Valacar’s tent, the others following more slowly with Tulcandil in tow. The other guards were instructed by Ingwion to maintain their posts and not to let anyone enter or leave without his or Prince Findaráto’s permission. When they reached the tent they saw Valacar sitting innocently in a cushioned chair, reading.

Valacar looked up in surprise and rose with a bow. "Greetings, my Lord Ingwion, Lord Findaráto. To what do I owe the honor?"

Finrod gave the elf a slight smile. "We were in the neighborhood and decided to drop by. Hope you don’t mind. I had the impression you were entertaining..."

At that moment, Glorfindel entered, dragging Súlimondil in and pushing him into another cushioned chair. The ellon looked a little worse for wear with a cut lip and a black eye. Glorfindel shrugged at Finrod’s questioning look. "You said ‘cut him off’ not ‘cut him down’."

Finrod snorted and turned back to Valacar. "As I was saying, my lord, I had the impression you were entertaining visitors this evening."

Valacar scowled down at Súlimondil, who was shaking his head and grimacing in pain. He turned to Finrod and Ingwion, his expression neutral. "I was entertaining my cousin earlier this evening, but as you saw when you so rudely entered without announcing yourselves, I was engaged in nothing more harmful than reading." He held up the slim volume of bound leather.

"Odd," Ingwion said, "I was sure my atar specifically stated that Lord Súlimondil was to see him directly after the dinner hour, but here he is, hiding in your tent... and it’s nearly time for the changing of the watch."

"Not exactly hiding, my lord," Valacar said defensively. "Let us just say that my cousin quite forgot the time and only now realized he was late for his meeting with the High King."

"Which would explain why he was attempting to jump the compound fence in a single bound," Glorfindel said with a wry smile. "No doubt he wished to reach the city post haste."

"No doubt," Valacar said smoothly.

Glorfindel nodded and then pointed to his left. "Odd that in his haste he failed to notice that Vanyamar is that way."

Valacar shrugged and Súlimondil moaned. Manwen had taken a handkerchief and wetted it, handing it to the unfortunate ellon to press against his split lip, eliciting a hiss of pain from him. They all looked at him and Ingwion’s expression darkened.

"There’s a warrant out for your arrest, Súlimondil," the prince said coldly. "It’s a good thing someone noticed you were here and not in the city, although, I’m sure we would have found you eventually." He turned to Tulcandil. "Lord Súlimondil and Lord Valacar are to be taken to the High King, Captain. See to it."

"Now see here, Ingwion!" Valacar protested. "You have no right to arrest me. I have done nothing wrong."

"Harboring a fugitive..." Ingwion started to say but Valacar cut him off.

"Since I had no knowledge that Súlimondil even was a fugitive, I can’t be accused of complicity in harboring him."

"Well, why don’t we just say you’re a material witness," Finrod said then. "I’m sure it’ll all be straightened out once we’ve seen the High King." He turned to Tulcandil who was standing there irresolute. "You have your orders, Captain," Finrod said, his tone that of the King of Nargothrond.

Tulcandil responded automatically to the tone and saluted Finrod and Ingwion before turning to Valacar. "My lord, if you would be so kind as to come with me to the High King."

"You, too, Súlimondil," Glorfindel said, hauling the hapless ellon up and nearly pushing him out the tent entrance.

Valacar scowled but said nothing, merely putting his book down and reaching for his cloak. Laurendil stayed him and took the cloak himself, quickly examining it before presenting it to Valacar who merely raised an eyebrow in disbelief at the ellon’s actions. Laurendil gave a mirthless grin.

"Old habits..." he said with a shrug.

Valacar shook his head and took the proffered cloak before joining Súlimondil outside. The others followed right behind. Tulcandil, in the meantime, had called to the other guards and with a quick explanation had gathered an escort. Before long, as they marched through the encampment, they found themselves with an even larger escort. This time, Finrod did not dissuade them. So it was that those elves in the city who were still abroad were witness to a most extraordinary sight: two of their own lords being escorted by a contingent of guards, both Vanyarin and Tol Eressëan with two princes of Eldamar and one Balrog-slayer following behind.

****

Ingwë was still in his study, now joined by Arafinwë and Olwë, when one of his guards entered.

"Sire, Prince Ingwion desires you to meet him in the minor throne room at your convenience," the ellon said.

Ingwë raised an eyebrow at that. "And did my son indicate the reason why I should join him there?"

The ellon shook his head. "No, Sire. He only said that if you came you would not be disappointed."

Ingwë gave his fellow kings a questioning look and Arafinwë shrugged. "Only way to find out..."

The High King snorted and rose from his chair. "Thank you, Meneldur, you may go."

The guard saluted and stepped aside to allow the three kings to depart. They strode through the halls of the palace without speaking and soon they reached the minor throne room, often used for more private audiences. Ingwë stepped into the room and stopped in amazement.

Before him were at least fifty people, most of them armed and grim looking. He felt no fear for himself, but did wonder what was going on. The armed warriors, to an ellon, fell into two rows and drawing out their swords, gave the High King their salute, then stood at ease, their swords before them point down, their hands resting lightly but securely upon the hilts. Looking down the aisle thus created Ingwë saw his son, along with Findaráto and Glorfindel, standing before the throne dais, obviously waiting for him. He noticed that Sador and Alassiel were also there, along with an elleth he did not know. He gave Arafinwë and Olwë a glance. Both of the other kings gave him a wry smile in return. Arafinwë whispered into his ear, letting him know that the strange elleth was Lord Laurendil’s wife, Lady Manwen. Ingwë nodded, then started forward.

When they reached the dais, Ingwion, Finrod, Glorfindel and the others all bowed and stepped aside to allow Ingwë to ascend to the throne, which he did. Arafinwë and Olwë followed him, with Arafinwë taking a position to Ingwë’s right and Olwë to his left.

"All right, Ingwion," Ingwë said with faint amusement. "What is this all about?"

Ingwion bowed again to his atar and straightening, gestured to his right. There was a slight scuffle and then Ingwë saw Laurendil and a Vanyarin guard with captain insignia on his baldric pushing an ellon forward. It took Ingwë a moment to recognize Lord Súlimondil behind the cut lip and black eye. He gave his son an enquiring look and Ingwion smiled.

"He was hiding in the encampment," Ingwion said. "In Lord Valacar’s tent." He motioned again, this time to his left and two guards came forward with the aforementioned lord between them, looking none too pleased.

"I see," Ingwë said, maintaining a neutral tone. "And who do we have to thank for this?"

Finrod smiled. "My thrall, actually."

Ingwë could not help showing his surprise at the unexpected answer.

Finrod nodded. "Vorondil overheard Lord Valacar invite Lord Súlimondil to his tent. When he learned you were looking for Lord Súlimondil, he told Ingwion and me."

"Your... thrall should be commended," Ingwë said and Finrod gave him a brief bow in acknowledgment. Ingwë turned to Súlimondil who stood there in sullen silence, refusing to look up. Then, he turned his attention to Valacar, standing there in defiant outrage. "So which of you spread the rumor that Lord Glorfindel murdered you, Súlimondil?" he asked them coldly.

"And that Lord Sador kidnapped a child with the aid of one of the Valar?" added Finrod sounding just as cold.

Neither ellon answered. Before Ingwë could speak again, there was a stir in the air and all were witness to Lord Námo, now dressed in funereal black, standing beside the throne with a look of mild interest on his face.

"Yes, I’m curious about that, too," the Vala said and Súlimondil and Valacar were not the only elves to visibly pale at Námo’s tone.

Ingwë frowned slightly as he addressed the Lord of Mandos. "Do the Valar mean to take over this investigation, my lord?"

"Oh no," Námo said. "The Elder King gave me strict instructions that I was not to... indulge myself."

Several elves shuddered at the fell light that shone from the Vala’s eyes as he gazed upon the two hapless ellyn before the throne. Súlimondil moaned and Valacar went white but remained silent.

"I’m merely here out of curiosity," Námo added and smiled. Even the three Reborn ellyn appeared a little ill at that and they had to look away briefly before pulling themselves together. Námo turned to Ingwion, his expression changing to one of satisfaction. "Well done, Ingwion."

The simple praise made the prince glow with pleasure as he gave the Vala a bow. "Thank you, Master."

Ingwë, meanwhile, exchanged glances with Arafinwë and Olwë. The latter bent down and whispered something in the High King’s ear. Ingwë nodded, then spoke. "I’m waiting for an answer," he said coldly, his eyes bright with a dangerous light. "Who started these scurrilous rumors against Lords Glorfindel and Sador... and Lord Námo?"

Valacar finally spoke, his tone tinged with aggrieved anger. "This is the first I’ve heard of any rumors, scurrilous or otherwise, Ingwë. That you would accuse me or my cousin...."

"I haven’t accused you of anything, Valacar," Ingwë interrupted, "but let’s put that aside for the moment." He turned his gaze on Súlimondil. "Why did you disobey me, Súlimondil? What did you hope to gain by refusing my summons?"

But Súlimondil refused to answer, never looking up, his expression sullen as he grimaced with pain. Ingwë sighed and turned to his great-nephew.

"Findaráto," he said and Finrod took a step forward. "I had already decided that in order to put these vile rumors to rest that Lord Súlimondil and the child whom Lord Sador is accused of kidnapping would appear beside me at tomorrow’s match. I normally would never subject an elfling so young to such an ordeal, but under the circumstances..."

"I understand, Uncle," Finrod said sympathetically. "Perhaps if Sador were to accompany Veryandur it will be less traumatic for him."

"How did Veryandur react to you, Sador?" Námo asked suddenly.

Sador turned to Námo and shrugged. "He was a little wary at first but he’s accepted my apology and we’ve agreed to watch the other matches with our eyes closed." He smiled then. "It seems the fighting is a little scary for him and he doesn’t like it."

Námo nodded, a slight smile on his face. "And you, best beloved? How do you fare?"

Again Sador shrugged. "I’ll survive," was all he said, his tone neutral.

For a long moment, Námo merely gazed at the ellon who returned his own gaze with equanimity. Then the Vala nodded. "Yes, I rather think you will, child," he murmured and turned to Ingwë. "I doubt you will get any real answers to your questions, Ingwë, and I’ve been forbidden by the Elder King to offer my own unique form of interrogation." He paused and raked his amaranthine eyes over the two lords, who refused to meet his gaze. "Your plan is sound, but take care. There is more at work here than meets the eye. These two may indeed have nothing to do with spreading the rumors. Others may well be playing their own game."

Ingwë closed his eyes, his expression tired. "I thought we had gotten through all this during the Darkening." Both Arafinwë and Olwë grimaced at that. Finrod was surprised to see a look of shame or perhaps guilt steal across his atar’s face before the Noldóran collected himself and his expression became neutral once again. He had never thought to ask his atar what had happened after Arafinwë had returned to Tirion. He resolved to ask him at the earliest opportunity. It was time, Finrod decided, to learn the truth of what the Rebellion of the Noldor had actually cost them all.

Námo gave the High King a sympathetic smile. "Melkor did his work too well, my son. We will never be totally free of his taint until the Remaking of Arda."

Ingwë nodded. "Valacar, Súlimondil, you will be my guests for the duration of the tournament. Ingwion, Findaráto, thank you. Lord Sador, Lord Glorfindel, it grieves me that you were the victims of these rumors. I pray you do not take them to heart."

Sador merely bowed, but Glorfindel scowled. "It would’ve served them right if I’d done exactly what they accuse me of doing, my lord."

Ingwë hid a smile. "No doubt, but then I would have had to arrest you and Arafinwë would never have spoken to me again if I had."

Glorfindel gave both Ingwë and Arafinwë a surprised look and then turned to Finrod in puzzlement for an explanation. Finrod grinned at his brother’s expression. "He means that you would have been unable to compete and Atar would have lost his bet."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at that and turned his gaze upon Arafinwë who was smiling. "For or against?" he asked the Noldóran.

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow of his own, his expression becoming more imperious. "That, my son, remains to be seen."

Glorfindel’s expression turned to one of amusement. "In that case, I’m glad Lord Námo stopped me in time, Atar. I wouldn’t want to disappoint either you or the High King."

Ingwë smiled as well and stood. "I think we can adjourn." He gestured to the guards to take Valacar and Súlimondil into custody and then, with Arafinwë and Olwë trailing, he exited the throne room. Finrod thanked the warriors for their service and dismissed them back to the encampment before following Glorfindel, Sador and the others out.

No one seemed to notice Námo still standing there, an amused expression on his face, or that Ingwion had not joined the general exodus. When the room emptied, the Prince of the Vanyar and the Lord of Mandos gazed at one another.

"Do you understand now, child?" Námo asked after a moment without preamble.

Ingwion bowed. "I think I’m beginning to, Master."

Námo nodded. "Fight well."

"I will do my best, Master."

"It is all I will ever ask of you, child, that you do your best."

Ingwion nodded and bowed again before exiting the throne room. Námo remained behind deep in thought until Vairë called to him and he went.

124: Day Two

The next morning dawned cold and cloudy and there was the threat of rain, though it held off. Everyone wore cloaks against the early spring chill and damp, even the Valar, surprisingly. Lord Námo was again in green and his cloak was made of the same dark green material that Lady Vairë had purchased, lined with sheared sable. Glorfindel, when he saw the Vala, started, for he could see that Lord Námo’s cloak was clasped with the owl cloak pin that he had made during his time with Martandur. Glorfindel gave Lady Vairë a strange look which the Valië returned with a slight smile. Námo hid his own smile at the ellon’s expression and pretended not to notice Glorfindel’s discomfort.

The morning matches were between the tinco-list fighters with Glorfindel paired with Ardamírë, Gilvagor with Findegil, Haldir with Aldarion, and Mithlas with Cirion. Except for Glorfindel and Ardamírë, none of the others had even sparred against each other so there was no way to predict the outcomes of their matches. Many speculated that Glorfindel would wipe the ground with Ardamírë and that the Vanya had no chance against the Balrog-slayer.

Glorfindel was well aware of this sentiment. "Ardamírë," he called to the ellon as he entered the fighters’ tent with Finrod. The Vanya looked up from where he was seated as one of the court pages acting as his squire was attaching a greave to Ardamírë’s right calf.

"My Lord Glorfindel," Ardamírë said, giving him a slight head bow and a wry grin. "It looks as if I will soon be joining the exalted ranks of those who have the honor of being defeated by your hand."

Glorfindel stopped, looking nonplused, then scowled. He motioned to the page. "Here, I’ll do that. You may go assist Mithlas." He nodded toward the Sinda who was trying to tie one of his vambraces with his teeth. The page gave Glorfindel a cheeky grin and, with a bow, left. Glorfindel knelt and began attaching the other greave while Finrod looked on. Ardamírë tried to protest.

"My lord, this is unseemly..." he began but Glorfindel just looked up at him with an expression that would have sent many an elf running in the opposite direction. Ardamírë, however, wasn’t in a position to run anywhere and so he just sat there, swallowing nervously.

"What’s unseemly, Ardamírë, is your willingness to give up before you’ve even started," Glorfindel hissed at him. "I may or may not defeat you in this match, but so help me..." he paused and looked around, but not seeing any sign of Manwë’s Herald, turned his attention back to Ardamírë. "So help me, if you don’t fight your very hardest, I will not only wipe the ground with your sorry hröa, I will personally deliver your even sorrier fëa to Lord Námo’s front doorstep and kick you into his Halls for good measure. Do we understand each other?"

Ardamírë stole a glance at Finrod standing beside Glorfindel and saw the Noldorin prince trying not to laugh, then glanced back at Glorfindel whose head was bent as he finished with the last strap of the greave. When Glorfindel looked up Ardamírë nodded mutely and the Balrog-slayer grinned as he stood, giving Ardamírë his hand. The Vanya took it and allowed Glorfindel to help him up. The two ellyn embraced, giving one another a kiss of friendship.

"That’s settled then," Finrod said with a smile. "I will go see how the elflings are faring. Glorfindel, remember, Ingwë wants you to join him in the royal gallery along with Sador."

Glorfindel nodded. "I’ll be there as soon as I finish arming."

Finrod nodded and walked out of the tent. He strolled towards the viewing stands where the elflings were all seated with Alassiel and Sador. Veryandur was looking nervous, clutching his stuffed toy. The other elflings were looking rebellious.

"What’s the problem?" Finrod asked with a frown as he approached.

Sador shrugged and Alassiel rolled her eyes. "They’re jealous of Veryandur because he gets to stand next to the High King," she said.

"I don’t want to stand next to the High King," Veryandur protested, trying to keep the tears at bay. "I w-want to stay here with S-sador and Al-alassiel."

"But Sador has to stand next to the High King, too," Finrod said, crouching down to speak more easily to the ellon. Then he gave Veryandur a conspiratorial wink and lowered his voice to a loud whisper. "I know for a fact that Sador is very nervous about having to stand next to the High King, too. I’m sure he’ll appreciate having you there to keep him company."

The elfling gave Finrod a skeptical look which he transferred to Sador who merely nodded. "High Kings scare me," he said confidentially.

"Why does the baby get to stand next to the High King?" Oromendil protested sourly. "He’s done nothing special."

"Not a baby!" Veryandur retorted hotly, hitting the older ellon with his stuffed toy. Oromendil ducked and started to retaliate but Finrod grabbed his arm and gave him a stern look.

"Oromendil," he commanded quietly. "We do not call each other names, ever. Is that understood?"

Oromendil paled at the reprimand and after a moment’s hesitation, nodded. "Yes," he muttered.

Sador gave the elllon a tap on the back of the head. "Yes, what?" he demanded.

Oromendil grimaced as he looked down at his feet. "Yes... my lord," he said, not looking up.

Finrod nodded, releasing the ellon’s arm, then turned his attention to Veryandur. "And Veryandur... we do not hit each other. Is that understood?"

Veryandur gulped but nodded. "Y-yes, my lord," he whispered, clutching Narmollë to him tightly.

Finrod gave the other elflings a look and, satisfied that they all understood the rules of behavior expected of them, rose smoothly and placed a finger under Oromendil’s chin to make the ellon look at him.

"As for your question," he said. "It has nothing to do with what Veryandur has or has not done. The High King has commanded his and Sador’s presence and that is all the reason that is necessary."

Oromendil nodded and Finrod released him, turning to Sador. "Ingwë should be here momentarily. I think you and Veryandur should head for the gallery now. I’ll stay here with Alassiel."

Sador rose with a nod and Finrod took his place while the Sinda led the still nervous Veryandur towards the gallery, the child clutching his toy for all its worth. A moment later, Finrod saw Glorfindel step onto the field, armored but weaponless, which brought a slight smile to the prince’s lips. Glorfindel might be emotionally young still, but he was also an Elf-lord and understood well the rules of protocol. If the ellon noticed how nearly every eye in the stands was on him, he pretended otherwise. Instead, he climbed the gallery steps and waited alongside Sador and Veryandur for Ingwë to appear, looking calm and in control.

The High King’s entourage came only moments later, augmented by two ellyn and their guards. Valacar still looked sullen, while Súlimondil’s face was an interesting shade of black, green and purple where Glorfindel had hit him. Ingwë’s expression was somber but when he saw Sador and Glorfindel, he smiled, then beckoned for Veryandur to come to him, which the elfling did very reluctantly. Those in the stands saw the High King of All the Elves in Aman kneel before the child and speak to him in soft tones. They saw the child, obviously nervous and fearful, begin to relax as Ingwë unobtrusively rubbed the elfling’s back. Soon the ellon was smiling and nodding enthusiastically at something the High King was saying. The bystanders then saw the child say something that set Ingwë and all the other adults laughing, except Sador, who was blushing, and Valacar and Súlimondil, neither of whom were in the mood for levity.

Ingwë stood and, taking Veryandur’s hand, led the child to the front of the gallery with Sador and Glorfindel beside him. A gesture from the High King also brought Súlimondil and Valacar to the forefront as well. Ingwë then turned to the spectators and spoke in a loud commanding voice.

"Rumors have reached Our ears that Lord Glorfindel and Lord Sador have committed heinous acts upon two of Our subjects," Ingwë said without preamble. "These scurrilous attacks on the good names of these two lords are an insult to Our beneficence and We are here to put them to rest." He gestured for Glorfindel and Súlimondil to step forward. Súlimondil refused to look at anyone while Glorfindel stood straight and lordly, his demeanor not arrogant but confident. At that moment Glorfindel looked every inch the warrior Elf-lord that he was.

Ingwë continued speaking. "One rumor has it that Lord Glorfindel not only attacked Lord Súlimondil but murdered him as well." Ingwë glanced at both ellyn and smiled mirthlessly. "As you can all see, Lord Súlimondil is alive... if not exactly well, and Lord Glorfindel is under no restraints. It is true that Lord Glorfindel attempted to attack Lord Súlimondil for an unfortunate remark made by him but he was quickly stopped by Lord Námo and Lord Glorfindel has since apologized for his behavior."

"Why does Lord Súlimondil appear to be injured, then, my lord king?" someone nearby called out.

Ingwë frowned at the interruption but answered readily enough, for in truth, it was a legitimate question, given the said lord’s physical appearance. "I ordered Lord Súlimondil to attend me last night. He did not show and I ordered his arrest. He resisted arrest."

The spectators began whispering to one another at that and Ingwë raised his hand for silence. It took another moment or two for everyone to again give their attention to the High King.

"Lord Sador has also been the victim of rumors claiming that he attempted to kidnap a child of the Vanyar with the complicity of the Lord of Mandos."

Several people in the gallery, including Valandur and Glorfindel, noted one or two of the nearby spectators smirking as Ingwë spoke. Valandur mentally took note of them while Glorfindel merely glowered in their general direction, idly stroking the leather of his empty scabbard. Ingwë had also noticed but continued speaking to the crowd.

"We are here to tell you that these rumors are also scurrilous. Here is the child in question," he bent down and lifted the ellon up and let him stand on the railing so all might see him. "And, as you can see, Lord Sador also is under no restraints. We are aware of the circumstances leading to yesterday’s incident and We assure you that no harm was ever intended this child nor has he suffered any."

Ingwë then set Veryandur on the ground and gave the ellon a squeeze on a shoulder before addressing the crowd again. "Veryandur and several other elflings are presently bound to Prince Findaráto by oaths of service and We are confident that Our great-nephew will endeavor to assure that they remain safe while in his service." He paused for a moment, his mien darkening and becoming quite imperious.

"It is all We will say on the subject," he stated coldly. "If it comes to Our attention that rumors against Lord Glorfindel or Lord Sador, or indeed, against any of Our guests, still abound, We will do all in Our power to discover the rumormongers among you and You will know Our displeasure first hand... before We turn you over to the Valar for further... chastisement."

The threat was not idle and everyone there knew it. There was an uneasy silence throughout, then Ingwë nodded and ignoring everyone else, bent down and spoke softly to Veryandur, who, after a quick glance at Sador who smiled encouragingly, gave the High King a nod. Ingwë smiled and, lifting the ellon again, settled him on his lap as he took his seat. The others followed suit and the spectators were witness to seeing their High King and Queen being solemnly introduced to the elfling’s stuffed toy. Glorfindel bowed to everyone and made his way down the stairs and across the field to join the other fighters now making their way towards the center of the lists. Ardamírë carried Glorfindel’s sword which the ellon received with a smile. Sador was encouraged to sit between Arafinwë and Eärwen, while Súlimondil and Valacar were made to sit in the back surrounded by their guards.

The Valar, who had remained unobtrusively on the sidelines while Ingwë addressed his people now took their own seats as before. Manwë nodded his approval to Ingwë and allowed Veryandur to introduce him to Narmollë, much to everyone’s amusement, Manwë’s not the least.

Meanwhile, as Eönwë appeared upon the field to introduce the next matches, he gave Glorfindel, standing nearby, a wink.

"Nice oath, by the way," the Maia said with a wicked grin as Glorfindel went, first white with mortification, then red with embarrassment. "I especially liked the part where you threatened to haul Ardamírë’s fëa into Mandos. Lord Námo heard that and rolled his eyes, muttering something to the effect that he needed to change the locks on his door."

The other warriors standing nearby, having heard the Maia’s words, started laughing and Glorfindel joined in. Eönwë nodded in satisfaction before turning to the crowd and introducing the fighters. This time, Haldir and Aldarion would fight in the front list along with Cirion and Mithlas, while Glorfindel and Ardamírë would fight behind Haldir and Aldarion. Gilvagor and Findegil would be fighting behind Cirion and Mithlas.

Soon the marshals of the various lists were heard to shout, "Lay on!" and the fighting began. Most had their eyes glued to the match between Glorfindel and Ardamírë and it was indeed a glorious if short-lived match. Ardamírë, taking Glorfindel’s earlier admonishments to heart, gave it his all and actually forced Glorfindel to change his tactics. Still, it was not long before it was obvious who would win the match. Ardamírë continued fighting as best he could, refusing to admit defeat even though he had been unable to score a single point. Glorfindel merely smiled behind his helm, glad for the workout. The previous night’s excursion had done nothing to help his mood and he was still trying to come to terms with his new memories.

While he had known he had fought in the Nirnaeth and what had transpired during the battle, that knowledge had been merely academic because people had told him about it, but this had been the first real memory of that event for him and it had nearly overwhelmed him. Now, he was simply glad to be able to take some of his frustrations at his situation out on someone who could give as good as he got. Glorfindel actually allowed the match to continue for longer than necessary just so he could release some of the tension that had built up within him.

At last, though, he knew that he was being unfair to Ardamírë, whom he respected, and with a single stroke of his sword, swept the other ellon’s sword out of his hand and the match was over. Ardamírë was sweating. Glorfindel barely looked winded. As the older elf stood there nearly reeling with fatigue, everyone saw Glorfindel retrieve Ardamírë’s sword and hand it to him. Ardamírë pushed his sword into its sheath and Glorfindel then embraced the older ellon and spoke softly to him. Ardamírë nodded and said something that caused Glorfindel to laugh as the two of them walked off the field together.

Ingwë gave Arafinwë a shrewd look. "He’s still not fighting," he said almost petulantly.

Arafinwë shook his head. "No, he’s not. I am beginning to wonder if he ever will."

Sador spoke up then, his expression one of dismay. "He did not sleep well last night, Atar. He woke up at least once yelling something about Ecthelion and orcs."

Arafinwë gave his ward a puzzled look which was shared by most everyone else in the gallery. Manwë spoke then, his tone serene. "Lord Ecthelion, Lord of the House of the Fountain, was Glorfindel’s closest friend in Gondolin. He died the night Gondolin fell fighting at Turgon’s side, while Glorfindel saw to the safety of Turgon’s family. Ecthelion and Glorfindel were Turgon’s chief captains during the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, guarding the army’s two flanks as they made their retreat towards the Pass of Sirion."

Sador nodded. "Lord Ecthelion of the Fountain slew a balrog, too, when Gondolin fell."

Many in the gallery raised eyebrows at that. Manwë nodded, a slight smile on his face. "Not just any balrog, either, but Gothmog, the Lord of Balrogs, and one of Melkor’s chief lieutenants."

"And Glorfindel was remembering his friend?" Eärwen asked with a concerned look on her face.

"Yes, so it would seem," Manwë conceded. The Elder King sighed. "I will have to let Námo know of this. This memory may prove... unfortunate."

"How so, lord?" Ingwë asked.

Manwë gave the High King a sad smile. "We are concerned that this tournament is dredging up memories for the Reborn that it would be better if they did not surface just yet."

Sador paled at the Elder King’s words and Arafinwë, noticing, placed a comforting arm around the ellon’s shoulders, while Eärwen stroked his cheek.

"Hey!" Veryandur shouted, quite forgotten on Ingwë’s lap. "What’s wrong with him?" He pointed towards the front list where Haldir and Aldarion were fighting.

Arafinwë turned to where Veryandur was pointing and saw Haldir suddenly attack Aldarion with a fury that Arafinwë somehow knew was not born of enthusiasm. Aldarion was obviously fighting, not for his honor, but for his life. It was apparent to every warrior watching that Haldir meant to kill the other ellon. Ingwë stood up, putting Veryandur down. Surprisingly, the child did not cower but leaned against the rail and watched in fascinated wonder at the drama going on before him.

"Someone stop him," Ingwë shouted and then Sador leaped up and over the rail and ran towards the two fighters, ignoring Ingwë and Arafinwë’s shouts to come back.

They saw Finrod running onto the field as well, shouting for Glorfindel, who had not yet doffed his armor. The Balrog-slayer came running out of the fighters’ tent, took in the situation at a glance and ran after Finrod. Laurendil and Vorondil were also running towards the field, with Laurendil holding a sheathed knife. Mithlas, still fighting Cirion in the next list over, could see what was happening as well and with a decisive movement forced Cirion’s shield from him and landed a "killing" blow. The ellon went to his knees, stunned, while Mithlas, barely taking the time to apologize, ran towards the other list, taking the rope fence separating the two lists with a single bound. By mutual consent, Gilvagor and Findegil, both recognizing what was happening, stopped their own bout and ran towards where everyone else was congregating. Laurendil caught up with Mithlas and with a shout threw the knife at him which the Sinda deftly caught without missing a step.

Glorfindel, catching up to Finrod, yelled for him to stay back, since he was unarmored and unarmed. He then proceeded to tackle Haldir who was now heard to be screaming something in Sindarin, his face behind his helm frozen in a spasm of fury. At the last moment, as Glorfindel was tackling Haldir, Sador came up behind Aldarion and shouted at him to drop his sword.

Amazingly, the ellon complied with the strange order just as Sador reached him. The Sinda grabbed him from behind, pulling him back and giving him an unheard command. At once Aldarion placed his shield before him even as Sador pulled them both to the ground so that the shield protected them both. As Glorfindel brought Haldir down from behind, the ellon’s sword fell harmlessly upon the shield before sliding away as the ellon landed hard on top of the shield before following his sword all the way to the ground.

Glorfindel clung to the still screaming and thrashing ellon even as Finrod, Mithlas, Laurendil and Vorondil approached. Laurendil stooped and retrieved Haldir’s sword while Vorondil grabbed Aldarion’s, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and wonder at what was happening. Finrod and Mithlas knelt beside Haldir with Finrod attempting to hold Haldir down.

"Aldarion!" everyone heard Finrod yell, "come here now."

Aldarion came out from behind his shield. He and Sador crawled over to where the others were still attempting to subdue the still screaming ellon. Mithlas unsheathed the knife in his hand while Sador grabbed Aldarion’s nearest arm and began to undo the gauntlet.

Aldarion began to protest, trying to get out of Sador's grip, but Finrod stayed him with a shake of his head. "This is necessary. I’m sorry."

"What..." the hapless ellon said, not understanding.

"There’s no time, Aldarion," Glorfindel said between gritted teeth as he tried to keep Haldir’s legs from kicking him in the face. "If we don’t do this Haldir will die."

That idea shook the other ellon and without another word he stopped his protest and Mithlas neatly sliced his hand, shoving the bleeding palm into Haldir’s face. Finrod began speaking something in Sindarin that Aldarion did not understand but then he noticed that Haldir’s thrashings were calming and soon he was still, his eyes blinking in confusion. Mithlas released his hold on his hand and Sador, ever practical, handed him a strip of cloth torn from his shirt.

There was not a sound from the stands, only the harsh breathing of the Tol Eressëan coming out of his blood-trance, looking about at the grim expressions of the ellyn kneeling around him without really seeing them or comprehending what had happened. His gaze finally focused on Finrod.

"M-my lord?" he whispered, his voice raspy, his expression one of confusion.

Finrod smiled weakly down at him. "Feeling better?"

Haldir could only nod bemusedly, then memory seemed to click and he started to rise. "Aldarion! Did I..."

Finrod pushed the ellon back down. "Aldarion is fine, Haldir. See you," he pointed at the Vanya kneeling on the other side of Haldir from Finrod. "he is well, if a little battered."

Haldir saw the blood-stained cloth covering Aldarion’s hand and suddenly realized what had happened and groaned, closing his eyes in shame. Aldarion knelt there, still unsure what was going on and gave Finrod a questioning look.

Finrod shook his head. "Explanations later, my friend. We need to get Haldir out of his armor and more comfortable. I’m sorry about your hand. I know you planned to compete in the archery competition this morning. I fear that cut will make it difficult, if not impossible, for you to do so now."

Before Aldarion could give an answer, several beings appeared and the warriors found themselves looking up at Lord Manwë, Lord Námo and Lady Estë. Manwë looked pensive, while Estë looked concerned. Námo’s expression was unreadable. Eönwë was also there, consulting with the list marshal.

Lady Estë gestured to Aldarion to give her his hand, which he did. She smiled at him and, removing the makeshift bandage, pressed her left hand on top of the palm. Aldarion gave a quick gasp of surprise even as Estë released him. There was no sign of blood, not even a scar to mark the place where Mithlas had cut him.

Aldarion flexed his fingers experimentally before looking up at the Valië, his expression one of deep gratitude. "Thank you," he whispered, giving her a bow. Estë merely smiled and nodded before turning her attention to Haldir who was attempting to sit up again. Vorondil had gone to fetch him some water and had returned with a flagon from which Haldir was now drinking. Manwë and Námo were consulting with Eönwë and Finrod.

"Until the... seizure," Finrod said quietly, "Haldir had scored more points than Aldarion, but under the circumstances I don’t think Haldir should be declared the winner."

Eönwë nodded his agreement. "Haldir will need to be disqualified, but I think Aldarion will be disappointed that he won this match by default."

Manwë gave Finrod a shrewd look. "If Haldir is disqualified, that means you will not be able to compete."

Finrod shrugged resignedly, but Námo spoke then. "Or we say that Findaráto also won his match by default and allow him to continue competing. He will simply sit out the next round and fight one of the winners of that round."

Finrod shook his head. "It would be better if Haldir be allowed to continue, but he will be placed in the parma-list while Aldarion advances in the tinco-list."

"Neither will feel that they are deserving of their status," Manwë opined. "Haldir will continue feeling ashamed at what he almost did and Aldarion will feel that he somehow cheated and that Haldir should be the one to remain in the tinco-list."

"And who would be willing to fight Haldir now for fear of another... episode?" Eönwë asked.

"I will," Finrod said simply. "Nor do I fear another episode occurring so soon. It has never happened before in my experience; I doubt it will happen now."

"Will he want to fight again, though?" Manwë asked but Finrod shook his head.

"He must fight, my lord," the prince said emphatically. "It will be the only way he can get past what has happened here. It’s rather like falling off a horse."

Two Valar and one Maia gave the Elda a disbelieving look and Finrod nodded grimly. "I know of what I speak, my lords. I’ve been where Haldir is now."

They nodded in agreement. "Let’s bring Haldir and Aldarion into the conversation, then," Manwë said and soon the other two ellyn joined them while everyone else stood aside waiting to see what would develop. Sador, in fact, had gone to give Alassiel a hand with the elflings, since Finrod was otherwise occupied. Haldir looked pale and haggard, Aldarion simply looked confused. Manwë and the others gave the two ellyn sympathetic looks.

"I’m sorry this has happened," Manwë said without preamble. "It grieves me that what was meant to be a pleasant enterprise has turned into a nightmare for the Reborn."

Haldir did not answer nor look up. Aldarion said nothing. Glorfindel, who had joined them, though not invited, merely shrugged.

"It seems to come with the territory, my lord," he said quietly. "There is naught we can do to predict or control these memories; we can only accept them and work through them."

Námo gave him a shrewd look. "I will have my brother give you something so you may sleep better tonight, best beloved. It will not do to have your rest disturbed when you are competing in the tournament."

Glorfindel scowled. "I am fine, my lord, I..."

"Let us decide that, child," Irmo said as he suddenly appeared among them. He glanced at Haldir, who still had not looked up and placed a hand under the ellon’s chin, making him look into the Vala’s eyes.

For a long moment there was only silence and then Haldir gave a stifled sob and started weeping. Both Glorfindel and Finrod wrapped their arms around him to keep him from collapsing to the ground. Irmo nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Why don’t you take him to the healer’s tent and let him rest?" he said and that was the signal for Laurendil and Vorondil to take the ellon in hand and lead him away, still quietly weeping. Estë followed them after giving her spouse a brief but brilliant smile which he returned.

Aldarion looked distraught. "So what happens now?" he asked as Haldir was led away.

Finrod spoke then. "That is what we are attempting to decide. Haldir was actually winning the match before he fell into the blood-trance. You must admit that."

Aldarion nodded. "I was hoping to knock his sword out of his hand, but I knew that it was unlikely to happen. In fact I was about ready to concede the match when he..."

They all nodded in understanding.

"Unfortunately, under the circumstances, we do not think it right for him to continue fighting in the tinco-list," Eönwë said, giving Aldarion a measured look.

The Vanya looked at them in alarm. "But if he doesn’t compete..."

"We did not say he cannot compete," Manwë interjected. "We are merely saying that he cannot remain as one of the tinco-list fighters."

Aldarion shook his head. "No. I lost the match, I was losing the match. If anyone is to be placed in the parma-list it should be I. Haldir would have won regardless."

"There is no easy solution to this problem," Námo said, giving the ellon a sympathetic look. "Under the rules of the list, Haldir should be disqualified and not allowed to compete at all, but given the circumstances, we think it necessary for him to fight again."

"His heart won’t be in it," Glorfindel said. "Even if he does fight, he will not fight to his full strength. He’ll let his opponent win."

Finrod shook his head. "Not if he fights against me. I will not allow it and more importantly, Gwilwileth won’t allow it." He grinned at that. Glorfindel and Aldarion gave him puzzled looks but the Valar and Eönwë chuckled knowingly.

"Then are we agreed?" Manwë asked. "Haldir will be allowed to remain in the list and will fight against Findaráto this afternoon while Aldarion advances in the tinco-list."

Everyone nodded, though Aldarion’s nod was reluctant and he still looked upset. Glorfindel put a comforting arm around the ellon’s shoulders. "Be at peace, Aldarion," he said consolingly. "If you’re lucky, you’ll lose the next match and then you won’t have anything to worry about."

Aldarion gave Glorfindel a disbelieving look while everyone else struggled not to laugh. Then the ellon gave a large sigh and swatted the back of Glorfindel’s head with his left hand, which was still encased in a gauntlet.

"Ow!" Glorfindel yelled, clutching his head. "That hurt!"

"Good," Aldarion said then turned to the others with a wide grin. "I feel so much better now."

The others broke out laughing and soon Glorfindel and Aldarion joined them.

125: Slings and Arrows

With all the excitement over Haldir and Aldarion, the match between Gilvagor and Findegil was somewhat anticlimactic. In fact, the two warriors decided it wasn’t worth continuing and both agreed that Gilvagor had scored the most points thus far in their match. By mutual consent they decided that Gilvagor would advance to the tinco-list while Findegil would move down to the parma-list. The decision was amicably made between them and Eönwë approved it, as did the High King. So, the morning’s matches ended much sooner than anyone had anticipated.

The rumors that had run through the city the day before died down only to be replaced by new rumors concerning the Reborn and their proclivity towards violence. Ingwë merely sighed and shook his head when Valandur came to him with the news as he was partaking of the noon meal.

"It will never end, will it?" he asked dispiritedly to no one in particular.

"Only if we allow these rumors purchase," Arafinwë answered. "If only..."

"If only what?" Ingwë asked.

Arafinwë shook his head. "I think much of the trouble would die down if Lord Námo simply released some of the Vanyar from Mandos."

Ingwë frowned, his expression turning bleak. Arafinwë closed his eyes, his look full of regret.

"Forgive me, Uncle. I should never..."

"Nay, my son," Ingwë said, raising a hand to still the Noldóran’s protest. "You are only partly correct. Releasing even one Vanya would solve many of our problems, but might create new ones."

"Not if it were the right Vanya," Olwë said softly, not looking at either of his fellow kings.

They all knew to whom Olwë was referring, but Ingwë refused to acknowledge Olwë’s words. Instead, he turned to Valandur.

"Keep me abreast of any other rumors and see to it that all Reborn now residing in the city or in the encampment are identified. If aught happens to any of them, I want to know about it."

Valandur bowed and left. Ingwë found he no longer had any appetite and excused himself, spending the rest of the time until the afternoon matches wandering through the palace gardens. No one was foolish enough to intrude on his privacy.

****

The morning’s fighting was followed by the first of the archery matches. This would be a single-elimination tournament, meaning that the contestants had only one chance to advance to the next round. With so many more archers competing than fighters, it would have taken too long for them to do a double-elimination tournament. It was why some of the Sindar jokingly referred to the archery competition as the Dagor Bragolwanath. The Amanian elves needed to have the phrase translated. Some smiled when they heard its meaning and a few were seen mouthing the strange sounding words to themselves, testing them out. It was not surprising that after that, even among the Quenya-speaking archers, this one Sindarin phrase was used to refer to the archery contest. When Finrod heard about it later he threw up his hands and laughed, the sound of it ringing joyously through the encampment, lifting the hearts of all who heard it, though they knew not the reason.

A few of the archers did drop out before the first match, deciding their skill wasn’t up to the standards displayed by some of the other archers, but most remained in, each hoping to at least score well enough to advance to the next round. Altogether, there were sixty-nine archers competing.

It was decided that for the initial round there would be nine teams, with one team consisting of only five archers. Sixty-nine different gemstones shaped as small balls were placed in a large copper bowl and the competitors each selected a ball. There were eight balls for each of the following gemstones: ruby, citrine, carnelian, emerald, sapphire, amethyst, pearl, and opal. Five onyx balls were added to the mix. Those holding the same colored ball would comprise a "team".

Of the fighters, Mithlas, Gilvagor, Hallas, Region, Vëantur and Aldarion were competing in the archery contest. Finrod, Glorfindel and Ingwion had all declined to compete, saying that they preferred to concentrate their energies on the fighting. Haldir had meant to compete but he was still recovering from the blood-trance that had gripped him earlier. Finrod elected to sit by him in the healer’s tent, foregoing watching the first round of the archery contest to keep an eye on his fellow Reborn.

"I still need to convince him that he must fight me this afternoon," he told Glorfindel and Ingwion. "It will help, I think, if he knows that I understand what he is going through, having experienced the blood-trance myself once."

Glorfindel nodded. "I never had the experience myself, though I saw it happen twice. Call if you need us. We’ll be close at hand."

Finrod gave him a warm smile. "Thank you. Both of you. Now, go and enjoy the archery competition. You must take note of all the details and tell me about it during lunch."

The two ellyn smiled in agreement and soon left Finrod alone with a still sleeping Haldir. Vorondil was there as well, doing inventory on the medical supplies, absently humming a wordless tune as he worked. Finrod smiled at the ellon as he watched him moving around the tent.

"How are you faring, Vorondil?" Finrod finally asked, speaking low so as not to disturb Haldir.

Vorondil turned to his master in surprise, but recovered quickly enough. "Well enough, Master," he said with a grin. "Manwen says I’m very good at following orders... when I don’t get too excited." He said the last while ducking his head, reddening with embarrassment.

Finrod merely smiled. "You seemed to have kept your head just now when Haldir..."

Vorondil gave him a frown as he moved over to look at the somnolent ellon. "What was he seeing, Master? What nightmare had him so in its grip that he could not tell friend from foe?"

Finrod sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It is known as the blood-trance and it is very rare but it does occur among warriors sometimes. I do not know what brings it about, I only know what it does and how to bring the person out of it."

Vorondil gave Finrod a shrewd look. "You’ve... suffered this as well, haven’t you, Master?"

"Yes," Finrod said with a curt nod. "A long time ago, shortly after reaching the shores of Beleriand. Luckily I was with some Sindar when it happened and they knew just what to do. After that I made sure all my people were aware of it and how to stop it."

"It was frightening," Vorondil said simply and Finrod ached to see such pain in the elfling’s eyes. "How... how did the elflings handle it?" he asked.

Finrod hid a smile. Vorondil was as much an elfling, in the legal sense, as the other children, but he obviously did not equate himself with them in that respect. "They did not seem to suffer too much trauma. Even Veryandur appeared more excited than scared according to my atar and the High King."

Vorondil gave Finrod a ghost of a smile. "I hope we don’t have to deal with any nightmares tonight though."

"Násië!" Finrod said fervently in agreement and the two shared a quiet laugh before Vorondil resumed his inventory and Finrod continued watching over Haldir.

****

The selection of teams took up most of the time as the archery list was being made ready. Eönwë again acted as chief herald. The archers seemed to be equally divided between Vanyar and Sindar with a few Noldor, all of them Exilic, thrown in for good measure. Because of the difference in bow structure between the two cultures, it had been determined months before that all competitors would make new bows under certain specifications so as to level the playing field. Arrows, however, were to be fletched in the manner which each elf was used to making them, though certain features that might create too much advantage were disallowed. Thus, before the teams were determined, everyone suffered their bows and arrows to be examined by the marshals, including Eönwë.

By chance, or perhaps design, none of the fighters ended up in the same team with each other, so they all had the chance to advance to the next round. Two Vanyarin archers were welcomed by all the competitors: Elessoron, who had won the archery competition at the Winter Solstice tournament, and Ninquelótë, who had won the fighting competition. Many had wondered why she was not competing in this tournament as a fighter, but one look at her and they all knew: she was with child.

Glorfindel, when he figured it out, offered her his congratulations. The elleth blushed and stammered her thanks, saying that she and her husband had already decided the little elleth would be named Laurefindilmë after him.

"Poor elfling," Ingwion said with a laugh when he heard. Glorfindel and Ninquelótë joined him in laughter but secretly Glorfindel was pleased and gave the elleth a wink.

Each archer would be allowed three shots. The three highest scorers in each team would advance to the next round. If there were multiple ties, these would then shoot three more arrows to determine the high scorer. Thus, out of the sixty-nine hopefuls, only twenty-seven would make it to the next round. Round two would consist of four teams, three with seven shooters, and one with six. From them the next round of twelve archers would be decided. These twelve would be divided into two teams of six and the winners of this round would then compete against each other for the top prizes. There would thus be four rounds altogether, with the second and third rounds on the third day of the tournament and the final round on the fourth. No one was anticipating any real surprises with the archery contest, just an enjoyable meet.

The teams would shoot in the order of the colors of the rainbow from ruby to amethyst, then pearl, opal and onyx would follow. The order of shooting in each team would be completely random, each competitor pulling out a number from a small copper bowl. There were four targets set up, so the first four of each team would shoot their arrows followed by the next four. For the onyx team a fifth target was put up so that all five would shoot at the same time.

Gilvagor found himself on the ruby team. Elessoron was on the citrine team, while Ninquelótë joined the carnelian team. Region shot with the emerald team, while Hallas shot with the sapphire team. Vëantur was on the amethyst team, and Mithlas, the pearl team. Aldarion found himself on the onyx team. All of them advanced to the next round along with nineteen other competitors, twelve of whom were Vanyarin, much to Ingwë’s pleasure.

"We may yet beat out these Tol Eressëans," he said half jokingly as they watched the last team compete. Arafinwë gave him a cool stare and Olwë chuckled. Elindis leaned over and pulled on his hair, forcing a surprised yelp from him that had many curious eyes from the stands turned towards the royal gallery.

"Be nice," she admonished him softly. "Whoever wins will be an elf, whatever his or her origins. That should be all that matters."

Everyone in the royal gallery stared at the High Queen who had turned her attention back to the competition, ignoring them all. Elindis rarely put herself forward in so public a setting. Her response to her husband’s jest had startled them all. Ingwë gave his wife a wide smile, even as he looked chagrined. He leaned over and planted a loving kiss on her cheek.

"Thank you, my love," he whispered for her ears only. "You are the reason I am able to continue this farce of being High King."

She turned briefly to him with her own smile, a private one shared only with her beloved, before turning back to the competition. Arafinwë, Olwë and their own spouses exchanged knowing glances and smiles between themselves, but none ventured to make any comment.

****

The afternoon fighting was of interest to many because of what had happened that morning. Many were concerned about the effect of the tournament on the Reborn, the Valar not the least.

"How many are going to be affected as the intensity of the competition increases?" Varda asked as the Valar remained where they had watched the archery competition while the elves went to their noon meals.

"There is no way to predict that," Námo said with a frown. "First Glorfindel and then Sador, then Haldir. Do you see a pattern?"

Ulmo spoke. "Glorfindel and Sador are fairly close in their emotional maturity, though I would say Sador is the more mature. Haldir has been released only a few months and is more emotionally vulnerable."

"So, do you think it’s only those most recently released who are susceptible to these memory triggers?" Estë asked, looking at Námo.

The Lord of Mandos shrugged. "It’s a possibility, but these Children have a way of surprising us with the unexpected. I only know that the fëar of the Reborn exist on a slightly different level of reality than the Once-born and I don’t think we know all the ramifications of that. Speculation, at this point, is useless. All we can do is keep our eyes open and respond as quickly as possible to prevent anyone from getting hurt."

Manwë nodded. "So be it," he intoned. "We will watch and wait... and hope for the best."

"A slim hope considering some of the players," Aulë said with a wry grin.

"But better than no hope," Manwë rejoined with a wry grin of his own.

****

Haldir woke to find Finrod sitting by the bed, reading. The former King of Nargothrond looked up from his book and smiled at the ellon lying there looking back at him with confusion clouding his eyes.

"How are you feeling, Haldir?" he asked the ellon in Sindarin.

The use of the tongue of the elves of Beleriand rather than the expected Quenya helped Haldir to focus more clearly on Finrod. He raised himself up on his elbows and looked around.

"I think I’ve been better," he answered in the same tongue and Finrod chuckled, laying the book aside and pouring some water into a goblet before handing it to the other elf who took it gratefully and drank thirstily. Replacing the goblet on the table beside his cot, Haldir lay back down, staring at the cloth ceiling of the tent. "I never thought I would suffer the blood-trance here in Dor Rodyn. Ennorath, yes, but not in the land of the Belain." He sighed and closed his eyes.

Finrod shook his head. "I don’t think it really matters, especially for those of us who are Reborn."

Haldir opened his eyes and gave Finrod a skeptical glance. Finrod nodded. "Our memories are precarious and uncertain and we claim them in a rather haphazard manner." He gave the other ellon a rueful look. "I’ve been Reborn for over a century and only now can I truly claim that all my memories are intact. You’ve only been released from Lórien for less than a year. I’m afraid you have a long road ahead of you."

Haldir sighed and closed his eyes again. "I was winning, too."

"Yes, you were," Finrod said in agreement.

"I’ve been disqualified, haven’t I?" Haldir asked bleakly.

"No, you haven’t."

Haldir sat up in surprise. "What do you mean? Surely they would not allow me to continue to compete in the tinco-list?"

Finrod shook his head. "Not the tinco-list, no. You will be fighting me this afternoon in the parma-list."

Now Haldir stood up in shock. "WHAT!?"

The ellon’s shout brought Vorondil running from outside where he had been watching the archery contest. "Master! What..."

"All is well, Vorondil," Finrod told the apprentice healer. "Go back outside. Everything is under control."

Vorondil hesitated for a moment, gauging the range of emotions on both Haldir and Finrod’s faces, then he bowed reluctantly and without another word exited the tent. Finrod turned back to Haldir, his expression sober.

"You will be fighting me, Haldir," Finrod repeated, his voice soft, but there was a hint of steel behind his words to which Haldir unconsciously responded, straightening and then giving Finrod his obeisance.

"Aran nîn," he said, still looking doubtful.

Finrod stood up then, shaking his head. "No king am I, only another displaced Edledhron, and a fellow swordsman... and I hope, your friend."

The two ellyn stared at one another across the space of the cot, then Haldir smiled and held out his hand. Finrod smiled in turn and clasped Haldir’s arm in a warrior's grasp.

****

The afternoon’s line-up was as follows: Finrod and Haldir, Aldundil and Cirion, Hallas and Ardamírë, Ingwion and Findegil. Even though these were all parma-list fighters, the spectators had learned the hard way not to take anything about these warriors for granted and there was a great deal of speculation and anticipation among the crowd. There was some murmuring in the stands when they saw Haldir step out beside Finrod. Arafinwë frowned as he read the tenor of the disturbance.

"They’re surprised," he said.

"They’re upset, more like," Olwë snorted derisively.

Ingwë shook his head. "It matters not. I have agreed with the heralds and marshals in this."

"More importantly," Arafinwë retorted, "you agree with Findaráto’s reasoning for why Haldir must fight."

"Do you think any of the other warriors would have agreed to fight Haldir in this instance?" Eärwen asked in curiosity.

"I have no doubt that none of the Tol Eressëan elves would have hesitated to accept Haldir as an opponent... and maybe Ingwion," Ingwë said, "but I do not know about the others."

"Just as well that the rules of the list specify that either Haldir or Aldarion would have fought against Findaráto in this round," Elindis said serenely. "I have great respect for our great-nephew. He shows an unusual degree of honor that I don’t think I’ve seen in any other elf. It’s an amazing thing to see."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow at this unexpected praise coming from the High Queen and bowed his head in acknowledgment. Eärwen’s smile was very broad.

"My beloved speaks truly," Ingwë said gravely. "Findaráto shows himself more and more the king he became in Endórë every day. I see how people respond to that kingliness, but more importantly, I see how they respond to his humility, for he is indeed humble. That humility does not detract from his kingship, rather it enhances it. Were I any but the High King of All the Elves, I would gladly give him my allegiance."

This last was met with stunned disbelief all around. Ingwë smiled at their expressions. "Why look you so surprised?" he asked with a glint of humor in his eyes. "Even a High King can indulge in fantasy every once in a while."

The others chuckled at that. Elindis leaned over and gave her husband a kiss. "When you do give up the High Kingship in favor of our great-nephew," she whispered to him, "I will gladly follow you, for I too would give him my allegiance, as well as my love."

Ingwë merely nodded, turning back to the competition with a slight smile on his face.

****

All eyes were on the match between Finrod and Haldir. It was decided among the other six warriors fighting in this round to ignore protocol and allow Finrod and Haldir to fight alone. The other three matches would go first, though.

"It’ll give you more time to sweat," Ingwion jested, acting as spokesman for the others when he told Finrod and Haldir of their decision.

"You’re too kind," Finrod said with a derisive grin and Ingwion merely laughed. Haldir, on the other hand, sighed and looked glum.

"I just want to get this over with," he muttered. "It’s not as if we don’t know how it’s going to end, anyway. Why can I not simply declare myself forfeit and save you the bother of beating me into a pulp?" he asked Finrod.

The prince gave Haldir a swat to the back of his head. "Because I need the exercise," he retorted. "End of discussion."

Ingwion snorted and gave his cousin a wink, which Finrod returned. Haldir still didn’t look convinced, but he wisely remained silent, letting one of the pages help him don his hauberk.

The three other matches were exciting to watch in their own right and there were as many people rooting for the one warrior as for the other, yet when a match was decided there was as much applause for the loser as for the winner. In this wise, Aldundil, Ardamírë and Ingwion advanced to the next round. Then it was Finrod and Haldir’s turn.

Eönwë stepped forward to speak to the two ellyn.

"I have messages from the Elder King for you both," the Maia said softly, "and one from Lord Námo for Haldir."

"What are they?" Finrod asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. Haldir merely looked uncomfortable and not a little shocked.

Eönwë turned first to Finrod. "To you, King of Nargothrond that was, the Elder King says this: Your greatest deed was in honoring your oath to Barahir, though it led to your death. You have nothing else to prove."

Finrod gave the Maia a measured look and a single nod of his head but otherwise did not speak. Eönwë then turned to Haldir, giving him a grave look. "To you, child, the Elder King says this: Your pain is grievous to us and we hope that you will some day find healing. In the meantime, trust Findaráto in all things. Let him guide you, for he is wise and worthy of your trust."

Haldir nodded and whispered a heartfelt "thank you" which the Maia acknowledged with a bow of his head.

"And Lord Námo’s message?" Finrod asked softly, curious to hear what the Lord of Mandos had to say to his friend.

Eönwë’s expression became more grave yet at the same time more compassionate and Finrod and Haldir both had the uneasy feeling that it was not the Maia speaking but Another speaking through him. "‘Remember, best beloved, all judgments have been rendered, all debts paid. It is only a memory, nothing more. Fight well.'"

Haldir looked both stricken and relieved and Finrod placed a comforting arm around his shoulders and gave him a hug and a light kiss on his brow.

"Lord Námo is correct, mellon nîn," he said to Haldir. "Fight well."

Haldir nodded, then bowed to the Maia. "Thank you, my lord, for both messages. They comfort me and give me hope."

"As were their intent, child," Eönwë said with a slight smile. "If you are both ready..."

The match lasted longer than anyone anticipated, for Haldir proved a worthy opponent and Finrod did indeed get his work-out. By the time Finrod finally scored a "mortal" blow on Haldir’s torso, they were both dripping with sweat and breathing hard. The applause that greeted them when the bout ended was deafening and Ingwë called them over to the royal gallery.

He stood and smiled down at them both. "You both fought well. I am well pleased." Then he gave a brief glance to where Glorfindel was sitting nearby and then turned to Finrod with a sly grin. "Now if you can just convince Glorfindel to fight, I’ll be very happy indeed."

Glorfindel, having heard the High King’s words, reddened as everyone in the royal gallery chuckled good-naturedly. Finrod looked at his brother and smiled, then turned to Ingwë. "I’ll do my best, Sire, but I make no promises. My brother is apt to whine if I press him too hard."

"I never whine!" Glorfindel protested, standing up in mock dismay. "Why doesn’t anyone believe me?"

Everyone then started laughing, including Glorfindel, and thus the tournament was ended for the day.

****

Dagor Bragolwanath: (Sindarin) Battle of Sudden Death. "Sudden Death" is another term for a single-elimination tournament.

Násië: (Quenya) Amen.

Dor Rodyn: (Sindarin) Valinor.

Ennorath: (Sindarin) Middle-earth.

Belain: (Sindarin): Plural of Balan: Vala.

Edledhron: (Sindarin) Exiled (one).

126: Interview With Elflings

Finrod invited Haldir and Gwilwileth to join him for dinner that evening, not willing to let the other elf out of his sight too soon. He was concerned about Haldir’s state of mind and wished to assure himself that the ellon was recovering from his blood-trance. Both Haldir and Gwilwileth were reluctant to come, the former pleading fatigue after the events of the day, the latter simply looking distraught, but Finrod exercised his royal prerogative and made it a command.

"You will both be there," he said, his expression stern but compassionate. "I do not want you to be alone at this time."

"Hardly alone, aranya," Haldir said with a twist of his lips and a sly sideways glance at Gwilwileth, who stifled a giggle.

Finrod chuckled. "You know full well what I mean, Haldir. I expect you both to be there."

"Yes, aranya," Haldir said with a grimace, but gave Finrod a proper bow even as Gwilwileth curtsied.

Amarië also joined them for dinner. It was the first time she had actually been inside the encampment and Finrod escorted her about while they were waiting for their meal. Haldir and Gwilwileth accompanied them. Many of the elves in the encampment greeted Finrod familiarly and offered their congratulations on his betrothal. One or two of them even asked him what he thought his chances were in defeating Glorfindel should the two end up competing against each other.

"And what makes you think I will get that far, or that Glorfindel will?" Finrod asked them with a smile.

"Well, if you don’t, aran nîn," one of the Sindar named Galadhonion said with a laugh, "I’ll be three bows poorer, for that is what I have bet on."

Finrod laughed as well. "In that case, I’ll do my best not to disappoint."

"Oh, you could never do that, aran nîn," Galadhonion said in all seriousness. "Whether you win or lose, you could never disappoint us. We love you too much for that."

The other elves in the vicinity nodded. Finrod paled but did not dispute Galadhonion’s words. He suddenly felt humble and unworthy of the obvious love and regard these elves held for him.

"I’m no longer king of anything, Galadhonion," was all he could manage to say. "I relinquished my crown..."

The Sinda snorted and shook his head. "A crown does not make a king, aran nîn," he said, giving Finrod a level stare. "It’s just the opposite. Whether you wear one or not, you are a king, and more specifically, you’re our king... well, at least until Elu Thingol is released from Mandos," he ended somewhat lamely, looking embarrassed.

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that and his mouth quirked in an odd smile. "And when that blessed day comes, what happens to me?"

The elves looked about in embarrassment, not willing to look at Finrod directly. Galadhonion paled and started to stammer an apology, fearful that he had insulted one whom he held in high esteem, but Finrod forestalled him.

"When that day comes, mellon nîn," Finrod stated, "I will full willingly relinquish my claims to the ruling of the Elves of Tol Eressëa, for I do not desire it. It is one reason I have stayed away from there, to avoid such contentions as will inevitably arise once the various kings of Beleriand are again Reborn."

"Yet, in the meantime..." Galadhonion began.

"In the meantime," Finrod said, "it is best to learn to govern yourselves, or failing that, choose one among you to hold the regency until such time as my great-uncle is released from Lord Námo’s care."

The elves looked decidedly unhappy about it but could not come up with any counter-arguments. Finrod smiled upon them compassionately. "Be at peace, mellyn nîn. Know that if there is need, I will always be there. Do not hesitate to call upon me."

Galadhonion gave Finrod a look of suspicion. "Yet, would you indeed come if we call?"

Finrod straightened, his mien becoming stern. "I did not hesitate to answer Beren, a mortal, when he came to Nargothrond to redeem my Oath, though it led to my death. Should I do less for thee, who art of my own kind, Galadhonion of Tol Eressëa?"

The Sinda went to his knees. "Forgive me, aran nîn. I meant no disrespect."

Finrod nodded, relenting. "Thou hast my forgiveness, my son. Now rise and let us be friends."

So saying, he reached down and lifted the Sinda to his feet and they embraced, exchanging a kiss of peace. Finrod smiled at Galadhonion and then, stepping back, gave them all a bow of respect before taking Amarië’s arm and escorting her back to his own compound.

Amarië had watched the exchange with some bemusement, for the ellyn had spoken in Sindarin. Gwilwileth had whispered a translation for her. When Finrod had mentioned his Oath and its consequences, Amarië had felt herself trembling, though she forced herself to remain impassive before the others. None, except possibly Findaráto, knew what it cost her to remain calm during the exchange and he was too busy concentrating on Galadhonion to take much notice, or at least Amarië assumed.

When they had moved some distance from the others, Finrod stopped and took her into his embrace. "Be at peace, meldanya," he whispered in her ear. "It is over with. I am here now and all is well."

She felt herself trembling anew, but from a far different emotion as Findaráto continued holding her. She reveled in the feeling of his arms around her, the scent of him filling her nostrils, the pulse of his heart beating in rhythm with hers. She thought she could remain that way forever, but of course, it did not last. Findaráto released her and gave her a warm, understanding smile.

"Come, let us see what the elflings are up to," he said as he led her back to the compound. Haldir and Gwilwileth, who had maintained a discreet distance during their embrace, now caught up with them. "They will be serving tonight."

"The Valar help us," Haldir said with a laugh as they came to the pavilion to see all was in readiness.

****

Eruanna and Veryandur wore the tabards Finrod had ordered for them. They looked both proud and frightened at the same time as they helped each other set the table. The three older elflings were not left out, though. Ingwion had come with three tabards that pages at the High King’s court wore. These were white silk trimmed with gold and embroidered on the front with an eight-pointed star in gold thread. They were a bright contrast to Finrod’s tabards of dark blue silk trimmed with gold and with a harp embroidered on them in gold thread.

Ingwion handed the tabards to the older elflings, who looked upon them with wonder and delight. "For now, until you go to Tirion," Ingwion explained to them, "you will wear these tabards when you are serving your lord."

Finrod nodded in approval when he saw them and thanked Ingwion, who shook his head and smiled.

"It was actually Atar’s idea," the prince said, "or perhaps I should say it was Amillë’s idea and Atar merely agreed with her."

They all laughed at that. "Regardless," Finrod said, "I am grateful. I know these three were beginning to feel neglected and left out of things."

They all took their seats. The table had been expanded with two additional leaves to seat all who were there that evening. As usual, Finrod sat at one end while Glorfindel sat at the other end closest to the pavilion opening. Amarië sat at Finrod’s right, while Gwilwileth and Haldir sat on Finrod’s left. Sador sat next to Amarië, while Laurendil and Manwen sat across from one another with Ingwion on Manwen’s right and Alassiel on Laurendil’s left. Vorondil oversaw the serving of the meal this evening, as he and Alassiel took turns doing so. Mithlas and Aldarion, who normally would have joined them, had been invited to eat elsewhere with friends they had made during the archery meet earlier that day.

Veryandur was just in the process of placing the bread on the table while Lindorillë and Eruanna were handing out plates of cheese and bowls of butter mixed with herbs when there was a shimmer in the air just outside the pavilion’s opening. Finrod and the others stood immediately and bowed while the three elflings stood frozen in place. Before them stood two of the Valar: Irmo and Námo.

Irmo gave them all a brilliant smile. "Ah, just in time for dinner, I see," he said brightly.

"Impeccable timing, as always, brother," Námo said with a quiet smile of his own.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow and gave Finrod a questioning look. "Did you invite them?"

Finrod shook his head, his expression alternating between amusement and concern. Glorfindel turned back to the Fëanturi, giving them a supercilious sniff. "May I see your invitations, my lords?" he said, sounding uncannily like Ingwë’s chamberlain.

The Fëanturi laughed. "Mind yourself, youngling." Námo said, then turned his eyes upon the three elflings who were still standing like statues. He glanced briefly at Finrod then gestured to the two ellith. "Come here, my daughters."

Lindorillë went dead white and Eruanna nearly dropped her plate of cheese, which Sador gently took from her. Finrod gave them both compassionate looks.

"Do as Lord Námo bids, children," he said softly yet with an air of command they had begun to recognize and obey.

With much fear and trembling the two ellith approached the Fëanturi whose features were stern but not frightening. Námo ran a hand through Eruanna’s hair and the elleth was heard to sigh and her eyes started to unfocus. Irmo did the same with Lindorillë. Soon both ellith were feeling less frightened.

Námo smiled slightly. "That’s better. There’s nothing to fear here," the Vala said softly, still caressing Eruanna’s locks. "Now, Eruanna, tell me what you’ve learned so far since taking oath to Lord Findaráto."

Eruanna blinked a couple of times before her eyes focused on the Vala standing before her. "I... I want to be a... a squire to Lord Findaráto... l-like Alassiel," she whispered.

Irmo raised an eyebrow and gave Finrod a measured look. "You will have to tell me how you do that, my son," he said.

"And what is that, my lord?" Finrod asked with mild amusement.

"Get them to love you."

Finrod shrugged. "As to that, my lord, I have no answer. Perhaps you should ask them why they do so."

Irmo nodded. "Perhaps I shall. Later."

Námo meanwhile was nodding at the elleth. "A worthy goal, child. May you persevere in your quest for excellence." Then he turned his amaranthine eyes upon Lindorillë and while his gaze was no less compassionate, his expression darkened somewhat. Irmo’s continual stroking of the child’s hair, however, kept her calm and compliant. "Tell me, Lindorillë, who your atar’s friends are."

Both Finrod and Glorfindel stirred but subsided when Námo glanced up at them and shook his head before turning back to the elleth. Lindorillë looked troubled but Irmo’s ministration kept her biddable and she answered readily enough.

"Well, there’s Master Rúmil, not the loremaster, but the blacksmith, and then there’s Master Calamandil, he’s the baker down the street and..."

"Who among the nobles, child?" Námo interrupted her gently, giving her a smile. "Does your atar ever entertain any of the lords of Vanyamar?"

Lindorillë nodded. "Lord Súlimondil and... Lord Valacar... I saw him fight. He’s not very good, is he?"

Several people had to force themselves not to laugh at that last observation. Finrod and Glorfindel on the other hand both raised an eyebrow at the names and gave Námo penetrating stares. Finrod it was who spoke. "That explains much... and not enough."

Námo gave him a wintry smile. "The rest is up to you."

Finrod was about to reply when Vorondil entered the pavilion with the other two ellyn in tow. "Master, what’s keeping Eru.... — m-my lords?"

The Fëanturi looked up at Vorondil and smiled. Sorondil and Oromendil nearly collided with the ellon, both carrying hot dishes, their mouths agape in surprise.

"Ah, the rest have arrived," Irmo said, releasing Lindorillë, who came out of her trance, blinking.

She looked up at the Valar and paled, but Námo merely smiled at her. "You are doing very well here, child," he said. "We’re very pleased with you."

The elleth now blushed and looked down at her toes as Námo gently moved her aside to stand next to Eruanna. Then he gave Sorondil and Oromendil a measured look. Without taking his eyes off them he addressed Vorondil. "Take the dishes, Vorondil. My brother and I would like to speak to these two."

Vorondil paled somewhat but nodded. He took the bowl of dried apricot and ginger soup from Sorondil’s hands, the apricots floating in a white broth, and then the platter of mushrooms in oyster sauce from Oromendil, placing them on the table.

Finrod gave the Fëanturi a brief wry smile. "Our dinner is getting cold, my lords. Do you think you can do this after we’ve eaten?"

Námo smiled back. "No."

Glorfindel gave a snort and Haldir sniggered. Sador, however, grabbed a hunk of bread, giving the Valar a cool stare. "Can we at least sit down while you two... hold court?" he asked pointedly before deliberately taking a bite.

Now it was the Valar who raised their eyebrows at the young ellon. Námo gave Irmo a look that none of the elves could interpret, then turned back to Sador. "If you must," he said with a long-suffering sigh and then two heavily carved chairs appeared and the two Valar sat, thus giving everyone else permission to do the same. There was much scraping of chairs and quiet murmurs before everyone was settled. Vorondil and the elflings remained standing, rooted where they were.

"Now, where were we?" Námo asked no one in particular. "Ah yes... Sorondil, Oromendil, come here." He gestured to the two ellyn, both of whom were nearly white with fear. They stumbled towards the Fëanturi, stopping just before the thrones. Oromendil looked as if he were going to faint, while his cousin merely looked sick. The Valar gazed upon the ellyn, their expressions stern, though not without compassion.

It was Irmo who spoke. "If either of you seek to renege on your oaths to Lord Findaráto, you will be severely punished."

The ellyn gasped and Finrod gave the Valar a hard stare. "What do you mean by that, Lord Irmo? How do you expect them to renege on their oaths and do you not think I would know if they did?"

Irmo raised a hand in placation. "Peace, my son. I have no doubt you had ways of knowing what your subjects were about when you ruled in Nargothrond, but these two are not your subjects. We are aware of their plans to... run away, I believe is the term... once they reach Tirion, though even they have no idea where they wish to run."

Finrod stood up and went around the table and stood behind the ellyn, forcing them to turn around so he could see their faces. "Is this true, children?" he asked softly. "Were you making plans to run away?"

Sorondil swallowed noisily and nodded. Oromendil just stood there, unable to look away, fear in his eyes. Finrod sighed. "And where did you think to hide that neither I nor the Valar could find you?"

"W-we don’t want to... to leave Vanyamar," Sorondil stammered, tears beginning to run down his face. "We... I... don’t want to leave ammë and... and atto."

"Now who’s being a baby," everyone heard Veryandur whisper, giving the older ellyn a scowl of disgust.

Finrod rolled his eyes while the two Valar hid smiles. Sador reached over, grabbed the elfling and sat him on his knee, whispering something in his ears that set the child blushing and looking embarrassed. Sorondil and Oromendil, meanwhile, were crying in earnest now and Finrod gathered them both in his embrace.

"Shh. No tears now," he said gently. "I know this is very strange and frightening for you, but I promise you all will be well." He motioned to Alassiel with a jerk of his head. She stood and approached them. "I want you to go with Alassiel and wash your faces," he told the ellyn. "We’ll talk about this later. Go on now." He shooed them towards Alassiel who nodded to Finrod and took the ellyn’s hands, leading them out of the pavilion.

Finrod turned his attention back to the Valar who looked back with mild interest. "While I appreciate the gesture, my lords," the ellon said, "I find your interference with my household... disturbing."

"Would you wish for us to remain silent in certain matters?" Námo asked.

"I would wish to be consulted first," Finrod retorted somewhat angrily. Then, he closed his eyes and visibly reined his emotions in. Opening his eyes again, he gave the Fëanturi a respectful bow. "Forgive me, Masters. I meant no disrespect."

Námo nodded. Irmo said nothing.

"Hey! What about me?"

Finrod turned to see Veryandur, still seated on Sador’s lap, looking aggrieved.

"What about you?" Finrod asked with a slight smile.

"Well, everyone else gets a talking to, why not me?" he asked in childish effrontery.

Irmo smiled broadly and Námo actually chuckled, while the other adults looked on in amusement. Námo then gave Finrod a pointed look. "With your permission, my lord?"

Finrod had the grace to blush, but nodded his acquiescence. Námo turned to Veryandur, who was now looking suddenly nervous, as if he realized that perhaps he should have kept quiet and therefore unnoticed. Now it was too late.

"Very well, Veryandur," Námo said, gesturing for the ellon to approach. "Let’s get this over with. As Findaráto so rightly pointed out, your dinner is getting cold."

Veryandur slid off Sador’s knees with some reluctance, but came willingly enough to stand before the Valar. At first the Fëanturi merely gazed at the ellon before them, their expressions grave, though Finrod, standing nearby, detected glints of humor and even joy in their eyes. Then Námo spoke.

"We were rather hurt that you did not see fit to introduce us to your stuffed toy," the Vala said in all seriousness. "Lord Manwë and Lady Varda were quite impressed and gratified that you would deign to introduce your companion to them."

Veryandur gave the Vala a surprised look. "Truly?"

Both Námo and Irmo nodded. Finrod stole a glance at Glorfindel and they were both hard-pressed not to start laughing. It was Sador, though, who spoke up then, speaking with all seriousness.

"Why don’t you go bring Narmollë and show him to my lords, Veryandur?"

Finrod nodded. "That’s a very good idea. Run along now," he said to Veryandur, who needed no other urging. Finrod watched with a fond look as the child ran off without bothering to give anyone a proper bow. Then, with a wicked gleam in his eyes that both Fëanturi caught, he turned to Eruanna. "And I’m sure Lord Námo and Lord Irmo would enjoy meeting Yávië as well, Eruanna."

The elleth smiled brightly and with a barely executed curtsey ran out of the pavilion just as Alassiel returned with the two older ellyn, now looking more composed. She gave Finrod a questioning look. Finrod merely smiled.

"Show and tell," was all he said as Veryandur now ran into the pavilion clutching his stuffed toy. The ellon skidded to a halt, holding out the toy to Námo. "This is Narmollë," he said, practically shoving the toy into the Vala’s face in his enthusiasm.

Eruanna skipped into the pavilion just then and went directly to Irmo, who, when introduced to the doll, bowed his head gravely. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Yávië," the Vala said, even as his brother was lifting Veryandur onto his lap and speaking quietly to the ellon about his toy.

The adult elves looked on with expressions ranging from highly amused (Finrod) to disbelieving (Gwilwileth) as the Valar continued to speak to the elflings. Somehow, without them being conscious of doing so, the other three elflings gathered around the two thrones. With the Valar gently encouraging them, they began to speak hesitantly and then with more enthusiasm about their own favorite toys, past and present.

Dinner, apparently forgotten by all, would have to wait a little longer.

****

Mellon nîn/Mellyn nîn: (Sindarin) My friend/my friends.

127: Table Talk

It was Vorondil, of all people, who finally broke the mood that the Valar had created in "visiting" with the elflings as the adult elves looked on in bemusement. The older elfling, his expression pained, sidled up to Finrod.

"Master," he whispered loudly, "the soup’s gone cold and I think the fish is ruined."

Námo looked up with a gleam in his eyes. "Well, we can’t have that, can we, brother?"

"Definitely not," Irmo said decisively as he lifted Eruanna off his lap and stood up. "Come, brother, we will see to the dinner. Let all the Children enjoy the repast."

Then the most amazing thing happened: the table which had comfortably seated ten seemed to expand without actually taking up any more room within the pavilion and now there were settings for sixteen. The elves just stood there open-mouthed with surprise.

Haldir turned to Finrod. "I didn’t mean it literally," he whispered, casting a worried glance at the Fëanturi, "about the Valar helping, I mean."

Finrod snorted, suddenly recalling Haldir’s rather jocular oath from earlier that evening. "Eönwë obviously has a very wicked sense of humor."

"How did you do that?" Veryandur asked suddenly, casting a suspicious look at the two Valar.

The Valar exchanged amused looks but deigned not to answer the elfling’s question. Námo gestured to Finrod instead. "Why don’t you all be seated?" he suggested. "You can put the elflings between you."

Finrod gave the Vala a curt nod, then turned to Glorfindel, who was looking as nonplused as the rest. "Will you do the honors, brother, while I have a word with the... er... chefs?"

The Balrog-slayer grinned broadly, a look of mingled amusement and mischief in his eyes. "Of course, brother," he answered with a correct bow. Then he turned towards the table. "Let’s see... Veryandur, why don’t you sit between Lady Amarië and Lord Sador and Vorondil, you can sit between Lady Gwilwileth and Lord Haldir, while...."

Finrod, in the meantime, bowed to the Fëanturi and gestured for them to follow him outside. Once away from the pavilion Finrod led them towards the cooking tent but stopped halfway there and turned on the Valar, his expression cold. "Very well, my lords. Would you like to tell me just what is going on here?"

The Fëanturi looked upon the near seething ellon with benign amusement. It was Irmo who answered. "What is going on, child, is that you are holding up dinner."

Finrod looked at the two in disbelief. "We are quite capable of feeding ourselves," he finally said between clenched teeth. "We don’t need you...."

"Peace, Findaráto," Námo interrupted soothingly. "Our reasons are our own. Go back to the pavilion and take up your role as host. Go now," he said, gently pushing Finrod back the way they had come. "You don’t want your soup to go cold a second time."

Finrod started to protest but something in the eyes of the two Valar stopped him and without another word he returned to the pavilion to find that the soup was indeed hot and the mushrooms in oyster sauce had not congealed into an unwholesome mess. His expression remained closed though and even Glorfindel eschewed trying to draw him out of his dark mood as the others quietly began to eat.

The elflings, catching Finrod’s mood, were subdued and there was no chatter among them. No one, in fact, was willing to break the silence while Finrod ate the first course with grim determination, refusing to look up from his plate.

It was into this uncomfortable atmosphere that Námo walked holding a covered platter. He took one look and tsked, shaking his head. "This won’t do," he muttered and everyone looked up, their solemn expressions turning to ones of surprise.

Námo had changed his garb. Gone was the velvet tunic of soft indigo trimmed with embroidery of stars done in mithril thread with the shirt of rose silk underneath that he had been wearing. Instead, he wore a grey ankle-length tunic over which was a black surcoat with the Sun-in-Eclipse embroidered on the front. Gone, too, was the circlet of mithril with the single pigeon-egg-sized opal that had graced his dark elf-braided locks.

Ingwion suddenly smiled. "To whom did you lose the bet this time, lord?" he asked impishly. The others just stared at Ingwion as if he’d gone mad.

Námo laughed as he set the platter on the table next to Glorfindel. "Insolent child," he said. "Just for that you may help Irmo in the kitchen."

Laughing as well, Ingwion stood up without protest and headed outside. Those in the pavilion could hear him calling out, sounding suspiciously like an elfling. "Lord Irmo, my Master says I have to help. Can I have a tabard like his too?"

Finrod gave the Vala a penetrating stare. "Bet?" he asked, his tone one of disbelief.

Námo merely smiled. "Long story. Now, why doesn’t someone pick a topic of conversation? All this silence is unhealthy for your digestions."

"And what topic of conversation would you have us speak on, my lord?" Glorfindel asked with studied indifference.

Námo raised an eyebrow. "You’re in the middle of a tournament," he exclaimed in feigned asperity. "Pick something!"

He then walked out of the pavilion, shaking his head and muttering to himself. The elves sat there in silence for a moment, not sure how to respond. The elflings shifted nervously in their seats. Veryandur was staring down the table at the covered platter Lord Námo had left behind wondering what was hidden underneath. Glorfindel noticed the elfling’s hungry gaze and smiled to himself, lifting the cover to find several trout lightly cooked in butter and slivered almonds.

As Glorfindel started to take up one of the fish, Mithlas walked in somewhat breathlessly and stopped in surprise. "Oh! Forgive me. I didn’t mean to interrupt."

"What is it, mellon nîn?" Finrod asked, looking grave. "Has something happened?"

"Huh? Oh, no," Mithlas said, looking a bit embarrassed. "I... um... it’s just that Lord Elessairon was interested in taking a closer look at the way I fletch my arrows and..."

"Ah, just in time, I see."

Mithlas turned and nearly fainted at the sight of the Lord of Mandos standing there in strange garb, carrying a bowl of curried rice, with Ingwion standing right behind him holding a platter of steamed vegetables. The prince was sporting a tabard similar to Námo’s but grey with black trim. The embroidered Sun-in-Eclipse was done in black and white instead of the silver and gold thread on Námo’s tabard.

"M-my lord?" Mithlas gasped and Glorfindel stood up quickly and led the Sinda to Ingwion’s empty seat. He poured some water into a goblet and handed it to the white-faced ellon. Námo placed the rice on the table, then came around to stand beside Mithlas as Glorfindel resumed his seat.

"Take a deep breath, child," the Vala said quietly, placing a gentle hand on the ellon’s head.

Mithlas complied with the request and the color came slowly back into his cheeks.

"That’s better," Námo said. "Now, why don’t you tell everyone about the archery. I know Finrod and Haldir are especially interested in hearing about it."

"I... I only came to fetch..."

"That’s all right," Námo said soothingly. "I’ll just have one of my people tell your friends that you are going to be delayed."

To that Mithlas could not object, as much as he would have liked to. While he had gotten used to the presence of Lord Irmo and his lady, and even to that of the various Maiar in the service of the Lord of Lórien, his close proximity to the Lord of Mandos unnerved him as not even the hordes of Morgoth’s army had ever done. He swallowed nervously and nodded.

"Good," Námo said brightly. "We’ll leave you to enjoy this second remove, then. The third remove will come out later... just as soon as my brother figures out what it will be."

With that, the Vala left with Ingwion in tow, the ellon sniggering quietly. The sound of the prince's laughter seemed to break the spell they had all fallen under and Manwen, sitting at Mithlas’ left, turned to him.

"So, how did the archery go?" she asked. "I was too busy in the healer’s tent to see any of it."

At first, Mithlas felt a bit self-conscious, but when Glorfindel, Haldir and Finrod all indicated that they were curious to hear what Mithlas had to say about it, the Sinda started to describe the various archers, at least those with whom he was familiar, with greater detail.

"Lord Aldarion was quite one of the best I’ve seen, even if he’s not a Sinda," he commented at one point, idly taking a bite of the fish that Glorfindel had put on the plate in front of him. The Sinda wasn’t even aware that he was eating a second dinner in his enthusiasm in telling his tale.

Finrod chuckled. "I’m sure he’ll be interested in hearing your assessment of his skills, Mithlas. The Sindar aren’t the only ones who know one end of an arrow from the other."

Glorfindel snorted and the others laughed lightly as Mithlas blushed and muttered an apology.

"I did not mean to disparage anyone, my lord," he said. "I guess I was just surprised that... well, that anyone who had not fought in Beleriand would know anything about the proper handling of a bow."

"Or a sword," Glorfindel added with a nod as he helped himself to more rice. "Yet, we were not all lying about writing odes to the Valar and basking in the glow of the Two Trees."

"We weren’t?" Finrod asked in feigned shock. "But I wrote some of my best poetry while basking under the Light of the Two Trees. Didn’t I, my dear?" he asked as he grinned mischievously at his betrothed.

Amarië, getting into the spirit of the exchange, evinced an innocent air. "Oh, was that supposed to be poetry?"

The others all broke up in laughter, Finrod laughing the loudest and longest. The elflings, however, were more interested in eating and weren’t paying too much attention to the conversation. Vorondil, being older though, hung onto every word his elders spoke.

"I... I would’ve liked to have competed in the archery," he said hesitantly, "but of course, I couldn’t." This last was said with some self-directed bitterness, his eyes fixed firmly on his plate. He pushed his food around, no longer hungry. The other adults gave him sympathetic looks, though he did not see them.

"Are you any good?" Haldir asked him solicitously.

Vorondil looked up and nodded. "Atar says I have a natural talent for it."

Finrod gave him an understanding smile. "We’ll have to see that you continue to practice then," he said. "It wouldn’t do for you to lose what skill you have."

The ellon gave him a grateful look and nodded.

Finrod turned back to Mithlas. "So, are there any favorites yet, or is it too early to tell?"

Mithlas shook his head. "Too early, though once the next round is over with I suspect there will be heavy betting going on." He gave them all a wry grin.

There was chuckling all around. Then, Mithlas’ expression sobered. "There was one ellon though...." He paused, hesitating, and the others, even the elflings, picked up on his mood.

"What about him?" Sador asked.

"He was in the opal team," the Sinda stated. "I admit I wasn’t paying too much attention because there was no one in that group whom I knew well, but when he stepped up to the target...." He stopped and gave a grimace of frustration.

"What?" Glorfindel asked. "I have to admit I wasn't paying too much attention as to who was competing. I... I had too many other things on my mind," he ended somewhat quietly and the others gave him sympathetic looks.

Mithlas shook his head as he answered. "For a moment, the way he stood, he reminded me of someone, but I could not remember who." His gaze was unfocused as if he were searching his memory, then he gave himself a shake. "It was only for a moment and then the feeling of familiarity was gone."

"Could it have been someone you met in Beleriand, perhaps during the War of Wrath?" Finrod asked. "You must have met many warriors during that time whom you never saw again."

"Yes, that’s certainly true," Mithlas said, "but I don’t think so. I can’t put my finger on it."

"What about on Tol Eressëa?" Haldir suggested.

Mithlas merely shrugged.

"Does this mysterious ellon have a name?" Alassiel asked. "I confess I wasn’t paying much attention to the competition either, not with trying to keep track of five elflings, so I can’t say as I remember seeing anyone from that particular group standing out."

"I did not think to ask," Mithlas confessed with some embarrassment.

Finrod nodded. "Well, perhaps we can find out when we watch him compete tomorrow. In the meantime..." He gave them all a wicked grin and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I wonder what’s keeping the... er... servants with the third remove?"

"I heard that," came Námo’s voice echoing among them though he was not in evidence. "Just for that, insolent child, you can help wash the dishes."

Finrod laughed and the rest joined him.

Five minutes later, a smug looking Námo and an equally amused looking Ingwion entered with the next remove: a pheasant roast accompanied by candied sweet potatoes and baked onions. This was later followed by a syllabub of thickened sweet cream mixed with fruit juice rather than the usual wine in deference to the elflings. A plate of shortbread and gingerbread came with the sweet dessert.

Afterwards, all agreed that it was a most delicious meal as they stood to go outside to sit about the fire and enjoy the mild spring evening. Finrod remained behind to help Ingwion stack the dishes. Glorfindel and Sador offered to help but Finrod sent them off, saying that Ingwion and he could deal with the dishes well enough.

Soon, the others were rewarded with the sight of two Valar and two princes of Eldamar happily washing and drying the dinner dishes. Rumor of this spread throughout the encampment and it wasn’t long before the compound was surrounded by curious elves who decided that no one who hadn’t seen it with their own eyes would ever believe it.

128: Disaster On Day Three

The next morning dawned fair, and everyone woke in a good mood, except for Finrod who seemed somewhat out of sorts. However, he refused to tell anyone why, and both Glorfindel and Sador left him alone. Sador and Alassiel busied themselves seeing to the elflings while Glorfindel and Mithlas went on to the champions’ tent to start arming for the next round of fighting. The number of fighters had been reduced enough that there were only four pairs fighting, two from each list. Therefore, all eight fighters who had made it to Round Three would fight at the same time.

The line-up this morning would be Glorfindel and Gilvagor in list one, with Finrod and Aldundil behind them in list three. Ingwion and Ardamírë would be fighting in list two with Mithlas and Aldarion behind them in list four. While it was not expected that these matches would be overlong, there was great anticipation as to who would advance to the next round in the Tinco-list. The losers of those matches would fight the winners of the Parma-list later that afternoon. That would be the beginning of the semi-finals. Whoever lost the Parma-list’s Round Five would automatically take fourth place. The Parma-list losers of Round Four would vie against each other on the fourth day to determine who would take fifth place. The loser of the Tinco-list Round Four would fight against the winner of the Parma-list Round Six to determine who would then take third place. Only after the three lower places had been determined would the final matches between the two list champions commence on the fifth day. If the Tinco-list champion won Round Seven, the tournament would be over, otherwise they would go to the next round to determine the winner.

The opening ceremony was brief and to the point. Eönwë introduced each pair of fighters and then the bouts commenced. It was obvious to any who were warriors that, while the matches with Glorfindel, Ingwion and Mithlas were going to be quickly decided in favor of those three ellyn, the match between Finrod and Aldundil was more problematic. Some of those watching were aware that Aldundil had been uneasy with the idea of fighting his own liege, yet, it appeared that he was holding his own against Finrod. No one, save perhaps the Valar, knew what had passed between them before the match....

Finrod walked into the arming tent to find only Aldundil there with one of the court pages giving him a hand with his hauberk.

"Aldundil," Finrod said politely in greeting.

The prince’s vassal bowed. "Aranya," he muttered. "I... I hope I can last long enough out there to... to impress my son." He gave the prince a twisted smile. "I’m afraid Vorondil still thinks Anar rises and sets at my command."

Finrod gave him a thin smile. "That’s all right, Aldundil. I still think the same of my atar. I’m sure you will do well against me. Vorondil should not feel anything but pride in your abilities as a warrior."

Aldundil nodded, then gave Finrod a shrewd look, dismissing the page so they could be alone. He gave Finrod a hand with his armor, helping to tie on one of his vambraces. "You are troubled, aranya," he said. "Has Vorondil done anything...."

Finrod shook his head. "I have no complaints concerning your son, Aldundil. He has come a long way from the arrogant ellon who sported warrior braids that he never earned."

Aldundil winced. "Forgive me, aranya," he said with chagrin. "I fear I was not the best of atars in that regard."

Finrod shook his head and placed a hand on the other ellon’s shoulder. "There is nothing to forgive. I fear Vorondil was... tainted, his fëa twisted and it had nothing to do with you." He sighed, and closed his eyes. Aldundil noticed shadows under them and wondered at that.

"Are you well, aranya?" he asked hesitantly.

Finrod opened his eyes and the light that shone from them was almost more than Aldundil could endure. "I am well, Aldundil. Do not fear for me. Now, let us finish arming."

He turned away to pick up a greave, freeing Aldundil from his regard, for which the ellon was thankful. He was still coming to terms with the Life Oath to Findaráto and was not sure just how much he could get away with without crossing the line of propriety between vassal and liege. He was still feeling his way for the most part. In fact, he had been rather surprised that Findaráto had sent him back to Tirion to resume his previous life. Findaráto had told him that he was much too valuable a member of the Noldóran’s government to be dancing attendance on the prince and would send for him when needed. Aldundil had felt oddly grateful for that.

"If you are sure," Aldundil said hesitantly, not quite believing the prince but reluctant to argue.

Finrod gave him a quick smile. "I am sure. And you had better fight your very best. I will not allow any vassal of mine to do any less, especially against me. Do we understand each other?"

Aldundil gave his liege a salute and bowed. "Be iest lîn, aran nîn," he said.

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that, then shook his head, smiling as he left the tent with Aldundil following behind....

Now it was apparent to all who were watching that the two warriors were nearly evenly matched, yet there was something off about Finrod’s fighting form.

"Something is wrong," Arafinwë muttered from the royal viewing gallery.

"What do you mean?" Ingwë asked, having been paying more attention to his own son’s fighting and noting with approval that Ingwion was in top form that morning as he handily knocked Ardamírë’s sword out of his hand. Now the only match still going was the one with Findaráto and Aldundil.

"Findaráto," Arafinwë said and pointed towards his son. "He’s fighting... carelessly."

That brought everyone’s attention to the third list. Arafinwë noted that even Lord Manwë was frowning. He turned his attention back to his son and suddenly stood up, muttering a curse in Sindarin, the only one he had bothered to learn while in Ennorath during the War of Wrath. Those around him started at the viciousness of his tone, though only the Elder King, Varda, their Maiar attendants and Ingwë's loremaster, Valandur, understood what he had said.

"Someone is going to get hurt," he said grimly.

And his words proved prophetic.

There was always the possibility when dealing with live steel, even in a tournament situation, that serious injuries could occur. Everyone knew this, every warrior accepted the risk. Yet, when it happened, there was an element of shock and disbelief involved. Such was the case here.

It would be difficult to say who was more at fault — Finrod for being careless and distracted or Aldundil for over confidence in thinking he could take advantage of Finrod’s sloppiness of form. Whatever the case, the result was catastrophic. Suddenly, steel met, not steel, but flesh and red blood spurted. Aldundil looked down to where Finrod’s sword had managed to slice through the mail of his hauberk to see his life’s blood running out. He had just a second to look up at his liege in shocked disbelief before collapsing to the ground.

Ellith began screaming as Finrod threw himself on Aldundil in an attempt to stem the flow of blood.

"Laurendil!" he yelled, not bothering to look up.

Then he was bowled over by Vorondil screaming at him. "You killed my atar! You killed my atar!"

The ellon began pounding on Finrod who was just stunned enough by the ferocity of the attack that he did not retaliate until he saw the knife in Vorondil’s hand. Where the elfling had gotten the knife from he neither knew nor cared. All of a sudden he was fighting for his life as the enraged ellon continued screaming at him. Tears ran down Vorondil’s face so he could barely see where he was aiming the knife, and that saved Finrod’s life. He grabbed the arm holding the knife at the same time pushing the ellon off him. His ploy wrenched the ellon’s arm back until he heard bone snap and now Vorondil was screaming for a different reason.

Just then, Glorfindel reached them and without stopping to think, kicked the knife out of the now useless hand, which elicited even more screams from the hapless youth. Then he grabbed the ellon by the front of his tunic, hauling him up. Finrod, meanwhile, was crawling back to where Laurendil and Manwen were now kneeling over the unconscious Aldundil attempting to stem the blood flow.

"What do you want me to do with this one?" Glorfindel asked dispassionately as he continued to hold a now subdued Vorondil.

"Take him to the healers’ tent and have that arm looked at," Finrod replied without bothering to look up. "Mithlas!" he called and the Sinda was by his side immediately. "I want two guards on him at all times. I’ll deal with him later."

"Yes, aran nîn," the ellon said and followed Glorfindel from the list, calling for two of the Tol Eressëans who normally held guard duty before the entrance to Finrod’s compound.

Meanwhile, Finrod knelt next to Laurendil as the healer did what he could for the fallen warrior. A shimmering in the air alerted everyone of the presence of the Valar and Finrod looked up to see Manwë, Varda, Námo, Irmo, and Estë surrounding them. Eönwë and Ilmarë were also there. Their expressions were ones of deep concern.

"Let us help," Irmo said quietly.

"Leave be!" Finrod snarled at them, anger taking him. "I have had just about enough of your interference. We’ll deal with this." Then he purposely looked away, ignoring their presence, turning his attention to Laurendil and Manwen as they continued their ministrations.

Laurendil shook his head. "It’s bad, aranya," he whispered. "We may not be able to save him."

Finrod went pale at those words then looked down at the unconscious ellon. "Don’t you dare die on me Aldundil," he said forcibly between clenched teeth, "or so help me, I’ll make you regret it even in Mandos. And don’t even think about recording that in that damn book of yours," he ended, pointing a finger at Eönwë without even bothering to look up.

Absolute silence followed that statement.

"We’re losing him, aranya," Laurendil said in a toneless voice.

"No, we’re not," Finrod said decisively. "Not if I have anything to say about it. You work on stopping the bleeding, I’ll do the rest."

Then, stripping off his gauntlets he placed his hands on either side of Aldundil’s head. To the surprise of all, including the Valar, he began to Sing.

*What’s he doing?* Varda exclaimed to her fellow Valar. *He shouldn’t be able to do that!*

*Well, he is, so your protestations are moot,* came a rather testy reply from Námo, who watched with narrowing eyes. *More is going on than I suspect even we know.*

*You are correct,* Manwë said in agreement. *Irmo, Estë, give Findaráto your support without letting him sense what you are doing. He may not want our help, but he’s getting it nonetheless.*

The two Valar acknowledged Manwë’s command and only the other Valar and Maiar could see the trickle of power that flowed from the two Valar into Finrod who continued Singing, oblivious to all around him. Throughout the field there was complete silence. Ingwë, and the others who had been sitting in the royal gallery, quietly joined the group surrounding the healers fighting to save Aldundil’s life.

*What about Vorondil?* Nienna asked, her tone one of compassion for them all.

Manwë frowned. *Best to let them handle him... for now. I wish we understood more fully the effects of Judgment on one who has not yet died.*

*I think I may have made a mistake in insisting we grant him Judgment the way we did,* Námo said, his tone one of regret.

Manwë shook his head. *As to that, it’s best not to second-guess ourselves on that score. What’s done is done and we will all have to live with the consequences.*

*Or die with them,* added Námo darkly as he watched the fight for Aldundil’s life.

Manwë nodded. *That, too.*

The entire conversation had taken place between one beat of Finrod’s heart and the next. The former King of Nargothrond continued Singing and as the onlookers watched, they saw the blood flow slow and then stop altogether. Then there was an audible gasp from the elves as the gaping wound began to close of itself. Laurendil and Manwen both stumbled back in shock. No one else moved, but Manwë raised his eyes to Irmo, who nodded briefly.

Finally, Finrod stopped and began to sway, his face whiter even than Aldundil’s. He would have collapsed over the injured elf had not Námo taken him in his embrace.

"Easy now, best beloved," he whispered to Finrod as the ellon feebly tried to resist. "All is well. Rest now." Then the Vala spoke a single word in the ancient language of the Valar which even the loremasters of Aman knew little about and Finrod fell instantly asleep.

Laurendil and Manwen were busy examining Aldundil, satisfying themselves that all was now well with the ellon and he was no longer in danger of dying.

Manwë turned to Eönwë. "Clear the field. There will be an hour’s recess before the archery contest recommences."

Ingwë gave the Elder King a sharp look. "Do you think we should even continue with this... this..."

"We have no choice, my son," Manwë replied. "All must play out as it will."

"But..."

"Nay, child," Manwë admonished not unkindly. "Let us not argue about this. To end the tournament now would be... unfortunate for many. Let us not deprive those competing of the chance to win."

Ingwë reluctantly agreed when Arafinwë and Olwë both indicated their willingness for the tournament to continue and even the queens made it known that they too would prefer to see it to the end.

"Very well, my lord," Ingwë said to Manwë with a proper bow. "The archery contest will recommence in one hour’s time." He then turned to his guards and issued orders for the list to be cleared so that the archery targets could be set up.

A stretcher was brought and Aldundil was carefully placed on it and taken to the healers’ tent where Vorondil lay sleeping, two armed guards standing on either side of his cot. The healers had been forced to sedate him when he kept trying to leave the tent to go to his atar. Námo brought Finrod to the tent as well, dismissing the guards and declaring that he would remain to watch over all three ellyn. No one was stupid enough to dispute him.

****

Lady Calalindalë was both frightened and furious — frightened for her son, furious at her husband. When Aldundil collapsed upon the field she tried to reach him, but then stood rooted in shock when she saw Vorondil attack Lord Findaráto. When she saw Lord Glorfindel haul her son unceremoniously away, she found herself in a quandary as to whom she should go. Finally, mother-love won out over wifely duty and she followed the Balrog-slayer to the healers' tent.

Now she sat on a camp stool between the cots where the two ellyn in her life lay, refusing to look at either one of them and refusing to acknowledge the presence of the Vala sitting silently beside the cot where Lord Findaráto lay. The Lord of Mandos had eschewed a simple stool for an intricately carved chair that looked more like a throne to Calalindalë’s eyes.

Lord Glorfindel also had decided to remain with his otorno, pulling another cot over so that he could lie beside his brother and caress his cheek and hand, murmuring Eru alone knew what in the ellon’s ear. That other Reborn, the Sinda, had also appeared briefly to make sure Findaráto was well and, surprisingly, to check on the welfare of Vorondil before leaving.

She stole a glance at her son and tears came unbidden. He was so young, her baby, and she feared for him. The penalty for attacking a lord of the realm.... She shuddered, refusing to think about it.

"He’s still technically an elfling and obviously was not in his right mind," came the calm deep voice of the Vala, "so I doubt Findaráto will be too severe in meting out punishment."

Glorfindel gave Lord Námo a wry glance and snorted but otherwise made no other comment, merely returning his attention to the still sleeping Findaráto. Calalindalë looked up at Námo and saw that the Vala’s expression was very compassionate. She sighed. "I wish my husband had never taken that oath to Lord Findaráto. If he hadn’t, Vorondil would be safe..."

"Safe in Mandos," Námo said gravely and Calalindalë went white.

"No!" she protested, feeling faint.

"Your son should have died that day, Calalindalë," Námo continued with grave implacability, refusing to soften the blow. "He should even now be safe in Mandos, healing."

"Healing? Healing from what?" she demanded.

"Healing from the twisting of his fëa. Healing from the lies and innuendos you offered him about his atar and about the Reborn." The Vala’s tone was unmerciful and Calalindalë had the terrible feeling that she was now on trial.

"I never...."

"No, Child. Do not deny your own culpability in this."

Calalindalë looked up to see the Elder King standing there and she gasped, reeling. Strong arms held her steady and she found herself looking into the eyes of a Maia, one she did not know. He looked upon her with deep compassion... and pity.

Glorfindel sat up then, his eyes wide with wonder and not a little concern. The Maia gave him a warm smile but did not speak, merely standing behind Calalindalë and offering her support. She had a terrible sense that he was there to also prevent her from running.

Námo spoke again. "We know Vorondil did not learn to hate as he did on his own. He had help. Your help."

She shook her head, not so much in denial as in disbelief that any of this was happening. None of this would have happened if... if....

But she couldn’t complete the thought, so terrible were the memories.

"You cannot blame your betrothed for your own decisions, Child," Námo said quietly.

"Can I not?" she hissed at him, her expression one of fury.

"Nor can you blame Aldundil," the Vala continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

"He promised me!" she fairly screamed. "They both promised me! And now Vorondil is dead and my husband is a spineless..."

"What!?" Glorfindel started at the name and looked confusedly at the elfling who he could see was still breathing. He turned to Námo for an explanation.

"She means her betrothed," Námo answered with a mild smile. "Our Vorondil was named after his uncle, Aldundil’s brother."

The Vala’s use of the possessive did not go unnoted by Glorfindel, though he chose to ignore it. Instead, he nodded, understanding lighting his eyes. Then they darkened again when he recalled Calalindalë’s slander against her own husband. He wasn’t about to sit by and let this elleth malign one whom he respected. He stood up and walked over to her, his expression one of cool disdain. He loomed over her, though he did nothing threatening. She paled and felt herself growing faint at his regard, for the Light of the Two Trees shone through. She, herself, had not been born until after the Darkening.

"Your husband is anything but spineless, Lady," the Balrog-slayer said quietly. "He is one of the bravest ellyn I have ever met and I am honored to call him my friend. It took far more courage than you can ever imagine for him to take oath to....."

"Damn that oath and Findaráto!" she said with barely contained fury. She attempted to rise, but the Maia held her in her seat. "My husband had no business taking oath with any Reborn, especially that one!" She threw an evil look at the still sleeping Finrod, her eyes bright with contempt.

Glorfindel stood there nonplused, unsure how to respond to the viciousness of her tone. Manwë saved him the trouble. He placed a hand on the ellon’s shoulder to get his attention. "Go back to Findaráto, Glorfindel," he said gently but decisively. "Do not interfere with this or I will have to ask you to leave."

Glorfindel hesitated for a moment, casting an uncertain glance at the Maia, who nodded encouragingly. Then he gave the Elder King a bow. "Forgive me, my lord. I did not mean to... to interrupt."

Manwë smiled at him. "That’s fine, Child. Your defense of Aldundil is commendable. Now go and remain with Findaráto."

Glorfindel went back to sit on the cot beside Finrod and schooled his expression to one of mild interest. Both Valar hid smiles, then Námo returned his regard to Calalindalë. "Let us examine what exactly your betrothed and the one who eventually became your husband promised you, my dear."

At that moment, Eönwë appeared carrying the Book of Oaths. His expression, cold and distant, could have been chiseled in stone. Without taking his eyes off the elleth, Námo spoke. "Let us hear what was said, Eönwë."

The Book opened of itself to a particular page. The Maia scanned the page, then placed a finger on a particular passage and began reading. "'I promise thee, meldanya, I will do all in my power to return to thee safely. May the Valar make it so.'"

Námo nodded, still not taking his eyes off Calalindalë who kept her own gaze fixed firmly on her lap. "And Aldundil’s oath?"

The pages of the Book turned of themselves, stopping at a particular place. Again Eönwë ran his fingers down the page until he found what he was looking for. "'And I promise to do what I can to make sure my brother keeps his promise. Á vala Manwë!'" he read aloud, then he looked up at Calalindalë and his expression was even colder than before. The Book closed of itself and the sound of it was as a death knell. Calalindalë suddenly started weeping, nearly collapsing to the ground.

Námo spoke to the other Maia then. "Olórin, let’s see if we can’t find some... er... medicinal spirits for the lady."

"Of course, my lord," the Maia said, his tone one of compassion tinged with mild amusement. He moved away towards the medicinal cabinet at the other end of the tent where herbs and spirits were stored. Calalindalë continued weeping; Eonwë and the two Valar remained motionless while Glorfindel looked on with unfeigned surprise. Suddenly, many things were becoming clear.

"I... I remember Vorondil," he said softly. Calalindalë, Eönwë, and the two Valar looked at him. "We... we played catch-me...."

He stopped, looking suddenly embarrassed.

"Go on," Manwë said encouragingly, giving him a smile.

Glorfindel swallowed nervously, now wishing he had remained quiet. He noticed Calalindalë was glaring at him, yet there was a look of hunger or perhaps longing in her eyes as well. He glanced up at the Elder King, deciding it was easier to speak to him than to the lady. "Well, we... um... played-catch me a lot and he... um... I mean, Vorondil was good at singing songs."

"Did Findaráto know him?" Manwë asked.

Glorfindel shook his head. "No. He had already left. This was after. Vorondil... er... woke up?" He turned to Námo for confirmation.

Námo nodded. "More or less correct."

Glorfindel addressed Manwë again. "He woke up and came out to... um... play." Saying it out loud, it sounded stupid, especially coming from someone who was once a lord of Gondolin and one of its greatest warriors. He swallowed again, feeling himself growing hot with embarrassment. Calalindalë had a strange look on her face. Manwë merely gave him a serene smile. "I... I was his first friend," he ended somewhat lamely.

"Yes, you were," Námo said softly, a small smile on his lips. "You were a very good friend and someday when he is ready to be Reborn, I’m sure he will welcome your friendship again."

"Never!" Calalindalë exclaimed, standing up, her expression one of fury. "Why would Vorondil befriend one such as he?" she asked Námo, pointing with her chin at Glorfindel. "My betrothed died because of these... these rebels. Why would he wish to own them as friends? They killed him."

Glorfindel went white and nearly reeled at the viciousness of the lady’s tone. Suddenly he felt Olórin standing next to him. He looked up to see the Maia handing him a small goblet, a warm smile on his fair face.

"I think you need this more than the lady does at the moment," he said quietly.

Glorfindel was just surprised enough not to argue but took the proffered goblet and drank down its contents, enjoying the fire of the cordial as it slid down his throat, spreading its warmth throughout his body, restoring his equilibrium. Olórin patted him on the shoulder and then went over to Calalindalë who was still fuming. He gave her a stern look even as he held out a second goblet.

"Sit, my lady, and drink," he said. "There is no need for histrionics here."

She hesitated for a moment as if ready to argue with the Maia, then thought better of it and took the goblet, sitting back down and sipping the cordial. She kept her eyes on the ground and would not look up even when Lord Námo spoke.

"Vorondil died of an orc spear, Calalindalë," he said dispassionately. "Aldundil was unable to come to his rescue because he himself had just been rendered unconscious by another orc. Vorondil was attempting to protect his brother and... died. Aldundil was rescued by others. When he recovered consciousness and learned of his brother’s fate, he made an oath to himself."

Námo paused, then turned to Manwë’s Herald. "Let us hear that oath, Eönwë."

Again the Book opened of its own accord to a particular page. Eönwë merely glanced at the page, as if to refresh his memory, then turned his gaze upon Calalindalë. The Maia’s expression was so remote, so... alien, and the expressions on the two Valar were equally so. Calalindalë was dimly beginning to understand that she stood (or rather sat) in the presence of Beings who existed on a level of reality beyond her comprehension and began to tremble, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. Olórin reached over from where he was standing behind her and gently took the goblet from her shaking hands, holding it before her.

"Fear not, Child," he whispered in her ear as he offered the cordial for her to drink. "None here wishes you ill."

She didn’t quite believe him, but did not argue, merely drinking the contents of the goblet, feeling less faint, her breathing turning to normal. Olórin looked up at his brother Maia and nodded. Eönwë nodded in return then spoke.

"'I swear, Vorondil, I will see that Calalindalë lacks for nothing. As a sister she will be to me and I will watch over her until you can return to claim her again.'" Then the Book closed.

Glorfindel, meanwhile, was feeling bewildered. "But... but you and Aldundil...."

"Yes," Námo interrupted mildly, his attention still on the lady sitting before him. "That is what has puzzled me. Who was the first to suggest you two marry?"

Silence reigned within the healers’ tent for several interminable minutes before Calalindalë finally answered, her voice so low it was barely audible. "I did."

Námo nodded. "Why?"

She shook her head, refusing to answer, or perhaps not wishing to acknowledge the answer to herself.

"Why, Calalindalë?" Námo asked again, his expression relentless. "Why did you convince Aldundil to marry you?"

The elleth looked up, her eyes ablaze with anger again. "Because I found I did not wish to be the betrothed of a dead ellon. I decided I no longer wished to be bound to one stupid enough to die."

"Well, that explains much, and not enough."

They all turned at the sound of the voice coming from behind Glorfindel to find Findaráto awake and sitting up. The Light of the Two Trees shone from his regard, and something else, something only inchoately grasped by Glorfindel and Calalindalë though recognized by the Valar and Maiar. Glorfindel did not flinch from whatever he saw in his brother’s eyes, for he could not know that that same ineffable something emanated from him as well.

But whatever Calalindalë saw in Finrod’s eyes frightened her as nothing had before. She gave a strangled scream and fainted dead away.

****

Be iest lîn, aran nîn: (Sindarin) "According to thy wish, my king".

Á vala Manwë!: (Quenya) "May Manwë order it!".

129: A Talk With Tulkas

"Finrod, you’re awake!" Glorfindel cried as he launched himself at his otorno, ignoring the tableau behind him as Olórin gathered Calalindalë into his arms and settled her on a nearby cot at Manwë’s direction. "Are you well, brother?" he asked worriedly.

Finrod smiled thinly. "I will be once you get your knee out of my eye."

"Oh, sorry," the other ellon said apologetically, releasing Finrod from his fierce embrace while the two Valar and two Maiar chuckled in amusement.

"How much did you hear, my son?" Manwë asked Finrod.

"Enough, my lord," Finrod said, standing up and walking over to where Aldundil and his family slept. He cast a cool glance at his vassal’s lady, lying beside her lord, frowning as his eyes fell on Vorondil. "Enough to be able to render judgment on my thrall."

"What will you do with him?" Glorfindel asked, standing next to his brother.

Finrod shook his head. "I haven’t decided yet."

"Well, I’d like to know where he came by that knife," Glorfindel stated.

"He was cutting herbs in preparation for making tinctures."

Finrod and Glorfindel turned to see Laurendil entering the tent. Laurendil gave everyone a brief bow then walked over to Finrod. "You are well, aranya?" he asked.

Finrod nodded. "Yes, just tired."

Laurendil smiled. "I shouldn’t wonder considering what you did."

"Most of that wasn’t me," Finrod protested. "I think I had help." He turned his gaze on the Elder King, who merely smiled.

"Only a little," Manwë said. "Just enough so you would not suffer unduly from the energy drain, but you did the rest. You healed Aldundil, though Eru alone knows how you did it. You should not have been able to do what you did. No elf should."

Finrod quirked a rueful smile. "I apologize for any inconvenience my abilities may have caused the Valar, my lord."

Námo snorted at that and all three elves turned in surprise at the sound only to find that the Vala’s expression was carefully bland. Manwë and the two Maiar all hid smiles at the bemused expressions on the ellyn’s faces.

"Returning to Vorondil," Laurendil said, steering the conversation back to a safer topic, "I don’t think the ellon even realized he still had the knife in his hand when he ran out onto the field thinking you’d killed his atar."

Finrod stared down at the sleeping ellon, his expression unreadable to them all. Then he sighed and turned his attention to Aldundil. He bent down and pulled the blanket covering him back far enough to see where he had sliced the elf open. There was just a faint pink scar that was already fading to show where his sword had done its damage. He grimaced and replaced the blanket.

Laurendil, meanwhile, was checking Calalindalë’s pulse. "Do we revive her or let her recover on her own?" he asked as he glanced up at Olórin who merely shrugged.

"Let her be for now," Finrod said as he stepped away from the cot. "I’m not interested in hearing what excuses she may wish to foist on us." He glanced at Glorfindel. "Where are Alassiel and Sador?"

"They took the elflings to Vanyamar to visit with their parents," Glorfindel replied. "Atar thought it would be best if they were with their own parents for a little while. They were all rather upset. It’s the first time any of them had ever seen someone bleeding like that and almost dying."

Finrod nodded. "That is well," he said, then without another word, he started towards the tent entrance.

"Where are you going?" Glorfindel demanded.

"To find Ingwë and let him know I’m removing myself from the list."

"What!?" Glorfindel nearly screamed. "Findaráto, stop! What do you mean you’re removing yourself from the list?"

Finrod turned and gave them all a sour look. "I would think the meaning was very clear, brother. I refuse to compete any further." He started to exit the tent but was prevented from doing so when Glorfindel, giving an inarticulate shout, tackled him, forcing him to the ground.

"No!" the Balrog-slayer cried. "I won’t let you."

"You won’t let me?" Finrod yelled back, wrestling with Glorfindel until he was on his back, anger blazing from his eyes as he tried unsuccessfully to push Glorfindel off him. "What makes you think you can stop me?"

"You have to fight, Finrod," Glorfindel said almost pleadingly. "You know full well that you and I are destined to compete against each other. Everyone’s counting on it. I refuse to let you disappoint them."

"I’ve made up my mind, brother," Finrod said, his voice losing all anger. "Now get off me."

"No," Glorfindel retorted. "Not unless you promise you’ll continue fighting,"

"I’m doing no such thing. Now get off me!"

Now Glorfindel’s expression became dark with anger. "No! Not until you promise. If you don’t fight I’ll... I’ll...."

"You’ll what?" Finrod demanded, sounding just as angry.

For a moment Glorfindel hesitated and then a wicked gleam lit his eyes and he bent down and whispered something none of the others could hear. However, they all saw Finrod’s face drain of all color.

"You wouldn’t dare!" he practically screamed, trying anew to dislodge the ellon from his chest.

"Try me!" Glorfindel challenged, forcibly pushing Finrod back down. "Promise. Please brother, you have to promise."

Finrod gave up trying to move Glorfindel off him and closed his eyes, shaking his head and then tears began to form, which surprised and shocked the others.

"I can’t," Finrod whispered. "Not any more. No more promises. No more oaths. I can’t. Please... don’t make me....I can’t." He started crying softly and Glorfindel gathered him into his embrace, casting a worried glance back at the Valar. He had never seen Finrod this way before, looking bereft and defeated.

Námo came over and knelt beside them, brushing a hand over Finrod’s head. "What happened, child?" he asked solicitously. "What memory haunts you?"

Glorfindel gave the Vala a surprised look. "I thought he had regained all his memories. You said..."

"I guess I was wrong," Námo said mildly, giving Glorfindel a wry smile that did nothing to comfort the ellon.

"Wrong? How can you be wrong? You’re... you’re a Vala!"

Manwë came over and placed a comforting hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder. The ellon twisted his head to look up at the Elder King, who smiled benevolently down at him. "We’ve been wrong any number of times, child," he told the elf. "Now, why don’t we see to comforting your brother. Olórin, give Glorfindel a hand, will you?"

Olórin nodded and Glorfindel sidled off Finrod’s chest. Finrod, all this time, had continued sobbing quietly, lost in misery. He had not felt this way in such a long time, not since he’d first been released from Lórien and was feeling his way back into a life he’d willingly left behind centuries before. He allowed Glorfindel and Olórin to help him up and soon he was seated on the edge of his cot with Glorfindel sitting beside him. Olórin handed Finrod a goblet of water and encouraged him to drink, which he did. The water, cool and refreshing, calmed him. When he finished he gave the goblet back to Olórin and then lay back on the cot, closing his eyes.

Glorfindel gave the Valar a worried look, confusion written all over him, as he tried to figure out what was happening to Finrod. Námo gave Manwë a look and the Elder King nodded, turning to everyone else.

"Let us leave them alone for a time," he said. Eönwë and Olórin bowed and disappeared. Laurendil hesitated for a moment, his healer’s instincts demanding he stay and see to his patients, but Manwë gently took him by the arm and led him out of the tent. Glorfindel heard the Elder King issue an order to someone standing outside but paid little heed to it, being more concerned with Finrod.

Námo, meanwhile, went over to stand next to Calalindalë who appeared to be coming out of her faint. He laid a gentle hand on her head and with a sigh she sank back into sleep. Neither Vorondil nor Aldundil stirred. Then he returned to Glorfindel and Finrod.

"Would you like to tell us about it, best beloved?" he asked.

Finrod shook his head, refusing to open his eyes, wanting nothing more than to sink into the oblivion of sleep... or death.

"No, child," Námo said, divining the ellon’s thoughts, "that route is no longer open to you. You are alive and must deal with what Life offers you, the ill as well as the good."

"Please, Finda," Glorfindel pleaded, using the pet name for his brother that he rarely uttered, knowing how much Finrod hated it. "Tell us what is wrong." He began stroking Finrod’s hair, hoping to give his brother some comfort.

For some time Finrod refused to answer, allowing the comfort that Glorfindel was offering to soothe him. Finally, without opening his eyes, he whispered, "I dreamt of my death."

Glorfindel gave a gasp of protest. "But you know how you died. Why would such a dream upset you so?"

Finrod opened his eyes, their expression bleak. "Because I didn’t just dream of my death, brother, I dreamt of the moment I gave my ring to Barahir along with my oath. I realize now that it was at that point that I doomed myself to dying in the very stronghold I’d built on Tol Sirion as a defense against Morgoth." He gave a humorless chuckle. "Rather ironic, isn’t it? Dying in your own stronghold now held by the enemy. Who would have guessed that I was building my own tomb with every stone laid?"

"Stop that!" Glorfindel demanded, getting angry at Finrod’s tone. "Stop that at once! You couldn’t have known so it does no good thinking like that."

"Glorfindel is correct, child," Námo said. He was sitting in his chair and his expression was somewhat troubled. "There is no point in dwelling on what has already happened. Time to move on."

Finrod sat up, his eyes blazing. "Move on! How can I move on? How can any of us move on when every time we turn around we have our past staring back at us, accusing us, condemning us? Not just our memories, either, and they’re bad enough, but the elves who never left Aman, who despise us for having left, for having died and for having returned. I’m sick of it! All of it!"

Before anyone could stop him, Finrod leaped off the bed and strode out of the tent. Glorfindel gave an inarticulate yell and went to run after him but was stopped at the entrance by strong arms embracing him. When he looked up, he found it was not Lord Námo who held him as he expected, but Lord Tulkas, his golden hair ruddy in the early spring sunlight. Unlike the last time Glorfindel had found himself in Tulkas’ embrace, the Vala held him gently, almost as a mother would hold her babe.

"Not this time, elfling," Tulkas said with a smile. "I will tend to Findaráto."

Glorfindel gulped and something dark and dangerous welled up inside of him. "W-will Finrod get to run with... with the wolves?" he whispered, half hoping and half dreading the answer.

Tulkas bent down and planted a kiss on the ellon’s cheek before answering. "No, my elfling, he will not... and neither will you."

Glorfindel moaned and collapsed deeper into Tulkas’ embrace, closing his eyes against emotions he could barely put names to. Now Tulkas ruffled his hair and gave a chuckle. "You elflings are such a delight. Now go back inside and stay with Aldundil and Vorondil. They will both need you when they waken."

The Balrog-slayer opened his eyes, his expression quizzical. "Why would Vorondil need me? He tried to kill his master. The only thing he’s going to need from me is a blindfold before I take his traitorous head from his shoulders."

Tulkas gave the ellon a brief shake, his expression darkening. "That was unworthy of you, son of Gondolin. Vorondil is in more pain than you can ever imagine. His fëa has been so twisted by hate, hate learned from one who should have nurtured love instead. What he needs from you is forgiveness and understanding. He cannot help the fact that had all gone as planned, he would never have been born."

"What!?"

Now Námo came forward. "Calalindalë and Aldundil’s brother were always meant to marry," the Lord of Mandos said gravely, a look of deep sadness on his face. "Vorondil’s last thoughts as he lay dying on the battlefield before the gates of what had once been the kingdom of Nargothrond were of Calalindalë and he sorrowed that he would not be able to keep his promise to her. Yet, at the same time, he had hope that once released from Mandos he would be reunited with her again. That one hope sustained him through his dying and he came to me at peace with his fate." Námo paused and gave Glorfindel a wry smile. "A rather rare phenomenon among you elves. You may recall your own reaction to finding yourself in Mandos."

Glorfindel looked down, blushing, while the two Valar chuckled at his embarrassment.

"At any rate," Námo continued, "Calalindalë circumvented our hopes by convincing Aldundil to marry her."

"And that was a bad thing?"

Námo shook his head. "Neither good nor bad, merely a different choice, one we did not expect."

"We have been keeping a close eye on them, especially young Vorondil," Tulkas added. "He is an... anomaly and therefore of interest to us."

"What will happen to him, then?" Glorfindel asked, seeing things in a new light.

"That is up to Findaráto," Námo said. "Lord Manwë has so decreed it, though we will interfere if we believe it necessary."

Glorfindel thought about that for a moment, then looked up at both Valar with a calculating air. "You were hoping Finrod would kill Vorondil, weren’t you? In fact, you were betting on it."

Námo and Tulkas exchanged indecipherable expressions, then Tulkas ruffled Glorfindel’s hair again. "Enough. I will see to Findaráto and make sure he is at the list this afternoon," the Vala said. "You, elfling, will stay here with my brother and keep watch over this benighted family. What has been spoken here is not to be repeated to anyone unless we give you our permission. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my lord," he replied respectfully.

Tulkas nodded, released Glorfindel and disappeared. Námo gestured to the ellon. "Come then, best beloved, let us make ourselves comfortable. It will be awhile before my brother returns with Finrod."

Glorfindel sighed, wishing he were able to go after Finrod himself, but complied with the Vala’s command, taking the stool on which Calalindalë had been sitting. Námo resumed his own seat, his expression thoughtful as he looked upon the four elves, three of them still sleeping and marveled once again at how mysterious these Eruhíni truly were — the golden-haired Balrog-slayer sitting uncomfortably on the stool not the least.

****

The elves setting up the archery targets and the archers quietly talking among themselves while waiting for the second round to begin all looked up in surprise when Finrod stormed out of the healers’ tent, obviously in high dudgeon. They were even more surprised when Lord Tulkas suddenly appeared right behind the ellon and with one easy motion grabbed him by the scruff of his tunic, picking him up one-handed, all the while laughing. Finrod gave a startled squawk and started fighting the Vala’s hold. Tulkas stomped across the field, fading from view as he traversed one reality into another with a single thought, the Noldorin prince firmly in his grasp.

For a very long space of time there was complete silence among the witnessing elves. They all stood there, stunned to immobility, their jaws well below their knees. Then, as if by mutual consent, everyone resumed their previous activities, studiously not thinking about what they had just seen, all hoping that they never did anything to draw the Valar’s attention to themselves.

****

Finrod wasn’t sure where they were. At the moment, he wasn’t sure about anything except feeling angry, embarrassed and... well, he wasn’t sure what else he was feeling, just that he was feeling it. He was still in Tulkas’ embrace. The two of them were sitting on the lip of a sea-cliff overlooking Ulmo’s realm. From the position of the Sun, they were facing east, back towards Endórë. Below, the waves crashed upon a rock strewn beach. The purple and deep green cast of the waters and the tall whitecaps made Finrod think there might be a storm brewing somewhere.

Which fits my mood quite well, he thought with sour satisfaction as he shifted his position slightly to make himself more comfortable. He was sitting with his arms around his knees while Tulkas knelt behind him, his brawny arms wrapped protectively around the elf.

"Feeling better, elfling?" Tulkas asked.

"I really wish the Valar would stop calling us that," Finrod protested half-heartedly, knowing the argument was already lost but needing to express himself. "I haven’t been an elfling for a very long time, even if you count the time I was acting like one in Mandos."

Tulkas chuckled. "Findaráto, you are all elflings to us, even Ingwë, who is one of the oldest of you. You will always be elflings, no matter how old you are. We will always be that much older."

Finrod sighed.

"Of course, you should have seen us when the very first elf was born here in Aman," Tulkas said with a laugh. "It would have been difficult to tell who were the elflings then."

Finrod turned his head to look at the Vala. "What do you mean?"

Tulkas smiled fondly at the ellon, ruffling his hair. "Well, you have to understand that we had never seen any little ones before. There weren’t any elflings then, for they had all grown up during the Great Migration. So when one of the elleth showed up obviously pregnant, we were all amazed and... awestruck." He paused and gave a hearty laugh, as if in response to a joke only he knew.

"What?" Finrod asked, unable to stop grinning in the face of the Vala’s mirth.

"When the little thing was born, we were all crowding around to take a peek," Tulkas explained. "Poor ammë... it was some time before she got to hold her newborn."

Finrod found himself snickering for no reason as he returned his gaze to the ocean and leaned back into Tulkas’ embrace, willing to listen to the Vala’s story, one he had never heard before.

Tulkas continued with another amused chuckle. "Manwë and Aulë almost came to blows over who would be the first to hold the little elleth — yes, the first elfling in Aman was an elleth," he added when Finrod gave him a surprised look. "Yavanna and Varda, in the meantime, were plotting how to... er... encourage the other ellith to want to have elflings of their own."

Tulkas gave another laugh at the memory his words obviously evoked for him and Finrod found himself chuckling as well over the mental image of the Valar fighting over a newborn elleth. "Who won the fight?" he asked mischievously and Tulkas roared with mirth.

"Would it surprise you if I said Námo?" he finally answered when he had calmed down.

Finrod looked at the Vala in shock. Tulkas nodded. "The others were so busy arguing they never noticed Námo simply taking the elleth out of the midwife’s hands and cradling her, showing her the Two Trees with Vairë by his side humming a lullaby." He ruffled Finrod’s hair again, giving him a wink. "That’s our Námo... very sneaky."

Now Finrod laughed out loud at that. When he had calmed down somewhat he couldn’t resist asking one more question, though he was careful to be looking back out to sea when he did. "So, did you ever get to hold her?"

Tulkas gave him a gentle squeeze then, to the ellon’s surprise, kissed him on the top of his head. "What do you think?" the Vala whispered.

Finrod did not answer.

"Well, we’re not here to talk about me," Tulkas said more decisively. "We’re here to talk about you."

The elf shrugged. "There’s nothing to talk about."

"Is there not?" the Vala replied in mock surprise. "Well, let us see... you enter the list in a confused state, fighting carelessly and thereby causing your opponent to almost die. You refuse our offer of help and tell us to leave you be because, of course, you know everything and can handle the situation better than those who Sang Arda into existence. Then you pull what Vairë likes to call a wrath-of-Mandos, but I just call it a temper tantrum, on your brother and now you are refusing to fight at all, thereby disappointing many people... including me."

Finrod found himself cringing with each indictment, beginning in truth to feel like the elfling the Vala insisted on calling him. "I’m sorry," he whispered dejectedly.

He felt Tulkas nod, then whisper into his ear. "But not sorry enough, are you?"

Finrod nodded, unable to lie, even to himself. "I’m tired of it all... the oaths...the responsibilities, the... intrigues of those few Amanians who cannot accept us... all of it. I just want it to stop."

"You want to go back to Mandos," Tulkas said.

"I want to go back to Endórë," Finrod countered. "I want to go back to the Dagor Bragollach and change what happened there."

"But that is not possible, even for us," Tulkas replied quietly. "You cannot know how much we would like to have been able to do the same, especially with regards to the Darkening. We were such fools..."

Finrod looked at the Vala in shock. Tulkas nodded grimly.

"Yes, fools," he reiterated without any self-reproach. "A condition that is not the exclusive purview of elflings and mortals. Stupidity, like the air we breathe, is available to everyone, and we Valar have used up our fair share of it over the long ages since we came into Eä."

Finrod thought about that for a bit, gazing out into the endlessly swelling ocean. Now the sky was dark with scudding clouds as the storm approached landfall. Soon it would rain or even hail; neither elf nor Vala moved to take cover.

"I can’t do this anymore," Finrod finally said, not looking at the Vala, sounding defeated. "If I hadn’t given Barahir my oath along with my ring..."

"You would still have died," Tulkas stated baldly, "but the manner of your death and the circumstances surrounding it would have been different... and possibly more ignoble."

Finrod gasped in shock at the revelation and started to protest but Tulkas forestalled him. "No, Child," he chided softly, "listen to me very carefully. You cannot deny who you are, however much you would like to at this moment."

"Who am I?" Finrod asked, sounding somewhat defiant.

Tulkas smiled fondly at the ellon though Finrod did not see. "Well, let us see... Eldest son of Arafinwë and grandson of Finwë. Nephew to Fëanáro... hmmm... well, that’s not good. What else? Oh yes, rebel, warrior and king... oathkeeper but not an oathbreaker... Friend of Dwarves and Men... one of the Reborn... Apprentice to the Fëanturi, who is able to do something we didn’t think any of you could do." The Vala ended his litany with a booming laugh. "And overall, a verily impossible ellon whose only rival is that even more impossible Balrog-slayer who even now is giving Námo a hard time."

Finrod found himself smiling faintly at the sound of Tulkas’ laughter. It was almost impossible to feel anything but merry around this particular Vala.

"Which reminds me," Tulkas then said in a suspiciously off-handed manner. "Just how did you Sing Aldundil’s healing? That is a talent we did not think to see among you."

Finrod shrugged. "I don’t really know," he replied, speaking slowly, as if feeling his way towards an answer. "I just... did it."

Tulkas nodded. "Well, perhaps some day we will understand it better, but in the meantime...."

"How can I fight after this?" Finrod asked.

"How can you not?" Tulkas retorted. "Is this not similar to what Haldir experienced? Did you not insist he fight? Why should you be exempt?"

Finrod sighed, not really having an answer.

"And we don’t want to disappoint Glorfindel, do we?" Tulkas asked, amusement lacing his voice. "I don’t think I can handle both you elflings pulling temper tantrums at the same time. One of you in a snit is enough."

The dryness of the Vala’s tone took Finrod by surprise and before he knew it he was laughing, his heart lighter than it had been all day.

Tulkas nodded, pleased with himself. "That’s better. Now, I promised I would see you show up at the list this afternoon, however, that is some hours away and it’s beginning to rain here, so why don’t we go somewhere drier?"

With that the Vala stood up and pulled Finrod to his feet as well. Before the ellon could utter a word of protest otherwise he felt reality shift slightly and then the next thing he saw was that he was standing in the courtyard of Tulkas’ mansion in Valmar and Nessa was there, smiling. Before her was a table laden with food.

"Ah, just in time for luncheon, I see," Tulkas said and went to kiss his spouse in greeting. The embrace was more intimate than Finrod was expecting and he found himself blushing and looking away, so he did not notice the amused looks on the couple’s faces when they stopped kissing.

"Well, let’s not stand on ceremony, my love," Nessa said slyly. "Findaráto needs nourishment if he’s to fight this afternoon."

"True, my love," Tulkas replied. "This particular elfling’s had a full day already, and it’s not even over with yet."

With a gesture, Nessa invited Finrod to sit and soon the three were happily eating. As he half-listened to the two Valar talk of seemingly inconsequential doings among the Valar and Maiar, Finrod played the conversation he had had with Tulkas over and over again in his mind. By the time he finished eating, he had come to a decision. Standing up, he gave the Valar a proper bow then turned to Tulkas, who watched him with interest.

"Before I go back into the list," the elven prince said somewhat shyly, "will you... give me some pointers?"

"I thought you would never ask, elfling," Tulkas laughed joyously, standing as well.

As Tulkas led Finrod away, Nessa called out. "Don’t hurt him too much dear. Remember, he still has to fight this afternoon."

"Don’t worry, my love," Tulkas answered back without breaking stride, "I don’t plan on breaking anything vital. Glorfindel would never forgive me." He gave Finrod a sly wink.

Finrod laughed at that, knowing his otorno all too well.

****

My thanks to Rhyselle for giving me permission to let Tulkas tell Finrod about the first elf born in Aman. His description of the event is based on her WIP "First Born", which hopefully will someday be posted for all to read. No pressure, Rhyselle. *grin*

130: Turindil

The shock of seeing Lord Tulkas haul Prince Findaráto off like an errant elfling unnerved the archers enough that most of them did not shoot as well as they would have liked. The targets had been set at twice the distance of the previous round. With twenty-seven competitors there were now three teams with seven archers each — ruby, emerald, and sapphire — and one of six — pearl. Each archer would be given four arrows and the top three from each team would advance to the semi-finals. These would be held directly after lunch, before the next round of fighting.

Aldarion, Hallas, and Gilvagor all found themselves on the ruby team, while Mithlas, Region and Vëantur were on the emerald team. Ninquelótë and Elemmirë were both on the sapphire team, while the latter’s twin brother, Elessairon, was on the pearl team along with Ercassë. The rules for the archery contest allowed those who were technically elflings to compete as long as they had celebrated their forty-fifth Begetting Day before the Winter Solstice. With regards to the fighting competition Ingwë had decreed that any who participated had to be at least seventy-five years old at the Winter Solstice. As it was, none of the fighters were younger than a yén and many had passed their first millennium long ago. The situation with the Reborn was somewhat different and for the sake of the contest (and to allow Findaráto, Glorfindel and Haldir to compete), the time spent in Mandos was ignored.

Mithlas noted with interest that the archer who had caught his attention during the first round had picked a sapphire stone this time. He thought to introduce himself to the ellon but then the first team was called forward and he forgot about it as he readied himself for his turn.

Aldarion, Hallas and Gilvagor won their matches. Region was the high scorer for the emerald team with Vëantur following. Mithlas had to shoot a second time because he tied with a Nando named Denethor. The Nando lost to Mithlas by only one point.

The winners of the pearl team were Elessairon, Ercassë and a Vanyarin elleth surprisingly named Marilla.

"Perhaps it’s a sign," she commented shyly and everyone laughed.

It was the sapphire team that interested Mithlas the most, though.

"Who is the elllon with the silver-grey hair?" he asked Aldarion. "He is perhaps the best of us all."

Aldarion shrugged. "He calls himself Turindil. That’s all I know about him, as he seems to keep to himself and does not mingle with the others."

"Turindil!" Mithlas exclaimed. "Rather an odd name for one who is obviously a Sinda."

Aldarion shrugged again, not really caring.

"Did he come with the Tol Eressëans?" Mithlas asked Gilvagor who was standing near by.

Gilvagor shook his head. "No. I do not recognize him."

Mithlas sighed. "I wish Prince Findaráto and Glorfindel were here. They both were interested in seeing the archery competition but they’ve missed the first two rounds already and I don’t think they will be watching the third round this afternoon either."

"I’m sure they’ll see the final rounds," Gilvagor said, "as long as nothing... untoward happens."

Aldarion and Mithlas both snorted in grim amusement. "You mean as long as neither Findaráto nor Glorfindel give the Valar any more grief," Aldarion rejoined with a wry grin and the other two ellyn laughed.

The elf who called himself Turindil was the high scorer for the sapphire team, with Elemmirë coming a distant second followed by Ninquelótë. Thus was the second round of the archery competition decided. Of the twelve winners, a third were Vanyarin, another third were Noldorin and the last third were either Sindarin or Nandorin.

"A rather interesting mixture," Ingwë commented from the viewing gallery as he and the others there were leaving to return to the city for luncheon. "It will be interesting to see how it all falls out in the end."

"The ellon from the sapphire team who won," Olwë said, "he seemed... familiar."

Ingwë stopped and stared at the Telerin king in surprise. "How so? He is not one of your people, surely?"

"Nay," Olwë said with a shake of his head. "None of my people chose to compete in the tourney, though I hope they will do so next time."

"If there is a next time," Arafinwë retorted. "The way this one is going..."

"Yes," Ingwë said shortly, continuing to where the horses for the royal party were stabled, "but we will discuss that at a later time. I’m more interested in hearing about this archer. Why does he seem familiar to you, Olwë?"

Olwë shrugged. "It’s not something I can pin down. Obviously he is one of the Sindar and therefore related to my people, though I suspect that there may be Nandorin blood in this one as well."

The others nodded. Olwë frowned as he climbed upon his horse. "I cannot tell you," he continued. "Perhaps it’s the color of his hair, so like Elmo’s, though he looks nothing like my brother."

"Well, he is an excellent archer," Ingwë acknowledged. "I suspect that he may well win the championship, though one or two of the others might make him work for it." He cast them a wry grin as they headed for the city and they all laughed.

****

Mithlas sought Turindil out after the competition and introduced himself. "I was once of Doriath," he said, "but that was a long time ago and I was most recently from Lindon." He then introduced Gilvagor and Aldarion when those two followed him.

"Where are you from?" Gilvagor asked in Sindarin when he noticed that the other was having difficulty following the Quenya. Mithlas translated for Aldarion.

Turindil gave them a shy look. "I... I guess you can say Lórien. Before that...." He stopped and there was something in his eyes that alerted Mithlas who instinctively took the ellon into his arms and hugged him, much to Turindil’s surprise.

"Welcome back," Mithlas whispered into the ellon’s ear. "Welcome back to Life."

He released Turindil, who muttered an embarrassed "le hannon", then stared at the ground, not sure what else was expected of him. Mithlas had witnessed that same hesitant attitude among other recently Reborn while he was healing in Lórien himself. Gilvagor and Aldarion gave Turindil sympathetic looks which he did not see, still keeping his eyes on the ground.

"Would you like to join us for the noon meal?" Mithlas asked solicitously. "Aldarion here has been trying to convince us that we should try the venison stew at the Cabor Gabel," naming a popular eating place within the tent city.

Turindil looked up with a grin. "Somehow the idea of eating at an establishment with a name like that does not inspire confidence that anything they serve won’t be leaping off the table."

Gilvagor and Mithlas laughed and when the latter translated for Aldarion, the Vanya chuckled and gave Turindil a wide grin. "Only way to find out is to come and see," he said.

Turindil hesitated for a moment, but seeing the genuine friendliness in the eyes of the other ellyn, he shyly nodded and soon the four were walking back to the encampment to find some lunch.

****

"So from where do you originally hail?" Gilvagor asked Turindil once they were all settled at the tavern, which consisted of two large adjoining pavilions, with a makeshift bar at one end and a kitchen on the other. They had given their orders and were presently sipping ale from tankards as they waited for the stew to be brought out.

Turindil did not speak immediately, seemingly reluctant. The others noticed that he kept his face hidden somewhat by the hood of his cloak, sitting so his back was to the rest of the patrons too busy eating to take any notice.

"Beleriand," he finally said.

Gilvagor raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "Beleriand is, or rather, was a large place. Would you care to be more specific?"

When Turindil still hesitated, Mithlas stepped in. "It’s all right, mellon nîn," he said solicitously. "You do not have to answer any questions that make you uncomfortable. I know sometimes the memories are too vague yet for you to give any real answers."

Turindil gave the other Sinda a surprised look that turned into one of gratitude for the understanding he saw in Mithlas’ eyes and nodded. "Sometimes... I think I remember, but then it slips away again."

Mithlas nodded. The other two looked on with unfeigned interest. Gilvagor gave Mithlas a considering look. "It seems your time spent in Lórien was not wasted, young one."

Turindil started at that. "You were in Lórien?" he asked Mithlas. "But... but you’re not...."

Mithlas shook his head. "No, I’m not Reborn. I survived the War of Wrath but my fëa was... damaged. Aran Gil-galad finally convinced me to sail and find healing in the West."

"I heard Ereinion practically had to throw you aboard the ship with Círdan’s help," Gilvagor said teasingly.

Mithlas laughed along with Gilvagor and Aldarion, though Turindil only smiled, not familiar with the names. "Lies, all lies," he said in jesting protest. "It was Lord Elrond who threw me aboard, then ordered the sailors to tie me up for good measure."

Now even Turindil was laughing and as the server came with their stew and new bread, they turned their attention to enjoying their meal. The topic of conversation drifted towards other areas of interest, for which Turindil was grateful. They were all speaking Quenya, though very slowly to allow Turindil to keep up.

"You had best learn to speak it," Mithlas advised him, "it saves no end of trouble."

"Should they not learn our language?" Turindil asked, clearly puzzled.

Aldarion nodded. "Some of us are but it isn’t easy and it’s not something learnt overnight. Give us time, my friend. The idea of any Amaneldi learning the language of the Mor... I mean, those who lived in Beleriand has only just become acceptable and not in all circles."

Turindil grimaced and looked down at his stew, which was actually quite good, but then everything tasted good to him now, even mushrooms, which he vaguely recalled had not been one of his favorite foods before. "I had hoped that that hated word had been dropped from people’s vocabulary a long time ago."

Gilvagor placed a hand on the ellon’s arm and gave him an apologetic look. "I very much regret our arrogance in that regard, Turindil. I hope you will forgive us for not understanding."

Turindil nodded but did not speak after that, choosing instead to continue with his meal. The others accepted his reticence and the conversation turned to the morning’s fighting and what followed afterwards.

"I do hope the Valar will allow Findaráto to compete this afternoon," Aldarion said at one point as he reached for some more bread.

"That’s assuming our fearless leader even wants to compete after this morning’s disaster," Gilvagor opined.

"I’m sure Glorfindel will have something to say about that," Mithlas replied with a sardonic smile.

At the mention of Glorfindel’s name, Turindil started, dropping his spoon. The others gave him quizzical looks.

"Are you well, Turindil?" Mithlas asked with some concern, "Are you remembering something?"

Turindil shook his head. "Glorfindel?" he asked quietly, not looking up.

Mithlas nodded. "Findaráto’s otorno. Many of us are betting those two will end up fighting each other in the end. In fact, we’re all looking forward to it."

Turindil looked troubled, or as if he were searching his mind for an elusive memory. "And this... Findaráto is...."

"Ah," Gilvagor said with a knowing smile, "You might know him better by his Sindarin name, Finrod. He’s...

But Turindil was no longer listening. In fact, he was no longer there. Upon hearing Gilvagor say ‘Finrod’ he gasped and turned white. Then, with a barely heard apology he fled the pavilion before any of the others could respond.

"Well, that was odd," Aldarion commented.

Mithlas and Gilvagor exchanged looks which the Vanya could not interpret. Gilvagor gave Mithlas an almost imperceptible nod and Mithlas stood up. "I’d best see if he is well. I’ll see you at the list later."

The other two ellyn murmured their assent and then Mithlas was striding after Turindil, hoping to catch up with the other Sinda. When he reached the entrance, however, there was no sign of him.

****

Turindil was not sure where he was heading, only knowing he had to get away. He had not been sure who Findaráto was but when the Noldo had given the Sindarin form of the name, memories came rushing back, nearly overwhelming him. He could not handle the onslaught as images flooded his mind like a river in torrent. He needed to get away, to think.

It took a few minutes for his brain to realize that he had fled, not only out the tavern, but out of the entire encampment and he was now staring at a grove of trees, mostly alder and beech with a maple or two. They were only just beginning to bud, so that the grove appeared to be covered with a yellow-green haze of new leaves. The trees called to him as only trees could and without taking time to think, he ran towards the grove and was soon in their midst, touching the trees as he passed them, silently greeting them even as they gave their own greetings, welcoming the Firstborn.

Turindil felt better almost at once but he was still troubled. He had seen both Finrod and Glorfindel fight over the last few days without recognizing them. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t and that disturbed him the most. He settled himself against the trunk of a wide-spreading maple, gazing up into its branches to where a redwing was busy preparing a nest and smiled.

When he’d first been re-embodied, he’d been reluctant to accept his new environment. The memories, when they came, came slowly and hesitantly and he had been unsure that he even wanted them all back. The few memories he had were not always pleasant. He sometimes despaired of ever having happy ones.

"There were plenty of those, Child. Give them time to resurface."

Turindil looked up in surprise and started to scramble to his feet when he saw Lady Vána standing before him. She smiled at him and motioned for him to sit back down. She then surprised him by joining him on the ground, though not before spreading a blanket under her. She gave him a mischievous smile as she settled her gown about her, demurely covering her feet.

"My lord hates it when I come home with dirt on my gown," she confided to him with a wink and the absurdity of the statement elicited a short laugh from the ellon. She gave him a sympathetic look. "How fare you, Child?" she asked.

Turindil shrugged. "Well enough, Lady," he murmured, casting his eyes to his knees which were drawn up before him with his arms around them. He suddenly realized he was rocking back and forth and forced himself to stop, reddening in embarrassment.

Vána smiled fondly at him and brushed a hand gently through his silvery hair. "Are you sure, best beloved?" she asked gently.

The use of Lord Námo’s term for him broke his resolve and he found himself crying, much as he remembered doing when in Mandos. Hot tears stained his face and he tried to stop, but couldn’t. Shame took him and he started to rise, wishing to flee, but Vána took him into her embrace and held him until the storm of emotions ebbed and he became still.

"Tell me," Vána whispered once he had recovered somewhat. "Tell me what’s wrong."

For a moment the Sinda did not speak, merely enjoying the feel of the Valië’s arms around him, giving him comfort. Finally, he asked the one question that had haunted him since leaving Lórien. "Lady, why was there no one to greet me when I passed through the Gates?" His tone was so forlorn and his expression was one of deep pain. "Was there no one who knew me from... from before who would welcome me?" He started weeping quietly again, resting his head on the Valië’s shoulder as she gently rocked him.

"Hush now, Child," she murmured. "Sometimes people are released who have none to welcome them. It’s very rare, but it happens. In your case, those who would greet you are not in a position to do so just yet, but they will be. They will see you and welcome you joyfully. You must be patient."

"Sometimes...sometimes I think I must have done something... terrible, something I can’t remember... and that’s... that’s why...."

"Ah, no, Child," Vána exclaimed. "Fear not for that. Thou hast done nothing wrong, I promise thee. All will be as Eru wills and it shall be only for thy good. Dost thou believe me?"

Turindil nodded, feeling comforted though he had not received the answer he had been looking for. "Yea, Lady, I do."

Vána kissed him gently on the top of his head. "That is well. I know you’re feeling frustrated and confused, but I promise you those feelings will pass eventually. For now, you are due at the archery list shortly. Best get going. My lord and I are counting on you winning the competition."

He smiled shyly at her. "I will do my best, Lady, not to disappoint you or your lord."

She laughed. "All we ever ask is that you do your best, and if you do, you will never disappoint us, win or lose. Now see, here is Mithlas looking for you."

Turindil looked up to see the Sinda coming towards them. If Mithlas was surprised to see Turindil with Lady Vána, he gave no indication, merely giving her his obeisance as she gracefully stood up along with Turindil.

"How did you know where to find me?" Turindil asked him.

Mithlas gave his fellow Sinda a wry look. "I tracked the minions of Morgoth across the wastelands of Beleriand. Think you I am incapable of tracking one wayward elf across an open field?"

Turindil blushed as Vána gave a merry laugh. "Forgive me. I... I forget sometimes that you’re not... not Amanian."

Mithlas nodded and gave them a cheeky grin. "Which we may thank Eru is not the case, otherwise I would still be standing at the entrance of the Cabor Gabel scratching my head."

Turindil snickered and Vána gave them a mock frown. "They’re not that bad," she said, then smiled wickedly when the two elves gave her innocent looks. "Well... maybe they are, but don’t tell them I said so."

At that they all started laughing. Mithlas clapped Turindil on the shoulder. "Come. The afternoon meet will be starting soon."

Turindil nodded and the two elves gave the Valië respectful bows. Turindil brushed a hand on the trunk of the maple and silently thanked it for its company. The tree swayed in the still air in answer as the two elves walked away.

****

Vána watched the ellyn slip silently through the grove back to the tournament list, smiling faintly. Then, strong arms enveloped her and her smile broadened.

"He’s not doing very well, is he?" Oromë said, giving her a brief kiss on the neck.

"No, not as well as we had hoped," she said, reaching behind her and brushing her left hand through his dark locks, "but better I think than we could expect under the circumstances. He was most upset that there was no one at the Gates to welcome him back to Life. He thinks it’s because of something he did."

Oromë shook his head. "I told Námo I wasn’t best pleased with his decision to release this one from Mandos so soon."

"What did he say?" she asked, looking back.

Oromë gave her a wry grin. "What he always says: ‘It is as Atar wills’."

"And that’s true enough," she replied, "but not, I think, the entire answer."

"You know our brother," Oromë said with a knowing grin. "He likes to be mysterious."

She laughed softly at that. "I’m so glad Vairë finally convinced him to wear something other than black."

Oromë chuckled. "I’m waiting for the day she gets him to wear bright yellow."

Vána suddenly laughed at the image her spouse sent her. "I fear that day will never come."

"Ah well," he allowed, "one can only hope."

She smiled warmly at her beloved. "What will we do about Turindil?" she asked returning to the original subject of their conversation.

Oromë sighed as he helped her down upon the blanket and they both sat. "What we can, of course. I do not know why Námo thought it important for this one to be released when he was, though I suspect this tournament may have something to do with it."

"And Irmo is obviously in agreement with Námo over this," Vána contemplated. Wine goblets had appeared in Oromë’s hands and she accepted one from him.

The Lord of the Hunt nodded. "I think though that... Turindil will do well enough. He is not suffering any flashbacks, is he?"

Vána shook her head. "No, not yet. Perhaps it’s too soon for him. He barely remembers who he was in Beleriand yet and wonders if he will ever have any good memories of that time. I’ve assured him they will come eventually."

"That is well, then," Oromë said. "I will have Roimendil keep an eye on him," naming one of his Maiar. Vána nodded her consent.

"Come, then," she said, taking a final sip of the wine. "We do not wish to miss the next round of shooting."

"Not to mention the fighting afterwards," Oromë said as they both stood up. Wine goblets and blanket disappeared as the two Valar walked hand in hand through the grove towards the list. "I am most curious to see how all this plays out."

Vána gave her beloved a sly look. "Perhaps you should make a bet with Námo. If he loses, he has to wear yellow."

Oromë threw back his head and laughed. "Now that would be something, wouldn’t it?"

They were both still giggling over that as they joined the other Valar for the third round of the archery competition.

****

Yén: (Quenya): a period of time equal to 144 solar years.

Marilla: (Quenya) Pearl.

Cabor Gabel: (Sindarin) Leaping Frog. The Quenya form would be Haloitë Quácë.

Aran: (Sindarin and Quenya) King.

131: An Afternoon of Shame and Glory

Mithlas and Turindil arrived in good time to prepare for the next round of shooting. When the two met up with Aldarion and Gilvagor, Turindil gave them a shy apology for leaving so abruptly.

"I... I needed to be by myself for a while," he muttered.

Mithlas gave them a wink. "Which is why, when I found him, he was deep in conversation with Lady Vána."

The two ellyn looked at Turindil in surprise. "It seems that the Reborn are always having one or other of the Valar looking after them," Aldarion mused as he ran a hand over his bow to check it. The others were doing the same with their own bows, as well as checking their arrows to assure themselves that none were damaged.

Gilvagor shrugged. "I suppose they find the Reborn... interesting."

"They give us much comfort," Turindil offered softly.

The others stopped and looked at him in surprise. Turindil nodded.

"Sometimes I think they’re the only ones who really care about us, I mean the Reborn," he replied. "They... they listen to us when even our own kin do not want to hear about what we experienced and how we feel." He hesitated for a moment, frowning, as if trying to find the right words for what he was feeling. "They... they love us when no one else can be bothered."

He blushed slightly at that and then turned away to check his arrows. The other elves who had heard the exchange gave each other chagrined glances but no one offered to contradict the Reborn’s words. Silently they resumed their inspections.

Turindil kept to himself after that and would not engage in conversation even with Mithlas, whom he thought of as a friend, indeed his first friend in Aman. Mithlas was wise enough in the ways of the Reborn, having observed them in Lórien, to grant Turindil the space he needed and did not press himself on his fellow Sinda, for which Turindil was grateful.

Now that the number of archers had been reduced to a manageable size, the third round of the archery competition would be somewhat harder and more active. The administrators of the list had devised a series of exercises to test the competitors’ prowess. There were three parts to this. In one area was a scaffold from which a target was hanging. With a push it swung back and forth like a pendulum. The archers were allowed to shoot four arrows at the moving target.

Elsewhere was another scaffold from which a target was suspended. This scaffold was designed in such a way as to allow the target to spin rather than to rock back and forth, thus making the target that much harder to hit. Again four arrows were allowed.

The last area of the list consisted of a target set a fair distance away. Behind it on a pole was a windchime singing softly in the spring afternoon breeze. The archer would be blindfolded and would have to listen for the sound of the chimes to gauge where the target was. To make sure that those awaiting their turn to shoot did not memorize the target’s position, it would be moved along a predetermined line after the archer had been blindfolded. The distance between target and archer would remain the same, just the position would change.

Three groups of four archers were devised, each group starting at one of the exercises and rotating. The six high scorers all around would advance to the finals. The ruby team, consisting of Turindil, Marilla, Gilvagor and Elessairon would commence with the pendulum target. The emerald team, consisting of Ercassë, Hallas, Elemmirë and Mithlas, would start with the spinning target. The sapphire team, consisting of Ninquelótë, Vëantur, Aldarion and Region, would begin with the blindfold exercise.

There was much excitement among the spectators who were busy trying to keep track of everyone. There was also much jesting and ribald humor among the archers themselves about each other’s shooting abilities, though nothing acrimonious. All were excellent archers and they respected one another’s abilities. Mithlas kept his eye on Turindil as he was waiting for his own turn to shoot and noted with approval that, while the Reborn Sinda seemed to prefer to keep apart when not shooting, nonetheless he readily joined in on the fun when one of Aldarion’s arrows went winging towards the royal viewing gallery instead of the target, only missing the High King by a few feet.

As several people made humorous remarks about Aldarion’s listening skills in missing the target completely, Turindil suddenly started singing a song in Sindarin that had every Sindarin-speaker, archer and spectator alike, nearly falling to the ground in laughter. It was an old tune, popular among those from Beleriand, but the words were definitely new and to the point:

     "See how the arrow flies,

     Right towards the High King’s eyes.

     Oh me, oh my.

     Why were you aiming there?

     The target’s over here.

     If that’s how you shoot after just one beer,

     Eru save us all!"

When Mithlas was finally able to translate the words for Aldarion, the Vanya gave a shout of mirth, bounded across the field to where Turindil was standing and, to the delight and amazement of all, grabbed the Sinda and did an impromptu jig before hugging him and giving him a kiss, declaring that if nothing else, Turindil should be given an award as a master bard, to which everyone laughingly agreed. Turindil merely looked shyly down at his feet, but those standing near him thought they detected a look of pleasure on the Sinda’s face at Aldarion’s words.

That was about the most exciting thing that happened during the archery competition that afternoon. At the end of the meet, Turindil proved to be the highest scorer, though Mithlas came a very close second. The other winners were Aldarion (in spite of the wayward arrow), Marilla, Gilvagor and Elemmirë. Even so, the High King took a moment to praise all of the archers who had competed in this particular round.

"Whether you win or not," Ingwë said, "you have our deepest respect." He gave them all a bow, which Arafinwë and Olwë echoed, while their queens all curtsied. To the surprise of all, every Vala and Maia also bowed to the archers as well.

Then Ingwë smiled sardonically at Aldarion, who started to blush. "As for you, Lord Aldarion, I do hope your aim improves somewhat before tomorrow."

There was good-natured laughter all around.

"And my thanks to you, young lord," Ingwë then said to Turindil, who went a bit pale at being singled out. "Your... er... impromptu singing helped to lighten the situation for all concerned. You are to be commended."

Turindil gave a slight bow but did not speak. Mithlas, standing next to him, gave him a squeeze on his arm in silent support and Turindil smiled bashfully at his new friend.

Thus, the next to last round of the archery competition ended. The twelve archers who had competed that afternoon were all invited to sup with the three high kings of Eldamar later that evening. That was an unexpected honor none had looked for. Mithlas noticed that Turindil seemed ill at ease at the idea. He gave his fellow Sinda a sympathetic look.

"It would not do to refuse, you know," he said.

Turindil nodded and sighed. "I know. I... I just find it difficult to be around others for any length of time."

"Would it help if I spoke with the Noldóran?" Mithlas suggested. "He is atar to three Reborn. I think he would understand better than either Ingwë or Olwë about how you feel."

Turindil hesitated but Mithlas took him by the arm and led him to where Arafinwë was speaking with Ingwë. Both kings turned to look with interest upon the two Sindar approaching. The ellyn gave the kings respectful bows.

"Please forgive the intrusion, my lords," Mithlas said. "I am Mithlas, late of Lindon and a friend of your son, my lord," he bowed briefly to Arafinwë who acknowledged Mithlas’ words with a nod of his head. Mithlas then introduced Turindil. "This is Turindil, recently released from Mandos."

Ingwë and Arafinwë both greeted Turindil politely. "You must teach us that song, young Turindil," Arafinwë said with a smile. "I am a recent student of Sindarin and was hard-pressed to translate it for the others. I’m afraid I am not yet proficient enough in the language to do a credible job."

"You are learning Sindarin, lord?" Turindil asked in surprise.

Arafinwë nodded. "With three Reborn ellyn who all speak it, it is a simple matter of survival. I need to know what they’re plotting."

Mithlas gave a snort of amusement at that while Ingwë and Turindil both grinned. "Knowing Lord Findaráto and his otornor as I do, my lord," Mithlas said, "I’m not surprised at your decision to learn the language."

"What may we do for you youngsters?" Ingwë asked with a faint smile.

Mithlas gave the High King another bow. "Turindil, as I said, is recently released from Mandos and is finding it difficult to... be with other people for any length of time, yet, he did not wish to offend you by refusing your kind offer..."

Ingwë held up his hand. "There is no need to speak further. Turindil, this is not a command. I merely wish to get to know some of you better. You are not required to attend, but I will tell you that I would regret not having the pleasure of your company."

"Truly?" Turindil asked in surprise.

"As would I," Arafinwë added. "Yet, we are well aware of how difficult it is for recently Reborn to... shall we say, mingle. I know Findaráto found it most difficult even to eat in the same room with his amillë and me when he first returned to us."

Turindil seemed to think about it for a moment, then nodded. "I... I will come then," he said softly.

Ingwë smiled and took the Sinda in his arms and gave him a light kiss of friendship on his brow. "I am glad, youngling," he said. "But perhaps you would prefer to sit with us now instead, you and Mithlas. There is still an hour before the fighting begins and we are about to enjoy a light collation."

He gestured towards where a table had been set up for the royals and soon Mithlas and Turindil were being introduced to the others as they sat down to enjoy what turned out to be a picnic tea. At Ingwë’s insistence Turindil spent the better part of the hour teaching them all the song he had sung for Aldarion with Mithlas supplying the Quenya translation. Mithlas then sang the original words to the song, which had them all laughing hysterically as they compared one version with the other, congratulating Turindil on the cleverness of his impromptu adaptation.

When it was time to return to the list for the fighting, both Sindar were invited to sit in the viewing gallery to watch, much to their surprise and embarrassment, but Ingwë insisted and they could find no reason to refuse. All the while, Olwë had sat back and watched Turindil interact with the others, a thoughtful look on his face.

****

When Tulkas returned Finrod to the tent city outside Vanyamar, the prince did two things before going to arm: he sent a page to Ingwë with a request to meet with the High King privately after the fighting was over, and then he sought out Glorfindel, who was standing outside the healers’ tent getting some fresh air, to apologize for his behavior earlier. Glorfindel merely hugged him, giving him a light kiss on the brow.

"I’m glad Lord Tulkas was able to talk sense to you," he said to Finrod softly. Then he gave his brother a wry grin. "I hope he didn’t hurt you too much doing so, though."

Finrod laughed merrily at that and hugged Glorfindel back. He refused to enter the healers’ tent where Aldundil and his family were still sleeping. "I will visit them after the meet," he explained to Glorfindel, "and after I’ve had a word with Ingwë. Some decisions will need to be made before we go any further with this tournament." What those decisions were, though, he did not elaborate and Glorfindel did not press.

When Finrod entered the arming tent he found Gilvagor, Ingwion and Aldarion already there along with a couple of older elflings acting as squires.

"Are you well, cousin?" Ingwion asked for all of them and Finrod nodded.

"More or less," he said with a faint smile. "Lord Tulkas has a way of... er... getting one’s attention and making it stick."

The others chuckled.

"I’m sorry I missed the archery meet again," he continued, then turned to Aldarion, his expression neutral. "I’ve been told that you made quite an impression on the spectators with your shooting prowess, even to the point of having a song sung about it."

Aldarion blushed furiously while the others laughed. "It was Lady Findis’ fault," Aldarion protested.

Finrod raised an eyebrow. "Oh?... How so?"

Now Aldarion went even redder with embarrassment. "It was the jingling of her bracelets that distracted me."

Now the other ellyn laughed uproariously. Finrod gave Ingwion a wicked grin. "Will you tell her or shall I?"

Aldarion went white and tried to convince them it wasn’t necessary, but the two princes were adamant about letting Findis know she was instrumental in almost having the High King of All the Elves slain by Aldarion’s arrow because she’d been wearing too many bracelets.

"Valandur will appreciate the joke, even if Findis doesn’t," Ingwion assured the poor elf and Finrod heartily agreed.

"I’m doomed," Aldarion said somewhat dramatically as he sat heavily in a chair, looking very despondent.

"Only if you don’t finish arming yourself," Gilvagor said, throwing a greave at him.

With a sigh, Aldarion picked up the greave. When Finrod asked about the song in particular Gilvagor started softly singing. Before he was halfway through the song, the other three fighters and the two squires were treated to the sight of the former King of Nargothrond falling helplessly to the ground in laughter, rolling about on the carpet.

It was some time before any of them were able to finish arming.

****

When Finrod came out onto the list, Eönwë gave a deep bow to the elf before addressing the crowd. Notably missing from the ranks of the Valar watching the fighting was Lord Námo. Glorfindel was also missing. The elflings along with Sador and Alassiel, however, were there. The elflings were looking suitably subdued and awed at the same time.

Finrod and Gilvagor were fighting in list one while Ingwion and Aldarion were in list two. The battles between the ellyn were fast and furious and lasted longer than anyone actually anticipated. In fact, the sun was slipping towards the west before Aldarion finally conceded defeat. Finrod and Gilvagor fought for another fifteen minutes or so before Finrod was finally able to disarm the other warrior. All four ellyn met in the middle between the two lists and congratulated each other while the spectators continued cheering.

"So cousin," Finrod said to Ingwion with a smile. "It looks as if you and I are going to have the chance to fight one another."

"A chance to finally get my revenge, you mean," Ingwion said with a laugh.

"Revenge!?" Finrod exclaimed.

Ingwion turned to the other two ellyn. "How soon they forget," he smirked. "Don’t you remember the day you hit me with the shovel because I wouldn’t let you have the pail?"

Finrod’s jaw dropped. "I was five!"

"But I really wanted that pail," Ingwion said dead-pan.

"And you’ve waited this long to get your revenge?" Finrod said disbelievingly.

"Well... I was busy plotting my revenge when you left." Ingwion gave a mock sigh. "One of us has lousy timing."

The other two ellyn started laughing hilariously as the two cousins continued their barbs even as they walked off the field. Only Eönwë had heard the exchange, and he silently repeated the conversation to his lord and lady who chuckled though they refused to enlighten the elves around them as to what they found humorous.

****

Glorfindel chafed at the idea of having to "elfling-mind" the still sleeping Vorondil and his parents instead of watching the competitions. Námo continued sitting in his throne, unmoving, a slight smile on his lips as he watched the ellon fidget on the camp stool.

"Glorfindel, stop fidgeting," the Vala finally said. "You don’t need to see the competition. You know Finrod will win his match. You two are, as you say, destined to fight one another. Indeed, you two competing against each other is the only justification for this entire farce, as far as I’m concerned."

Glorfindel gave the Vala a surprised look. "What do you mean?"

Námo shook his head. "The attempt at reconciliation between the various factions among the Eldar that Ingwë had hoped for has failed... miserably, I might add. The attempts to discredit the Reborn are especially... disturbing." Námo sighed, shifting slightly in his chair, though Glorfindel had the distinct feeling it was for effect only.

"You’re saying that the tournament is a... a sham... a waste of time?"

Námo gave the ellon a considering look, noticing the tone of disbelief in Glorfindel’s voice. "A waste of time?" he repeated. "No. No endeavor at reconciliation is a waste, but I’m afraid that the ultimate goal for this particular endeavor will not be reached. Ingwë will need to find another way to..."

"It’s my fault, isn’t it?" Glorfindel interrupted, looking both upset and angry.

Námo raised an eyebrow at the ellon’s words. "Your fault? Why would you think it was your fault?"

"If I hadn’t had that stupid flashback..."

Námo threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, child, child, you are so full of yourself, aren’t you?"

Now Glorfindel looked mulish and Námo relented, gesturing for the ellon to come to him, which the elf did, though somewhat reluctantly, refusing to be mollified. Námo leaned over and pulled the ellon closer so he was standing between the Vala’s knees.

"None of this is your fault, best beloved," he said softly, holding Glorfindel in place. "It’s just the circumstances. None of us imagined that some of the Reborn would suffer such flashbacks. The fact that you were the first victim of a flashback doesn’t make the rest of it your fault. Understand?" He shook Glorfindel a little to get his attention and the ellon finally nodded, though he still didn’t look happy. Námo hid a smile. "Well, that’s good. Now, Vorondil is about to awaken. Let’s see what his reaction..."

"ATTO!!"

Vorondil came awake screaming for Aldundil and Glorfindel rushed to the ellon’s side and held him down while Námo stood behind him, looking on.

"It’s all right, Vorondil," Glorfindel said soothingly. "Your atar is alive. See you, he sleeps even now beside you." He pointed to the cot next to Vorondil’s and the ellon cast a fearful glance, unwilling initially to believe Glorfindel’s words.

"He... he’s alive?" he whispered, looking up at Námo for confirmation. "He’s not... not dead?"

"Nay, child," Námo said gently. "Your atar lives, as do you."

"For now," Glorfindel whispered, but Vorondil did not hear him, too busy trying to reach Aldundil. Only when Glorfindel released him did the ellon even notice his amillë lying on the other side of his atar. He gave a startled gasp.

"Ammë! What’s wrong with Ammë?"

Glorfindel wasn’t sure what to say but Námo stepped in. "She became somewhat excited and we thought it best if she slept for a time," he said smoothly and Glorfindel secretly marveled at how easily the Vala spoke the truth without speaking the entire truth. Námo gave him a knowing smile and the ellon returned it with one of his own. Vorondil, however, was busy examining his atar, assuring himself that Aldundil was indeed alive. It was only when he tried to put both arms around his atar that he seemed to realize that one arm was in a splint. He stared at it stupidly for a moment.

"Wh-what happened to my arm?" he asked confusedly.

Glorfindel’s eyes narrowed. "You don’t remember?"

Vorondil gave him a fearful look. "Remember what?" he whispered.

"You attacked Finrod with a knife," Glorfindel stated baldly. "He had to break your arm to save himself."

Vorondil simply stared at him in shock and then glanced at Námo who nodded solemnly. For a long moment no one moved and then something inside Vorondil broke and he stood up.

"Noooo!" he screamed in denial and then started to run, but not towards the tent’s entrance, which Glorfindel had half-expected. Rather, he ran straight to Námo who gathered him in his arms. "Noooo!" he screamed again and then collapsed completely into misery, weeping uncontrollably even as the Vala swooped him up and returned to his chair. He murmured something in Vorondil’s ear too softly for Glorfindel to hear. The Balrog-slayer sat on Vorondil’s cot looking on helplessly.

It was then that Finrod walked into the tent.

****

Turindil’s Song: The original words are as follows (sung, more or less, to the tune of God Save the Queen/King):

     See how the eagles fly,

     Above the earth so high.

     Lords of the sky.

     Our enemies flee and hide

     Whene’er the eagles cry.

     Lord Manwë’s joy and pride.

     Eru saves us all.

132: Confessions and Confrontations

Finrod sized up the situation immediately and started towards Námo but the Vala shook his head and he stayed where he was. Glorfindel also remained seated on the cot. Both elves watched with interest to see how Námo dealt with the still weeping ellon.

"Hush now, best beloved," Námo said softly. "All will be well."

Vorondil shook his head, refusing to look up. "Th-they’re going to... to kill me, aren’t they?"

Námo did not answer immediately, looking up at Finrod, who gave a short shake of his head but did not speak.

"No one’s going to harm you, child," Námo answered.

"B-but I’m bad, aren’t I?" Vorondil whispered forlornly. "I was born bad, wasn’t I?"

The utter hopelessness of that question tore at the hearts of the two elves listening and Glorfindel gasped, looking stricken.

"No, Vorondil," Námo countered. "No one is born bad, including you."

"Master is going to hate me now and... and then he’ll... he’ll..." Vorondil started weeping again.

"He’ll do what?" Námo asked.

"I don’t know," the ellon wailed, "b-but he’ll do it and no one will love me anymore."

Námo smiled gently at that, though Vorondil did not see. "That’s not true, child. No matter what happens, I will always love you."

"As will I."

Vorondil sat up with a stunned look and barely registered the fact that Finrod was there, his entire attention on the now awake Aldundil. "Atto!" he cried and then his face crumpled and he started sobbing again, an expression of deep shame spreading across his face.

Aldundil got up and went to his son, giving Námo his obeisance and a questioning look. When Námo nodded, he took Vorondil into his own arms and cradled him, still looking at the Vala.

"Vorondil thought Findaráto killed you and in his grief attacked him with a knife. He has no actual memory of doing so, however."

Aldundil looked stricken as he turned to Finrod. "Is this true, aranya?" he asked disbelievingly.

Finrod nodded but did not elaborate. Aldundil looked down at his still weeping child and sighed.

"I’m sorry I’ve failed you, Atto," Vorondil said between his tears. "I know I’m bad. I don’t mean to be. You probably wish I’d never been born right about now and...."

Aldundil went white and he put Vorondil down and gave him a shake. "Don’t ever say that!" he cried, sounding both shocked and angry. "You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Don’t ever say that again."

The vehemence of his tone stunned them all and Vorondil stopped crying as Aldundil gave him a fierce hug, refusing to let him go. "You’ve never failed me," he continued in a quieter tone. "You’ve never been anything but my beloved son. It’s I who have failed — you and my brother. I... I deluded myself in thinking that by marrying your amillë, that I was doing the right thing. I know now that it was not, but I swear to you, Vorondil, that I never regretted your begetting. Never."

"Br-brother? Ammë?" Vorondil whispered, sounding confused.

Finrod gave his vassal a questioning look himself. Glorfindel, seeing it, rose and went to him, giving Finrod a whispered account of what he’d learned about Aldundil and his brother. The look on Finrod’s face as he listened to the tale turned from questioning to shock and then to compassion and when Glorfindel finished he nodded his understanding.

Aldundil, meantime, was leading Vorondil to his cot and the two sat down. "I think it’s time I told you the truth," he said to his son. He then proceeded to tell about the War of Wrath, though the others noticed how he left out telling about the oaths he and his brother had given Calalindalë. When he reached the part about Vorondil dying he stopped and gave a sigh, shaking his head.

"I knew I was the cause of my brother’s death as he tried to reach me after I’d been felled by the enemy, yet I knew that some day he would return to me and to his betrothed."

Námo spoke for the first time, shaking his head. "There is no blame laid upon you, Aldundil. Vorondil died, simply that. You were not to blame nor does he blame you."

"He doesn’t?" Aldundil asked doubtfully.

Námo shook his head. "He has no memory of his death or the reason for it. He has no memory of you or Calalindalë at this point, though those memories will return when he’s ready to accept them."

The shock on both Aldundil’s and Vorondil’s faces was almost comical to the other two ellyn. Finrod spoke then. "It’s true, Aldundil. The dead have no memory of the living while in Mandos. It is Lord Námo’s gift to them while their fëar are healing."

"You... you named me after your brother?" Vorondil asked, not interested in the conversation the adults were having, only latching onto the one thing that made any sense to him.

Aldundil looked at his son and smiled wistfully. "Your amillë was against it, but I was adamant. I suppose it was my feeble attempt to apologize to my brother for having... for having robbed him of... of his future. I do not know if he will ever forgive me for that when he returns."

Vorondil’s expression became confused and he turned to Námo. "My... uncle is a... Reborn?"

Námo nodded. "Some day soon he will be re-embodied and be released from my care."

"But ammë said..."

"What did your ammë say, child?" Námo asked quietly when the ellon paused to look at the still sleeping Calalindalë, his expression clouded with conflicting emotions.

Never taking his eye off her, Vorondil answered. "She said that the Reborn aren’t to be trusted because they’re nothing but oathbreakers and... and deserve our contempt."

Aldundil went white at that and stared at his wife with an expression of disbelief and loathing marring his fair face.

"Well that explains some things," Finrod said in the ensuing silence. Glorfindel nodded, his expression thoughtful and sad at the same time.

"Yes, it explains many things," Námo said pointedly.

At the sound of Finrod’s voice, Vorondil gasped and cringed into Aldundil’s embrace, as if only just realizing that his Master was there. Finrod, for his part, ignored the ellon for the time being, focusing his attention on Námo.

"And you allowed this... this travesty to continue for so long?"

Námo raised an eyebrow. "Allow? We did not ‘allow’ anything, Arafinwion," he spoke coldly and the elves listening shivered slightly at the tone. "We will not interfere in the free will decisions of others. Aldundil and Calalindalë made their choices whether we wished otherwise or not. Calalindalë and Aldundil’s brother were meant to marry. Their children would have played an important role in the history of Arda. It mattered not if the two did not marry immediately. Calalindalë should have waited for Vorondil to return to Life. Instead, she decided to exact revenge on her betrothed for having died by... convincing Aldundil to marry her instead. The result was... him."

Námo nodded towards Vorondil who listened white faced and trembling. Aldundil held his son closer, his expression darkening as he addressed the Lord of Mandos. "So you would punish my son whose only crime was allowing himself to be begotten instead of me who deserves to be punished for my... sins."

Now Námo gave the elf a surprised look. "We have never punished Vorondil for being born. He is innocent of any ‘crime’, as you put it... well, except for this most recent event, but otherwise we do not hold him to blame for any of this. We wish him well and trust that some day he will be an asset to elvenkind."

"That isn’t the impression you’ve given me, my lord," Finrod countered, stepping forward. "I was supposed to be Vorondil’s executioner, as I recall."

Vorondil gave a soft moan of disbelief, his world shattering into more pieces and he started to hyperventilate. Finrod went to him and held the ellon’s head between his hands. Vorondil closed his eyes, finding it hard to breathe.

"Look at me Vorondil," Finrod commanded softly, but the ellon shook his head. "Vorondil, open your eyes," and the force of Finrod’s words was such that he had no choice but to obey.

For a long moment Finrod stared into the ellon’s eyes, gently rubbing the sides of his face with his fingers, allowing Vorondil time to calm down. "Understand this, Vorondil," Finrod said, his tone soft but brooking no denial. "I would never willingly act as anyone’s executioner. That is why I took your atar’s oath, to save you. I do not regret doing so. Whatever Lord Námo or any of the other Valar say to the contrary, you are as worthy of life as the rest of us and you have as important a role to play as your uncle’s children would have. More so, for you live and they do not. Never doubt your own self-worth in this."

Vorondil did not look convinced as Finrod released his hold on him but Aldundil hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You’re the only good thing that has ever happened to me, Vorondil," he said. "You’ve made it all worth while no matter what follows."

Vorondil started weeping again, though quietly. Aldundil kissed his son again and then stood up and gently encouraged Vorondil to lie down. "I think thou shouldst sleep, my son," he said. "Let not what thou hast learnt trouble thee over much. I promise thee, all will be well. Tye-melin, yonya. Tye-meluvan illúmë." He sat on the edge of the bed and gently stroked his son’s hair.

"Inyë tye-melë, Atto," Vorondil whispered as he allowed himself to succumb to sleep, his eyes closing, for his fëa was exhausted and heartsick by all that had happened. Aldundil continued to stroke Vorondil’s hair, smiling sadly at his child.

"What will you do to him, aranya?" he asked resignedly, not bothering to look at Finrod.

"The public nature of what Vorondil did necessitates a public trial," Finrod said. "Ingwë has already indicated to me that he will not countenance an execution, and I concur. However, your son will need to be punished in some manner."

Aldundil nodded, still not looking up. "When will the trial be held?" he asked.

"Tomorrow," Finrod replied.

Aldundil looked up in surprise. "Tomorrow! But what of the tournament?"

"Tomorrow’s events will be postponed until the following day," Finrod answered. "The trial will commence at noon."

Aldundil turned his gaze back on his son. "Whatever his punishment, aranya," he said, "I will suffer it in his stead. If anyone deserves punishment it is I. My own forswearing is the reason my son is... defective. My sins have marred his fëa and it seems the Valar themselves believe he should never have been born."

Before Finrod could respond, Námo was out of his seat and standing over Aldundil, who looked up with a bewildered expression on his face. The Lord of Mandos locked gazes with the ellon and the sense of compassion and pity he saw in the Vala’s eyes was nearly overwhelming. "Aldundil, forgive me for my harsh words earlier. I never meant to imply that we wished Vorondil any ill. He is as beloved of us as you. But please understand this... what you and Calalindalë did has changed the course of history. Only Eru now knows where all this will lead, for I have neither the wisdom nor the foresight to say either way. Your brother’s last thought before dying was of Calalindalë and the hope of a future with her. Now he will return to Life to find that he has been robbed of that future. You and he will have to deal with that as best you may. He may forgive you, he may not. As for Vorondil... it is the reason we gave him to Findaráto. Under his tutelage we hope that Vorondil will indeed become a contributing member of your society."

"What were my brother’s children meant to do?" Aldundil asked in sick curiosity. "What... what did we change?"

Námo shook his head. "It matters not, since they can never be born now and whatever was to happen...." he paused and his expression became dark for a moment while the elves held their breaths. Then the Vala’s mien lightened and he sighed, looking down at the sleeping ellon, his expression softening to one of love before casting his gaze back to Aldundil. "What matters is Vorondil. Whatever Eru has ultimately planned, I know that he loves your son no less than he loves you in spite of your... sins."

"And Aldundil," Finrod chimed in. Aldundil turned to look at his liege lord. "You may or may not deserve punishment, but I am not your judge in that matter, nor will I allow you to take your son’s place a second time. He will only learn to take responsibility for his actions when he is no longer shielded by you. I think that’s another reason the Valar gave him into my keeping... to remove him from your influence, yours and Calalindalë’s, so that he could mature in a correct manner. Whatever punishment is meted out to him will fall upon him alone."

Aldundil nodded reluctantly. "Yes, aranya."

Finrod gave a sigh. "I need to check on the other elflings. I will see you tomorrow, Aldundil." He turned to Námo, "Master," he said with a bow, then he turned to leave. "Coming, brother?"

Glorfindel cast a glance at Námo still standing by Aldundil. The Vala gave him a slight nod. "What about them?" he whispered to Finrod, nodding towards Aldundil and his family.

"There will be no need for guards," Námo told Finrod, knowing what Glorfindel had said. "I will watch over Vorondil and I doubt Aldundil will want to leave his son’s side."

Finrod nodded. "Tomorrow then," he acknowledged with a short nod of his head, then he and Glorfindel left.

If Aldundil heard the exchange, he gave no sign, all his attention on his sleeping son and his memories.

****

Finrod and Glorfindel walked into the compound to find it cast into gloom, the campfire its only illumination. Entering the main pavilion they found all five elflings sitting around the dining table with Sador and Alassiel. No one was speaking, just sitting in the dark.

"Sador," Finrod asked. "What’s going on?"

Sador gave his brothers a wry grin that could be seen even in the flickering light of the campfire outside. "We’re in mourning."

"Oh?" Glorfindel responded with nonchalance. "Who died?"

At that point Veryandur stood up and ran to Finrod howling. "Don’t kill him, don’t kill him!"

Finrod picked the child up easily before Veryandur could start beating on him and held him tightly. "Hush now, Veryandur," he commanded. "No one is killing anybody. Why would you think that?"

Veryandur, however, did not answer, too busy getting Finrod’s tunic all wet with his tears. Finrod gave Sador and Alassiel a questioning look but they simply shrugged. Finrod turned to Glorfindel. "Let’s have some more light on the subject."

Glorfindel grinned and went to light a taper from the campfire and then lit the candelabrum sitting in the center of the table as well as the two other candelabra on the sideboard. Meanwhile Finrod sat at the head of the table as was his wont and looked at the other children, their faces white in the soft glow of the candles. The three older children were ranged on his right with Alassiel at the other end while Eruanna sat with Sador on Finrod’s left. Only when Glorfindel took his usual seat opposite Finrod did the prince speak.

"Now, tell me why you think anyone is going to kill Vorondil," he said.

For a moment none of the elflings answered. The four adults waited patiently, the only sound being Veryandur’s weeping stilling to the occasional sniffling and hiccup. Finally Sorondil spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I heard one of the guards say that... that the penalty for attacking a lord of the realm was... was death. He said... he said that... that Lord Aldundil’s misbegotten son deserved to die to... to atone for the shame of his parents’ marriage."

"Wh-what does ‘misbegotten’ mean?" Eruanna asked, looking at Finrod pleadingly, trying to understand. Finrod realized then that Sador and Alassiel had not tried to explain. Sador, of course, would be unaware of Aldundil’s history; Alassiel’s expression, however, told him all he needed to know.

"The guard spoke unthinkingly, Sorondil," Finrod said, deciding to address the ellon first. He spoke in a quiet but authoritative tone, one that the elflings were beginning to recognize and trust. "Vorondil is not misbegotten and he has no need to atone for anything... except for what he nearly tried to do this morning."

Then he turned to Eruanna, his tone softening even more. "Child, the word ‘misbegotten’ is not a word for elflings and I do not wish for any of you to use it on anyone. No one is misbegotten. No one is brought into this world except as Eru wills it, whatever the circumstances of that begetting. For that reason alone, we are all truly Children of Ilúvatar, whatever our earthly parentage, Vorondil included."

His words seemed to mollify the children somewhat and there was a noticeable relaxing of muscles and the atmosphere lightened. Finrod shifted Veryandur on his lap so the ellon was sitting up.

"What is to happen to Vorondil?" Sador asked, unable to keep the worry out of his voice and Finrod realized that Sador was as fond of the younger ellon as he was.

"There will be a trial tomorrow at noon," he answered and all five elflings gasped. Deciding to change the subject, Finrod asked a question of his own, addressing Veryandur. "So did you enjoy your time with your parents, Little One?"

Veryandur gave a tremulous smile and nodded. "Emmë made my favorite dish."

"Oh? And what is that?"

"Porridge!" the ellon crowed with a wide grin while all the other children groaned and Lindorillë actually looked a bit ill.

Finrod threw back his head and laughed, as did the other adults. "Well, what do you know?" he said, "It’s my favorite dish, too."

Veryandur gave him a look of surprise. "Truly?"

Finrod smiled. "Yes, with raisins and cinnamon and apple slices." Then he turned to the others. "And how were your visits?"

Eruanna smiled and held up her doll which she had had in her lap. "Look, ammë made Yávië a new gown."

Finrod smiled as he saw that the gown had his personal device embroidered on the front. "Your ammë does excellent work," he commented approvingly. "Yávië will be the envy of every doll in all of Eldamar."

Eruanna looked pleased as she cradled her doll and started humming a lullaby to herself. The other three elflings, when Finrod cast his gaze upon them, looked somewhat upset and did not volunteer any information. Finrod gave his squire and brother a questioning look. Alassiel shook her head, looking more disgusted than anything; Sador’s expression was as neutral as he had ever seen it, making him look older than he was.

"Well?" he finally asked, addressing no one in particular.

Sador spoke. "There was a bit of... trouble with Sorondil and Lindorillë’s atar."

"Oh?" Finrod asked, his expression darkening somewhat.

Sador nodded. "I’m afraid the visit was an unhappy one for all. When I deemed it best we leave their atar stated categorically that he would not permit us to take his children."

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that. Sador shrugged. "His exact words were ‘No child of mine is going to remain in the company of a murderer, oath or no oath."

Finrod’s only reaction was a thinning of his lips. He noticed Sorondil and Lindorillë looking very white and fearful. "How did you manage to convince him to allow the children to leave with you?"

"We didn’t," Alassiel answered and now Finrod’s expression turned to one of surprise.

Sador nodded and his expression became grimly humorous. "At the mention of oaths Lord Eönwë appeared with... er... two other Maiar, all armed and looking anything but amused."

Now Sorondil spoke, his expression one of awe at the memory. "They had swords of light," he said excitedly. "And... and Lord Eönwë had his Book and... and...." He stumbled to a halt, unable to articulate his feelings at the sight of the three Maiar suddenly appearing in his house. Lindorillë also looked awed, as did the other three elflings. Finrod realized with approval that Sador and Alassiel had kept the children together rather than allowing them to visit their parents separately, so all five of them had witnessed the confrontation.

"What happened then?" he asked.

Again Sador shrugged noncommitally. "Lord Eönwë just opened the Book and began reading the oaths that Sorondil and Lindorillë had given you," he said. "Then he looked at their parents and...."

"The oaths stand," Eönwë said coldly. "Lord Findaráto has guardianship of your children for one year."

"He is unfit to be the guardian of a rock," countered Sorondil and Lindorillë’s atar heatedly. "Today’s events prove it."

"They prove nothing, Mastamo Cemendur," Eönwë said, still sounding cold and unforgiving. "The oaths stand," he reiterated, then he gave the ellon a piercing look. "As do yours and Mistress Yavalda’s," naming Sorondil and Lindorillë’s amillë.

Both parents swayed in shock but offered no protest or denial of the Maia’s words. Eönwë continued to stare at the two elves for a few moments longer before turning to the elfllings huddled around Alassiel and Sador, watching with wide-eyed wonder. His expression softened and he even smiled.

"Go with Manveru and Erunáro, Little Ones. They will escort you back to your lord’s encampment."

All five elflings cowered closer to Alassiel and Sador, not wishing to leave the presence of those they trusted. Sador and Alassiel gave them hugs. "Do as Lord Eönwë says, children," Sador said gently. "Have no fear. These are servants of Lord Manwë, himself. See you their insignia of the eagle? I bet you were named in honor of those who serve the Elder King, Sorondil."

Manveru then gave them a brilliant smile. "Come, children. Let us go back to the encampment and my brother and I will see what mischief we can devise for you all to get into before Lord Findaráto arrives. He’s overdue for a shaking up."

The children gave the Maia disbelieving looks and Sador sighed. "Must you?" he said with an aggrieved look. "It’s bad enough when Vorondil comes up with tricks for them to play on my brother without you lot getting in on the act."

The three Maiar laughed. "But you can play too, if you like," Erunáro said with a wink.

Sador thought about it for a moment, stealing a glance at Alassiel, who was snickering. "Well, in that case..." he drawled, "don’t start anything without me."

Alassiel gave a sigh of her own. "Speaking of Vorondil... any word of what will happen to him?"

Eönwë’s mien became more solemn. "Nothing has been decided, though I have no doubt a trial is in the offing." Then he turned his attention to the elflings again. "Go now, children."

Reluctantly the children left with the two Maiar warriors as escorts. When the adults were alone, Eönwë looked upon Cemendur and Yavalda with grave authority. "The children are no longer in your custody. Do not attempt to interfere in this. Prince Findaráto is their lawful guardian for one year of the Sun. The High King has ratified that decision... and so has the Elder King."

Cemendur’s and Yavalda’s faces turned even whiter than before. Yavalda started to tremble and her husband had to hold her in his arms. Satisfied that he had gotten his point across Eönwë turned to Alassiel and Sador and smiled. "Best run along now, children. You don’t want to miss out on the fun when those two jokers come up with whatever hare-brained scheme they devise."

Sador and Alassiel just stared at the Maia in disbelief. Eönwë laughed. "Oh, you have no idea how those two keep Ilmarin enlivened with their jests. Go now."

Alassiel and Sador bowed and then they were alone with the Baker and his wife....

Finrod gave Sador an amused smile as his brother finished his narrative. "So what jest were you all planning? None of you were looking particularly happy when we walked in."

Alassiel gave a rueful grin. "Sador and I came back here to find the children in a state. Seems rumors are flying hither and yon that you mean to execute Vorondil. The children apparently heard at least one such rumor and... and the manner in which you planned to do the deed and they were naturally upset. Not even Manveru and Erunáro could comfort them. They left as soon as we arrived. We’ve been trying to assure them that Vorondil is not going to be executed but they don’t believe us."

Finrod gave them all a considering look. "What Vorondil did was wrong, but he was very upset and distraught and that will be taken into account, plus the fact that he is still an elfling himself, though he’s loath to admit that. Rest assured, children, that neither I nor the High King will seek his death. He will be punished, but not in that way. Do you believe me?"

One by one the children nodded.

"Where is he, anyway?" Sador asked.

"He’s still at the healers’ tent along with his parents," Finrod said. "Lord Námo is watching over them all this night and I imagine Laurendil and Manwen will remain as well in case there is need. Lady Calalindalë became... er... overwrought and needed to be sedated."

Sador and Alassiel gave Finrod considering looks. "I think there is more to this than you say, Cousin," Alassiel commented.

"Perhaps," Finrod conceded, "but this is neither the time nor the place. I will fill you both in later."

Sador and Alassiel both nodded, then Veryandur, still in Finrod’s lap, piped up. "Can we still play the trick Manveru and Erunáro taught us? It’s a good trick."

"But I’m forewarned," Finrod said, smiling at the ellon fondly. "Should we not find another victim?"

The elflings gave Finrod odd looks, not quite believing his words. Then their expressions turned thoughtful, while the adults looked on with interest. Sorondil suddenly smiled wickedly. "Laurendil," he said with undisguised glee. The other elflings all smiled and nodded in agreement, obviously pleased with the idea.

Finrod laughed. "Laurendil it is. As it happens, he’s overdue for one. I still owe him for the last jest he played on me. So, why don’t you tell me how this trick works while we have something to eat? I don’t know about the rest of you but I’m famished enough to eat even Glorfindel’s cooking."

"Hey!" the ellon protested. "I can boil water with the best of them."

Finrod gave his brother a challenging look. "Well, then, what are you waiting for?"

Glorfindel laughed. "But only if you do the dishes afterwards."

Before Finrod could say either aye or nay to that, Alassiel intervened. "Why don’t we all give Glorfindel a hand and then we can all do the dishes afterwards while we plot our trick on Laurendil?"

The others gave her approving looks and soon the atmosphere of the Prince of the Noldor’s compound was thick with the smell of stew, plots and laughter.

****

Tye-melin, yonya. Tye-meluvan illúmë: "I love thee, my son. I will always love thee."

Inyë tye-melë, Atto: I, too, love thee, Papa."

Mastamo: Baker; Cemendur’s trade [from masta- "bake" + -mo "agental suffix used in titles"; cf. ciryamo "mariner", literally, "ship person"].

133: Vorondil On Trial

Overnight, the field before the royal viewing gallery became a royal court of justice. Ropes were taken down and a dais was hastily constructed in front of the gallery. Carpeting covered the plain wooden planks and three chairs, the middle one more ornate than the other two, were placed on it, each covered with purple silk and red cushions. Finrod’s personal standard, as well as the standard for the House of Arafinwë, was placed behind the chairs. Finrod would sit in the center seat with Glorfindel on his right and Sador on his left. The High King and his guests would sit behind them in the gallery. Ingwë assured Finrod that this was his court and his alone and none of the others would interfere, though they would offer advice if asked.

Sador was surprised to hear that he was expected to sit beside Finrod and tried to bow out. Finrod refused to hear his excuses. "You are a member of the Noldóran’s household, háno," he said determinedly. "Best to get used to this sort of thing." Then he hesitated, looking less sure of himself. "And... it would help me to have both my brothers by my side in this."

That confession decided Sador and he agreed. Alassiel, as Finrod’s squire, would stand behind his throne in the position of guard.

Meanwhile, Vorondil and his parents were allowed to change their clothes and make themselves presentable to the court. Vorondil had to have help dressing and Aldundil did that. Calalindalë had woken naturally around dawn and, by Lord Námo’s instructions, had been taken to a separate tent to freshen up. Aldundil, who was awake as well, refused to speak to her. Vorondil was still sleeping and when he woke a couple of hours later to find his amillë gone, he asked no questions about her absence, which Námo, still acting as guard, found telling.

News of the trial had spread during the early morning hours when heralds went through the city and the encampment announcing the change in schedule. Even though the trial would not commence until noon, the stands were already packed with spectators an hour before.

Finrod rose early as well and left with Glorfindel, Sador and Alassiel for the city to prepare for the trial. He instructed Laurendil and Manwen, who had returned to their own tents around midnight, to see to the elflings and escort them to the field.

"They may as well see how justice is meted out," Finrod said. "Have them stand to the left of the dais where they will be able to see and hear all that occurs."

The Tol Eressëan warriors acted as an honor guard for Finrod, standing on either side of the dais to form a corridor down which Vorondil would have to walk. Their hauberks of mithril and gold-washed metal links glittered brightly in the sun, their naked swords looked deadly in their gauntleted hands.

Ingwë arrived with the royal entourage and took his seat in the gallery. Ingwion accompanied his parents, sitting between them, looking suitably grave. Then, Finrod appeared with Alassiel leading the way, her sword drawn at the ready. Glorfindel and Sador followed. Finrod was dressed formally in an ankle-length dark blue crushed velvet tunic with wide and flowing sleeves and a high neck. The sides of the tunic were slit to the hips, the sleeves nearly swept the ground. Pearls and silver thread embroidery in an intricate leaf-and-vine design graced the hem and the side slits. Underneath, he wore a light green watered-silk shirt with tight sleeves. Mithril buttons closed the cuffs. The leggings were of soft kid leather dyed a darker green. Around his neck was a mithril chain upon which hung a crystal carved as an eight-pointed star, in the center of which was embedded a single multi-faceted emerald. A mithril-wrought coronet with a single emerald cabochon set between four citrine gems graced his head. His hair was carefully braided, the gems of the warrior braids sparkling in the noonday sun.

Glorfindel wore his formal robes with the flowers of his House embroidered upon them, which he had worn to the Reconciliation with Ingwë only days before. The High King’s gift hung from his neck and he wore the chaplet of niphredil and elanor entwined that had been gifted to him by Ingwion and Findis for his Begetting Day.

Sador, though more plainly dressed, was no less impressive. This was not the unassuming potter and royal Ward, but an Elf-lord in his own right. He wore a knee-length tunic of white brocade with hints of rose, purple and mauve in a diapered pattern of stars and diamonds. Over this he wore a velvet robe with shifting colors that matched those in the brocade. Looking upon the robe, one was reminded of the colors of a winter’s sunset. There was silver thread embroidery along the open front and the hem which did not quite sweep the ground. His leggings were of white wool and he wore bleached deer-skin calf-high boots. His single piece of jewelry was a laurelaiquamírë pendant on a mithril chain. His dark silver hair was wreathed with pale niphredil entwined with golden mallorn leaves. He still wore only a single warrior braid and had told Finrod and Glorfindel as they were dressing for the trial that even when the other side had grown back to an acceptable length he would not braid it.

"Let my one braid be a visual reminder to others of the cost of sacrifice," he had told them. "It was only a braid of hair; it could have been something else entirely."

Neither Finrod nor Glorfindel had disputed him. Indeed, Finrod had taken him into his embrace. "You are more a warrior than you know, my brother," he had whispered. "The right kind of warrior, the kind that, alas, was all too often lacking among my own people."

When Sador had given Finrod a quizzical look, the prince had replied with a wistful smile. "We became warriors, not out of necessity, but out of arrogance. We became warriors for all the wrong reasons, though sometimes we were lucky enough to find the right reasons for remaining warriors."

"And dying as ones," Glorfindel had added softly and Finrod had nodded in agreement.

Sador had given his brothers a thoughtful look as they continued to dress.

Now the three ellyn sat in regal splendour and many onlookers gazed at them in wonder. Findaráto, of course, was every inch a prince and all knew that, but now Glorfindel was seen, for the first time by many, for who he truly was: an Elf-lord, puissant and wise beyond the understanding of those who had never experienced Death. Yet, it was Sador who amazed them the most. He had so remained in the background over the last few days that many among the Vanyar had erroneously assumed that he was simply a servant in the Noldóran’s household. Now they saw him in a different light and many were naturally confused. Unfortunately, no one who understood was willing to enlighten them.

Notably absent from the proceedings were the Valar... except for one.

At a soft word from Finrod, Aldarion, acting as Master-of-Arms, summoned Vorondil and his parents to the court. There was an audible gasp from the crowd at their appearance, for Vorondil, with Aldundil at his side, was flanked by two warrior Maiar in the livery of the Elder King. Lady Calalindalë walked a few paces behind them, while Lord Námo brought up the rear. The Vala’s appearance was most remarkable for what he was not wearing. So used were the elves to seeing the Lord of Mandos wearing rich dark brocades, silks and velvets that they scarcely recognized him in the plain dark grey wool ankle-length tunic with no embroidery on it. Over this was a black wool sideless surcoat on which was embroidered his own insignia of the Sun-in-Eclipse, cinched at the waist with a plain black leather belt. The buckle was of silver and repeated the Vala’s personal insignia. He wore no diadem, merely a simple circlet of mithril. All looked upon the Vala in amazement, wondering what the significance of his attire might mean.

When Vorondil saw the court, his courage failed him and many watching expected the ellon to either faint or bolt. Aldundil, however, took his son’s arm and spoke to him, giving him a kiss on the forehead. It did not go unnoticed by many, including Finrod, that Calalindalë had a slight sneer on her face as she watched her husband comfort their son. The two Maiar and Lord Námo stood by patiently, willing to allow the youngling time to compose himself before they continued down the avenue of warriors. When they came to the dais, Aldundil and Vorondil bowed, though the latter was somewhat clumsy with fear and the splint on his arm. Calalindalë gave Finrod a curtsey that just bordered on the insolent in its brevity. Vorondil refused to look up. Aldundil gazed upon his lord with an air of serenity at which many of the onlookers marveled.

Finrod’s own expression was carefully neutral and his tone, when he spoke, was devoid of emotion. "Lord Glorfindel, if you would read the charges against the prisoner."

Glorfindel stood and gave Finrod a brief bow before turning his attention upon Vorondil who still refused to look up. "Vorondil Aldundilion, you stand accused of willfully attacking your lawful master with the intent to do bodily harm upon the person of Prince Findaráto. Do you deny these charges?"

For a long moment Vorondil did not answer, then he gave a sigh and shook his head. Aldundil leaned over and whispered something to him and he raised his head slightly and whispered, "No, my lord."

Glorfindel cast a quick look at Finrod who merely nodded. He turned back to the prisoner. "As you are not yet of age," he continued, "you are entitled to the counsel of one who will speak for you and enter your plea before the Court. Is there one who will act as your advocate?"

Aldundil took a step forward, ready to advance himself as his son’s advocate, when Erunáro placed a hand gently on his shoulder and held him in place, shaking his head slightly when the elf turned to give him a quizzical look. Then, to the shock of all, including the three judges on the dais, Lord Námo spoke. "I speak for the accused."

Glorfindel had the indecent thought, quickly suppressed, that if Morgoth himself had suddenly appeared before them all wearing Lady Varda’s favorite gown, the onlookers would have exhibited less shock than they presently were showing at the Lord of Mandos’ announcement. Unfortunately the looks of amusement the two Maiar and the Vala in question shot him at that moment told him he hadn’t suppressed the image quickly enough and he found himself blushing.

Finrod was the first to recover, speaking to Vorondil. "Is this acceptable to you, child?" he asked gently. "Will you allow Lord Námo to speak on your behalf?"

Vorondil nodded. "Y-yes, m-my lord," he stammered, refusing to look up.

Finrod sighed and turned to Glorfindel. "Continue, brother."

Glorfindel nodded and took a deep breath before speaking again. "What plea do you enter with this Court?" he asked formally.

"If it pleases His Majesty," Lord Námo intoned gravely, "the accused pleads not guilty."

There was a stir among the spectators with outcries of disbelief and even anger. It took a few minutes for the spectators to calm down. Finrod motioned for Glorfindel to take his seat and then he stood, but he did not address Vorondil. Instead he looked out over the field to the spectators, his mien grave and august. "I have purposely held this court in a public venue given the nature of the incident for which the prisoner stands accused," he announced, his voice ringing across the field so all could hear. "That does not give any of you license to voice your opinions either aye or nay to the proceedings. Any more disturbance of like nature as you just now displayed and I will ask Manveru and Erunáro to clear this field of all but those in the royal gallery." He paused as he gauged the sense of the crowd at his words and gave them a mirthless smile. "And if you think that two Maiar warriors are incapable of doing just that, you are only deluding yourselves." He stood for a moment longer before retaking his seat.

Sador gave him a brief smile and leaned over to speak to him. "You are very scary when you want to be, hanar nîn," he whispered in Sindarin.

Glorfindel leaned closer as well. "That’s why Lord Námo kicked him out of Mandos when he did," he replied in the same language, giving them a wicked grin. "Finrod was beginning to make the Maiar attendants nervous, afraid that he might try to take over."

Sador snorted softly and Finrod rolled his eyes. "This is neither the time nor the place, you two," he insisted through gritted teeth. "Shall we get on with this?"

Glorfindel patted Finrod’s knee. "Easy, hanar nîn," he admonished his brother with less levity. "We just want to make sure you don’t take yourself too seriously. Remember, this is not Nargothrond."

Finrod gave Glorfindel a searching look and then nodded briefly. "Thank you for the reminder, brother." Then he turned his gaze back upon the prisoner, his expression carefully neutral once again. "Let us hear from the witnesses."

There was no lack of witnesses, since half the population of Eldamar had been on hand to attest to the attack, however, in the end, only three were called forward — the Marshal of the Lists and the Herald, both of whom had been overseeing the bout between Finrod and Aldundil, as well as Laurendil. The two List officials gave brief, unvarnished accounts of the events as they had witnessed them, beginning with the accident that had sliced Aldundil open. There was no doubt that Vorondil had attacked the prince and that he had been holding a knife in his hand when he did. Laurendil explained why Vorondil was holding a knife in the first place. The question still remained: Was the knife an intentional weapon or not?

Finrod finally addressed Vorondil, who all this time had remained still, though those close enough could see him growing paler with each account given. "Why did you try to kill me, Vorondil?"

For the longest time, Vorondil did not speak, but simply stood there, his head down. Námo stepped forward and placed a hand on the ellon’s shoulder, bending down to whisper in his ear. Aldundil stood beside his son, his expression one of deep pain and sorrow. Calalindalë had moved to the other side of Vorondil but stood some distance away, perhaps in an attempt to emotionally remove herself from the entire affair as far as possible by maintaining physical distance from her son, not to mention her husband.

Everyone saw Vorondil nod at whatever Námo had said to him and then take a deep breath before raising his head to face Finrod. His expression was bleak and a sense of hopelessness emanated from his entire being. "I didn’t..." he started to say, then stopped and looked back at Námo, as if for comfort or confirmation. The Vala gave him a grave nod and Vorondil turned back to face Finrod. "I didn’t try to kill you, Master," he said a little louder, "I... I was hoping you would kill me instead." He ducked his head and leaned against his atar, who took him in his arms. All could see the ellon was now quietly weeping.

Finrod visibly clutched the arms of the chair at those words and all saw the look of horror that flitted briefly across his mien before he clamped down on his emotions and his expression became neutral again. Glorfindel and Sador looked equally shocked and took longer to get themselves under control. Aldundil’s expression was simply one of great loss; Calalindalë stared at Vorondil for a moment before shaking her head, an expression of disgust marring her face.

"Why did you want me to kill you, child?" Finrod finally asked, his voice strained with emotions that were running too deep and swiftly to remain hidden behind the façade of officialdom.

Vorondil pulled himself together enough to answer Finrod’s question but the tears did not cease to come. "Be-because if my atar was... was dead, I didn’t want to live anymore. I... I wanted you to... to send me to Mandos where I belong."

In the stillness that spread across the field with that revelation, only Vorondil’s weeping could be heard. Ingwë, sitting behind the court, gazed sorrowfully at the ellon, who had collapsed into his atar’s arms again. He saw Lord Námo gaze up at him and whatever passed between them was too intimate even for him to comprehend fully at the moment. It was only then that he heard someone else weeping and turned to see Ingwion in tears. He stared at his son and then glanced briefly into his wife’s eyes before gathering Ingwion into his arms and rocking him. "I’m so sorry, yonya," he whispered. "Please forgive me... I never really understood."

But Ingwion was not listening nor did he allow his atar to comfort him. Instead, he wrenched himself away from Ingwë’s embrace and ran down the steps of the gallery. Ingwë started to rise to go after him, but Elindis grabbed his arm, shaking her head, and he reluctantly retook his seat. Arafinwë leaned over and placed a hand on the High King’s arm. Ingwë looked into Arafinwë’s eyes and found only grave sympathy and understanding there. It was all he could do not to break down himself.

Meanwhile, Ingwion ran, not away, but towards the dais where his cousin held court. Finrod saw him and started to call to him, but Ingwion ignored him, his attention focused completely on Námo, who stood there as if he had expected the prince to come to him all this time. Ingwion stopped just before the Vala, his expression set.

"Release him," he said. "You have to release him."

Námo stared at the ellon with such compassion that it nearly destroyed Ingwion’s resolve. The Vala shook his head. "No, child. I will not."

Ingwion’s face crumpled and he became hysterical. "You have to... you have to. I cannot go on without him...please, you don’t know...."

Námo reached out and took Ingwion into his embrace and rocked him as the prince collapsed utterly. "But I do, child," he said compassionately. "More than you can ever fully comprehend."

All stared in dismay and some even with confusion, not understanding. Even Vorondil was staring at Ingwion with undisguised shock. Finrod cast a worried glance behind him and his eyes locked on Ingwë’s but the High King merely shook his head and looked away, whether in shame or sorrow, Finrod could not say.

No one seemed willing to intervene, except Sador, who stood up and came down from the dais to stand before Ingwion and the Lord of Mandos. Námo relinquished his hold on the Vanyarin prince when Sador silently indicated that he would take Ingwion into his own embrace. "Hush now, Ingwion," all heard him say. "Lord Námo will not release those in his charge because we demand it. Whoever you wish released will be, but in due time. You must keep that hope within you as best you may."

Ingwion shook his head. "There is no hope left," he muttered. "I lost it long ago."

"Then it’s about time you found it again, meldonya," Sador said decisively. "My brothers and I will help you there if you will allow it."

For a moment Ingwion did not answer, then, slowly, reluctantly, he pulled himself out of Sador’s embrace and nodded. Sador gave him an encouraging smile. "Good. Now return you to the gallery and take comfort that we all love you and will do what we can to help."

Now Ingwion blushed, as if suddenly realizing where he was and the scene he’d been causing. He followed Sador towards the dais and gave Finrod a profound bow. "Forgive me, Cousin, for disturbing your court."

"There is nothing to forgive, Cousin," Finrod replied with a brief nod. "Thy sorrow is ours and we will bear it together."

With another bow, Ingwion returned to the gallery but refused to sit with his parents again, indeed, he refused to even look at them. Instead he took one of the empty seats near Arafinwë and Eärwen, who each gave him a hug and a kiss. Ingwion never saw the expression of regret and sorrow that etched Ingwë’s fair face or the deep pain of loss that marred Elindis’ features. No one offered them comfort, for there was none to give, nor would they have accepted it. It was an old grief, not to be assuaged by false cheer or platitudes. Everyone sitting in the gallery knew that. Everyone respected it.

Sador, meanwhile, was apparently not finished, for he did not return to his seat. Instead he rounded on Vorondil, his expression stern enough to make the ellon take a step back in fear. "Listen to me, Vorondil," he said coldly, looking and sounding more the Elf-lord than the potter at that moment. "You do not belong in Mandos, no more than the rest of us. If it is your destiny to pass through its doors, as it was mine, as it was your Master’s or Lord Glorfindel’s, then pass through them you will. Until such time, however, you will accept that you are alive and alive for a reason. You will never seek to take your own life or force another to take it from you again. Is that understood?"

Vorondil merely stared at the Sinda Reborn in amazed shock, barely able to nod in acknowledgment of Sador’s words. Námo gave the Sinda an approving look and both Finrod and Glorfindel gave him brief smiles when he resumed his seat.

"Now who’s scary?" Finrod whispered to his brother, speaking Sindarin.

Sador, instead of blushing, merely gave Finrod a fierce grin.

Finrod then turned to Vorondil, his demeanor more grave. "While your explanation accounts for your motive in attacking me, it does not explain everything." He paused, giving Glorfindel and Sador a quick glance of confirmation before proceeding. His brothers both nodded briefly and he continued. "I think we need to hear from one more witness before we pass judgment."

Glorfindel then stood, and it appeared to many that this part of the trial had been rehearsed, or at least anticipated. The ellon took a moment to stare at Vorondil and Aldundil before shifting his gaze to lock eyes with Lord Námo. Whatever passed between elf and Vala was too swift for most to even register the fact that Glorfindel had even looked at Lord Námo, for now the warrior was fixing his gaze upon Vorondil’s amillë.

"Lady Calalindalë," he said solemnly, "we would like to ask you some questions."

****

Emerald: Brings wisdom, growth, and patience and is considered symbolic of love and fidelity, as well as a symbol of faith and hope. A tranquilizer for a troubled mind.

Citrine: A yellow gemstone and a symbol of hope and strength. Ideal for helping anyone to get through the tough times in life! Dissipates negative energy. Warmth, joy, and optimism.

Laurelaiquamírë: Chrysophrase. An apple-green gemstone, it helps to make conscious what was unconscious. It strengthens the workings of insight and the higher consciousness, encourages hope and joy and helps clarify problems.

134: Justice Is Not Healing

Calalindalë jerked slightly at the sound of her name. She had paid little attention to the proceedings, refusing to acknowledge that any of it concerned her. Vorondil had always been a willful, even impulsive, child, and Aldundil had proved a disappointment to her both as a husband and as a man. He had taken forever, or so it seemed, to agree to marry her and then refused to give her a child for the longest time. His own sense of guilt, though, had been his undoing and she had finally been able to convince him that having a child would not be so bad a thing.

She had hoped for a daughter, and had been shocked when she realized the burgeoning life within her was a son. Aldundil had been ecstatic and from the very first had decided their child would be named after his lost brother. It was perhaps at that moment that Calalindalë conceived a hatred for her unborn child, a hatred that became the basis of her revenge upon the person who should have fathered him, a hatred for the one who had taken his place, a hatred she denied she even had, presenting a veneer of civility and even love towards her son and husband. Vorondil, of course, knew no better, believing all ammi were such as his; Aldundil, to give him credit, did his best towards them both, though his own sense of guilt prevented him from taking a firmer hand over the raising of his son.

"Lady Calalindalë," Glorfindel said, attempting to get her attention.

She gathered herself together and gave the Reborn elf a cool stare. "And what questions would those be?"

If her refusal to address him with the title that was his by right upset Glorfindel he gave no sign, merely smiling slightly in a way that those who knew him best were alerted to possible trouble ahead. Even Námo was seen to close his eyes briefly in dismay and the two Maiar unconsciously placed hands on swords. Calalindalë, of course, did not know Glorfindel at all and thus was unaware of the danger she had fallen into.

"This Court would appreciate you explaining what you hoped to accomplish by inculcating a hatred towards the Reborn in your son."

Calalindalë went white, not in fear, but in anger. "What has that to do with anything?" she snarled, her eyes blazing with barely suppressed wrath and disdain. "He’s always been... defective that way. Nothing to do with me."

Vorondil gasped at his amillë’s words and despair swept over him. Aldundil tried to comfort him, but he refused it, turning abruptly away and falling into Námo’s arms. The Vala stroked the ellon’s hair and whispered something to him that none could hear while Aldundil stood helplessly by. There was a stir among the spectators but Glorfindel ignored all that, keeping his gaze on the elleth standing imperiously before him.

"This Court thinks otherwise," he said quietly and the tone of his voice sent shivers even among those who had no direct dealings with the proceedings.

Some of the spectators, remembering this ellon’s earlier demeanor when he had first arrived in Vanyamar were rethinking their estimation of his worth. Here stood not the feckless, impulsive ellon who had practically insulted the High King on his very first day at Ingwë’s court, nor was this the victim of a brutal attack or even the thrall of a jewel-smith who had appeared before that same court only a few days ago to offer Ingwë an apology for his rash behavior. Here, instead, stood an Elf-lord of grave counsel, the warrior who had taken on a Valarauco, an intimate of princes, and one who had the ear of the Valar. It was a sobering reassessment for many.

Valandur, watching the proceedings from his vantage point in the gallery, moved to whisper something in Ingwë’s ear. The High King gave his loremaster a piercing look, then nodded. "We will speak further of this later," he said softly and Valandur nodded, returning to his seat beside Findis. He gave his wife a brief knowing smile. His beloved had denuded herself of every bracelet and bangle that could normally be found adorning her, allowing only a single strand of pearls to ornament her neck. She blushed in embarrassment, knowing what her husband was thinking, still feeling mortified at what her nephew had told her about Aldarion’s shooting mishap. Valandur leaned closer to her and gave her a warm loving kiss on her cheek.

"You’re even more beautiful without them, meldenya," he whispered and she gave him a grateful smile in return.

Glorfindel, in the meantime, did not give Calalindalë time to respond. "I think at this time we should hear the oath given to you by one who is not in a position to speak for himself." He turned his gaze on Námo and gave the Vala a slight bow. "If my lord will permit Lord Eönwë to come before this Court."

Námo returned the ellon’s gaze with a slight smile. "You need only summon him, Glorfindel. The Valar and Maiar stand ready to assist in any way with these proceedings, though we will not interfere with whatever happens."

"Yet, you are here," Finrod spoke up, his tone only slightly accusatory.

Námo gave him a considering look. "Someone of a disinterested nature had to step in as Vorondil’s Counsel. In your... haste to get this trial over with, you neglected to enquire for one beforehand. I... volunteered myself... after seeking the Elder King’s permission, of course."

This last was said in a somewhat droll manner and Finrod had the grace to blush at the mild reprimand. He did not respond, however, except to give a brief nod of acknowledgment before turning to Glorfindel. "Summon him, brother."

Glorfindel nodded, then spoke in ringing tones. "Would the Maia Eönwë, Herald of Manwë and Keeper of the Book of Oaths, come before this Court?"

At once there was a stir of air and those nearest the dais smelled lavender and lovage as the familiar form of the Captain of the Host of Valinor coalasced before them. Every warrior there saluted the Maia, who acknowledged their salutes with a slight nod, his expression one of solemn joy. In his hands was the Book of Oaths.

Glorfindel bowed to the Maia before addressing him. "Would you please read the oath given to Lady Calalindalë by her betrothed, Lord Vorondil Herendilion, brother to Lord Aldundil."

The Book opened of its own accord to a particular page. Eönwë never bothered to look at it, repeating the oath that the elder Vorondil had spoken to Calalindalë three and a half yéni earlier.

"And now the oath spoken by Lord Aldundil on the same occasion," Glorfindel said when the Maia finished.

Again the pages of the Book moved of themselves and again Eönwë never bothered to look down to read, speaking the oath from memory. Indeed, the Book itself was merely a fiction, for Eönwë had no need of it. Every oath spoken, whispered or screamed was indelibly imprinted upon his consciousness, stored away to be recalled when and if necessary. The Book was, for him a prop, for the benefit of the Children, nothing more. That is not to say, however, that the Book itself had no intrinsic reality outside himself, for it did. None of the Children would ever visit the dimly lit chamber behind the walls of Ilmarin where this Book could normally be found, placed upon an ambo between two eternally lit candelabra before a tapestry showing one of the Valar receiving the oaths of several Maiar. A closer look would reveal that the Vala in question was not the Elder King, as one would expect, but the Lord of Mandos. Even if one of the Children chanced upon the room and asked about the tapestry, no Vala or Maia would ever deign to enlighten the inquisitive elf as to its significance.

When Eönwë finished reciting Aldundil’s oath, there was a pregnant pause. Vorondil, hearing his uncle and his atar’s oaths for the first time, stared at his parents from the safety of Námo’s arms. Finally, he addressed his atar. "You... foreswore your oath to... to Uncle Vorondil?" he asked disbelievingly. The look on Aldundil’s face was full of sorrow and shame and he could not look at his son directly. "I’m... I’m only alive because you betrayed... you..." he turned to look at Námo, his expression beyond bleak. "No wonder everyone hates me," he whispered. "I... I’m an abomination, aren’t I? I was never meant to be born."

No one moved, too shocked at the words to respond. Námo hugged the ellon and kissed him on the forehead. "But you were born, child," Námo said gently. "No one is born but that Eru wills it so. Therefore you are not to speak such nonsense again, do you understand?" Vorondil cringed slightly at Námo’s admonishing tone, but nodded. The Vala continued. "You are not an abomination, nor does everyone hate you. Your atar loves you and I love you."

That admission seemed to help steady the ellon, for he nodded again and then went to Aldundil, standing before him. "I’m sorry, Atto," he whispered shyly, not daring to look up. Aldundil gave a gasp and took his son into his arms and hugged him fiercely.

"Nay, yonya," he said, "it is I who am sorry... for everything."

Finrod then spoke. "Lord Námo is correct, Vorondil. You are not an abomination... a pain in the neck sometimes, but nothing more terrible than that." The drollness of his tone caused Vorondil to snicker, and several others followed suit. Finrod nodded in approval, then turned to Glorfindel. "Continue, brother."

Glorfindel nodded and turned back to Calalindalë and Eönwë. "There is one more oath I would have you recite, my lord," he said respectfully to the Maia.

"And which oath would that be, Son of Gondolin?" Eönwë asked, knowing full well which oath Glorfindel meant, but willing to play this game howsoever these Children wished.

"Lady Calalindalë’s oath to her betrothed," Glorfindel replied. "The last one before he left for Beleriand."

Eönwë nodded. Again the pages of the Book turned of themselves, but when they stopped, Eönwë glanced down at the page and ran a finger down it, stopping halfway. He waited a moment before speaking. "‘And I swear, Vorondil, that I will remain true to our love for one another. When you return, we shall marry.’"

Glorfindel glanced at Calalindalë standing there white and struggling for composure. "‘When you return’," he repeated. "Not, ‘if you return’ or ‘when you return safely’ but ‘when you return’."

"What’s your point, Reborn?" the elleth hissed angrily.

Glorfindel gave an elegant shrug. "Only that your oath does not specify the manner of Lord Vorondil’s return, only that he should and when he did, you two would marry. Lord Vorondil died," Glorfindel continued brutally. "Even now he resides in Mandos, oblivious to the drama being played out here. Someday, though, he will be released and his memories returned to him, including his oath to you and your oath to him. You swore to remain true to the love between you, but you betrayed that oath and that love and in your betrayal you led another down the same path towards ignominy and brought forth a child who would then be stigmatized by the unfeeling or the uncaring for crimes not his own."

"I’m not the one on trial here," Calalindalë nearly screamed. "My betrothed died. There was no bond between us, only oaths contingent upon his surviving the war. He did not. Should I not be free to find another to love me and marry me?"

"Contingent upon Vorondil surviving the war?" Námo asked coldly. "That is not how the oath was read."

"It is what I meant at the time," Calalindalë retorted. "Vorondil knew that."

Námo shook his head. "On the contrary, he knew no such thing."

Glorfindel gave the Vala a considering look. "What did he know?"

Námo frowned and for a moment they did not think he would answer, then his expression cleared and he gave a nod. "His last thought before coming to me was the hope that once released from Mandos he would be reunited with his betrothed and they would marry. It is what sustained him through the... process of dying."

"Well, that may have sustained him," Calalindalë said dismissively, "but it did not sustain me. Was I to be denied love because my betrothed was stupid enough to die on some foreign field defending those who deserved to die anyway? Was it not my right to marry another once Vorondil passed through your gates?"

"That was certainly your right, though others might wonder at your motives," Námo replied. "But... you are not Finwë and the Namna Finwë Míriello does not apply here, if it ever applied to any but those two benighted people."

"What are you saying, my lord?" Finrod asked.

Námo gave the prince a wintry smile. "There was much debate about that Statute among the Valar," he said. "In the end, we allowed it to stand, though we thought it the... Lower Road. Much sorrow may have been avoided had Finwë abided in Hope rather than seek another way. Yet, had he done so, child, neither you nor your atar would be alive today."

Finrod paled at that and Námo continued relentlessly. "We deplored the necessity of the decision but recognized that while we might in counsel point to the Higher Road we could not compel any free creature to walk upon it. This is certainly the case here. Lady Calalindalë and Lord Vorondil were meant to marry and bring forth children. That did not happen and so we are left with the consequences of oaths broken and trust betrayed."

"Meaning, me," Vorondil said in a bleak whisper.

If he hoped Námo would repudiate his words, his hope was in vain. Námo nodded, giving the ellon a sympathetic look. "Yes. Meaning, you."

"As interesting as this all is, my lord," Sador suddenly said, "what does it have to do with the fact that Vorondil attacked Findaráto?"

"Only that the Valar have not and cannot presume certainty with regard to the wills of you Children. It is our part to rule Arda, and to counsel you, or to command you in things committed to our authority. Therefore it is our task to deal with Arda Marred, and to declare what is just within it. Healing by final Hope is a law which one can give to oneself only; of others justice alone can be demanded."

"And for whom do the Valar demand justice, my lord?" Finrod asked, not sure if he approved of the Valar’s interference here, however obliquely done.

Námo’s smile was somewhat sad. "For all of you, child, else there is no point to this trial."

For a long moment Finrod merely stared at the Vala, then his eyes flitted between Vorondil and Aldundil holding onto one another and Calalindalë standing alone and imperious, though he sensed a frailty and uncertainty in her expression. Finally he nodded. "We will retire then and consult with our brothers before making our final decision in this matter," he intoned formally. "Let all await our pleasure."

Then he rose and without another word walked off the dais and away from all with Glorfindel and Sador beside him. Soon they were out of sight, heading for a small tent that had been erected away from the list field for Finrod’s use.

The only people who did not wait restlessly for Finrod’s return were Námo and the three Maiar.

****

Finrod, Glorfindel and Sador were gone for only about fifteen minutes. Their return was rather a surprise to many who did not expect to see them for some hours. The expressions on the ellyn’s faces were sober and gave nothing away. When they reached the dais and took their seats, Finrod crooked his finger at Vorondil, motioning him forward. The ellon came and stood before his Master, his hands clutched together, his features pale, his eyes full of fear.

Finrod spoke quietly but all heard him. "What you did was wrong, Vorondil, not just in attacking me, but in attempting to provoke me into slaying you. Whatever my crimes against the Valar or our people, kinslaying has never been one of them. I do not appreciate you attempting to make me into one at your expense."

He paused to let the words sink in and Vorondil looked suitably chastened. Finrod sighed. "Nevertheless, I can understand why you did what you did and it grieves me that you were driven to such extreme actions out of love of your atar. While you may be guilty of stupidity, I find you are not guilty of intent to do me harm."

There was a sigh that spread across the crowd. Aldundil closed his eyes and breathed a prayer of thanks. Vorondil merely stared at Finrod with an uncomprehending look. "I... I’m not going to be punished?" he asked in a whisper, not quite believing his luck.

Now Finrod, Glorfindel and Sador all smiled and Finrod chuckled. "I did not say that, child. I said I do not find you guilty of intent to commit bodily harm. You must still bear the consequences of your actions though."

"Wh-what will you do to me?" the ellon asked, swallowing nervously.

"I think a period of solitude and reflection would not be amiss," Finrod replied. "I fear that the events of the last week have perhaps not helped your... more excitable nature and I find that I cannot trust you around me at this time."

Vorondil’s face crumpled and he started weeping quietly. Finrod stood up and stepped down from the dais to take the ellon in his embrace. "This is not a permanent separation, child," he said not unkindly. "I think you need to learn more self-control and I do not have the time nor the patience to be your teacher."

"Where will you send him, aranya?" Aldundil asked.

Finrod gave his vassal a quick smile. "I hadn’t really decided that part yet, I’m afraid."

Hearing that, Ingwion stood up and went to stand at the railing of the gallery. "He can return to Lady Nienna’s with me, if you wish," he said.

Finrod looked back at his cousin in surprise. "I thought your time at Lady Nienna’s was over?"

Ingwion nodded. "So did I, but..." he stole a glance at Námo before returning his gaze to Finrod. "I have decided I need more time there myself. I will take Vorondil there when I leave if you so desire it. I do not think the Lady will object."

"No indeed."

All looked as Námo’s sister appeared beside her brother. "In fact, I insist. Vorondil should spend some time with me."

Vorondil looked uncertainly between Finrod and Nienna. Finrod nodded in agreement. "Then that is what will happen, Lady. Ingwion will bring Vorondil to you after the tournament."

"How... how long do I have to stay there?" Vorondil asked meekly.

Finrod gazed at the Valar, his expression uncertain. It was Nienna who answered. "You will stay with me, young Vorondil, for as long as I require your service."

"Service?" the ellon asked, clearly confused. "I thought I was being punished."

Now Ingwion laughed. "It almost comes to the same thing where the Valar are concerned, youngster. I would not fret over it. I’m sure your ‘punishment’ will be far less onerous than mine was." He flashed both Nienna and Námo a knowing smile and they gave him smiles of their own.

Finrod nodded, now looking amused. "Then it is decided, and Aldundil..." he turned to look at his vassal. "I said earlier that you would not be allowed to take your son’s place, but I think you might benefit from spending some time with Vorondil, just the two of you. If you wish and if the Noldóran agrees, I do not think you will be denied the right to join your son at Lady Nienna’s for the duration of his stay there."

"I have no objections," Arafinwë said, standing so all could see him.

"Nor do I," Nienna said. "In fact, I think it’s a wonderful idea."

Finrod nodded, looking obviously pleased and gave Nienna a short bow. "Then I will leave it for you to decide when Vorondil is ready to join me in Lórien." He gave Vorondil a quick hug and a kiss on his brow. smiling at the ellon. "In the meantime, I think we can leave you in your atar’s custody. Will that be acceptable to you, Aldundil?"

"Yes, aranya," the warrior said gratefully. "Thank you."

"What about ammë?" Vorondil then asked.

Finrod’s demeanor became grave again and he sighed, casting a glance at the elleth still standing apart from them all. "Your ammë is guilty of many things, but none that are within my purview to render judgment upon."

"In that you are correct, child," Námo said. "Yet, they are not outside my purview. Lady Calalindalë will spend some time with me, or rather with my spouse. Vairë has agreed to take her into her household for a time."

All saw Calalindalë sway in shock and Eönwë, being the closest, took her arm and steadied her. Finrod sighed, then nodded. "So be it."

Glorfindel then stood and spoke in ringing tones. "Valar valuvar. This Court is now ended. Let all depart in peace."

And they did, including Calalindalë, who suddenly found one of Lady Vairë’s Maiar standing before her. The Maia introduced herself as Therindë. In moments, she and Calalindalë were seen walking away towards the city where presumably the elleth would spend the night before making her way to Lady Vairë’s abode. Vorondil left with Aldundil and everyone else dispersed in groups of three or four, until only Námo and Nienna were left, the other Maiar having been dismissed.

"Well, brother," Nienna asked, "are you satisfied with how this worked out?"

Námo nodded. "As far as Justice has been served, yes. Healing, I’m afraid, will not come for any of them for some time, yet. I regret that this day had to even happen."

Nienna gave her brother a sympathetic smile as she put a hand on his arm to offer him comfort. "So do we all, pityaháno, so do we all."

****

Ammi: Plural of ammë: hypocoristic form of amillë: Mother. 

Pityaháno: Little Brother.

Namna Finwë Míriello: The Statute of Finwë and Míriel. [See ,‘Laws and Customs Among the Eldar’, Morgoth’s Ring, HoME X.] Parts of Námo’s speech are lifted directly from the debate of the Valar concerning this Statute with slight modifications to fit the context of the scene.

The title is taken from words spoken by Lord Manwë in this same debate:

"Neither must ye forget that in Arda Marred Justice is not Healing. Healing cometh only by suffering and patience, and maketh no demand, not even for Justice. Justice worketh only within the bonds of things as they are, accepting the marring of Arda, and therefore, though Justice is itself good and desireth no further evil, it can but perpetuate the evil that was, and doth not prevent it from the bearing of fruit in sorrow."

135: A Brief Respite

Vorondil and Aldundil followed Finrod back to the encampment to pick up Vorondil’s things. The five elflings, suitably subdued by the proceedings they had witnessed, were nevertheless eager to "help" Vorondil pack. Veryandur was somewhat tearful at the thought that he would be sleeping alone from now on, but Sador assured him that that would not be the case.

"I will move in with you," he told the youngster. "It’s getting a bit crowded in the other room anyway." He gave Finrod and Glorfindel a wink and they both smiled. That seemed to appease the child.

Perhaps only Sorondil, being the oldest of the elflings, fully understood what had been said at the trial; the others seemed to think that Vorondil was only going to be moving in with his atar for the rest of the tournament before they were all reunited again. Finrod decided not to disabuse them of that notion, especially where Veryandur was concerned. He was too tired and heartsick at the moment to want to deal with five distraught elflings. Instead, he took Vorondil and his atar aside for a moment and spoke quietly to them.

"I think it best if you stay away from the tournament," he said to them both. "I’m afraid it’s getting too intense for you, Vorondil."

"But, I want to see you fight, Master," the ellon said, trying to keep the tears at bay, "you and Glorfindel."

"As would I, aranya," Aldundil said quietly.

Finrod smiled. "There is no guarantee that Glorfindel and I will even fight, Aldundil," he said. "You know as well as I do that there’s always the chance that either of us will be defeated."

"Just as there’s a chance that Laurendil will start wearing his wife’s clothes, but I wouldn’t hold my breath on that one," Aldundil retorted with a wry smile.

Vorondil actually sniggered and Finrod chuckled. "Point taken," he said. "Very well then. You may both watch the fighting, but not tomorrow. I think it best you stay away for a day, take some time for yourselves." He gave Aldundil a meaningful stare and the warrior nodded. "Good. Now why don’t you say good-bye to the children, Vorondil, while your atar and I discuss a few more things between us."

Vorondil nodded and went to where the other children were waiting with his bag. They all gave him a hug, promising to visit him. Finrod, when he heard, agreed that they could all have lunch together the next day and that seemed to mollify them. Sador and Glorfindel also gave Vorondil hugs, much to his surprise, as did Laurendil and Manwen. He started crying again and Aldundil had to hold him for a moment until he could get himself under control. When the two finally left, it seemed to escape the children’s notice that they were accompanied by two Maiar.

Although it was only an hour or so before the dinner hour, Finrod stated that he needed to lie down and rest and asked the others to see to the elflings. Glorfindel and the other adults promised to keep the children away for a couple of hours so Finrod could have some peace and quiet and soon they all left to go "exploring", as Glorfindel called it, leaving Finrod alone.

****

It was after dark before Glorfindel and the others brought the children back to the compound. They had spent some time wandering through the encampment, the children fascinated by the blacksmith working on a sword and the tanner stitching up a pair of boots. They stopped and spoke to fighters and archers along the way and the children were beside themselves with delight when some of the warriors let them have a closer look at their weapons and armor. Then they went to the Leaping Frog for dinner. By the time they returned to the compound all five children were yawning; the events of the day finally catching up with them. None protested when Alassiel suggested they go to bed.

Sador was helping Veryandur get ready for bed and noticed that the child’s stuffed toy was nowhere to be found.

"Where’s Narmollë, Veryandur?" he asked as he tucked the ellon in.

Veryandur gave him a sheepish look. "I... I gave him to Vorondil," he confessed softly.

Sador sat on the edge of the cot. "Why did you do that?" he asked. "Will you not miss him?"

Veryandur nodded. "But I think Vorondil needs him more than I do right now."

Sador smiled. "That was very thoughtful of you, child."

Veryandur shrugged. "Vorondil’s my friend," he said simply.

Sador gave the ellon a hug and a kiss. "I’m glad to hear that, Veryandur. Vorondil needs all the friends he can get."

When he told the others about what Veryandur had done, they all smiled, though their smiles faded when they discovered that Finrod was not to be found anywhere in the compound and the guards had no memory of him leaving.

****

Vorondil had not bothered to unpack when he first arrived at his atar’s tent. It did not go unnoticed by either of them that all of Calalindalë’s personal effects were gone. Apparently, the Valar weren’t wasting any time getting her away. Aldundil felt a pang of guilt when he saw the tent empty of his wife’s things but put it aside to answer Vorondil’s question about sleeping arrangements.

"I’ll have another cot brought in as soon as I can find one," Aldundil said. "But we’re not going to be here that much longer I don’t think."

Vorondil shrugged. "That’s all right, Atto," he said with a grin. "I’m used to sleeping on the ground with just furs as a bed. The first night in Lórien, Master and I went camping."

Aldundil raised an eyebrow at that. "You’ll have to tell me about it, then."

They spent the next several hours talking about many things and sometimes weeping in each other’s arms, but eventually they were talked out and Vorondil began yawning, so Aldundil suggested he get ready for bed. It was as he was pulling out a nightshirt from his bag that he found Veryandur’s stuffed toy.

"What’s that?" Aldundil asked when he saw the toy, giving his son a strange look.

"Narmollë," Vorondil answered, "Veryandur’s toy. He never goes anywhere without it."

"What’s it doing in your bag?"

Vorondil shook his head. "I don’t know. Maybe... maybe he thought I might need it more than he."

Aldundil gave his son a hug. "I’m glad you have one friend who cares for you, yonya."

"But he’s an elfling!" Vorondil protested.

"And you’re not?" Aldundil retorted with a laugh.

Vorondil blushed. "I should give it back," he said.

Aldundil nodded. "Why don’t you wait until after the tournament? You don’t want to hurt his feelings if you return it too soon, do you?"

Vorondil shook his head and Aldundil gave him another hug. So for the first time in a long time, Vorondil slept with a stuffed toy nestled in his arm, a faint smile on his face. Aldundil spent some time merely gazing at his child, remembering earlier times, his heart full of love mingled with regret... and remorse.

****

Finrod slept for nearly two hours then decided to leave the encampment for the city. He donned his cloak but instead of leaving by the front entrance, he slipped under the cloth fence, deciding he simply didn’t want to have to explain to anyone where he was going. However, he hadn’t gone too far when he realized he was being followed and stopped. Turning around he found himself facing Mithlas and Gilvagor, both with grins on their faces.

"Can I do something for you, gentlemen?" Finrod asked, sounding rather imperious, not to say pompous, even to himself.

Gilvagor shook his head. "No, my lord, we’re here to do something for you."

"And that would be what exactly?" Finrod asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Guard your back," Mithlas replied.

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that. "I do not think that will be necessary."

"Glorfindel did," Gilvagor replied. "He asked us to keep an eye on you."

Now Finrod’s initial amusement turned sour. "He had no right."

"He was concerned for you, Finrod," Mithlas said quietly. "As are we."

"He also seems to know you better than you do yourself, mellon nîn," Gilvagor added before Finrod could speak. "He told us you might try to sneak away and suggested we station ourselves at either end of the compound just in case."

For a moment Finrod could only stare at the two ellyn in disbelief, then he scowled, shaking his head. "Glorfindel presumes too much."

"Which is a good thing where you are concerned," Mithlas said somewhat heatedly, then halted, realizing to whom he was speaking. Even in the flickering light of nearby torches they could see him blushing as he stammered out an apology.

Finrod merely shook his head. "Enough," he commanded quietly. "I place no blame on you. I don’t suppose if I ordered you to leave me you would obey?" he asked with a wry quirk on his lips and the other two chuckled.

"As you keep reminding us," Gilvagor replied, "you are not our king, so we’re not obligated to obey you."

"But I am a prince of Eldamar," Finrod retorted with feigned haughtiness. "Does that not count for something?"

Now the two ellyn laughed. "But we’re Tol Eressëan reprobates who have no use for Amaneldarin princes," Gilvagor answered, "so you lose on both counts."

Finrod sighed. "I’m only going to the city to visit my family. I doubt I can get into too much trouble between here and there."

"That may be true, my lord," Mithlas said, becoming more formal again, "but that isn’t to say you can’t get into trouble."

"And Glorfindel would have our hides if we failed in our duty towards you... and him," Gilvagor added.

"Very well," Finrod finally conceded. "Let us go then."

****

When they reached the palace gates, however, Finrod insisted that Mithlas and Gilvagor return to the encampment. "You both are fighting tomorrow," he pointed out, "and need your own rest. I will most likely remain here for the night, but even if I decide not to, the High King will provide me with a suitable escort."

Mithlas and Gilvagor were reluctant to leave, but not having much choice, they finally acquiesced. "I will let the others know where you are so they do not worry unduly," Gilvagor told him as they were leaving and Finrod thanked them both for their service.

Upon making enquiries, Finrod learned that his atar and amillë, along with the other royals, were just sitting down to a private meal. When he found them in the family’s private dining hall, he was welcomed gladly and invited to join them for the meal. It did not escape his notice that Ingwion was not with them.

"He refuses to speak to us," Elindis said softly, hurt in her eyes.

Finrod shook his head. "I better talk to him. I don’t want him brooding this night when he has to fight me tomorrow."

"Perhaps if we postponed..." Arafinwë began to suggest but Finrod cut him off.

"Nay, Atar. That would not be wise. Glorfindel wouldn’t let me back out of fighting. I’m not going to let Ingwion back out. I will speak to him."

He then piled some food on a couple of plates, put them on a tray and with a brief bow showed himself out in search of his cousin’s room.

****

"Ingwion, open up," Finrod demanded as he kicked the door with his boot, his hands occupied with the tray. "I’ve got a tray full of food that I’m about to drop."

It took a minute before Ingwion complied but finally the door opened. Finrod could see the ellon had been crying, his eyes red and puffy. He sighed and went inside, placing the tray on a table in the sitting room. There were no lamps lit here, the only light coming from the open doorway.

"This won’t do, Cousin," he said briskly and proceeded to light some tapers and stoke the fire in the fireplace. In the early spring night there was still a definite chill in the air and the fire was welcome.

Ingwion, meanwhile, had closed the door and simply stood there silently watching Finrod putter about. Once satisfied that there was sufficient light and heat in the room, Finrod turned to Ingwion and took him into his embrace.

"You need to eat, Cousin," he said softly. "I won’t have you fainting on me in the middle of our bout tomorrow."

"I’m not fighting," Ingwion said, sounding listless and drained of emotion.

Finrod stepped back to look at his older cousin. "Yes, Ingwion, you are," he said decisively. "Glorfindel wouldn’t let me get away with self-pity and I’m not going to let you get away with it either."

Ingwion just stared at Finrod, his expression bleak. "I miss him," he whispered and started weeping quietly, sounding desolate and lost.

Finrod sighed and gathered him into his arms again and rocked him. "I know. When Atar told me what happened I grieved for you all. I’m so sorry, otornonya, more than you can ever know."

"Why won’t Lord Námo..."

"Hush," Finrod interrupted. "There’s no point in questioning Lord Námo’s motives. If he hasn’t been released, it’s for a reason. You must take comfort in the thought that he is happy and safe and someday he will be returned to you."

Finrod held Ingwion for a while longer, giving him time to get himself under control. "Now, I’ve brought some food for us both. Even if you’re not interested in eating, I need to keep up my strength if I’m to beat you to a fare-thee-well tomorrow."

"Oh?" Ingwion drawled, his mien lightning. "Just where is it written that you will be the one doing the beating?"

Finrod grinned. "That’s more like it. A self-pitying Ingwion is not the cousin I know and love."

Ingwion shook his head, looking sorrowful again. "It’s been almost eight yéni, but it feels as if it were only yesterday. I should have died, too." He stopped and gave Finrod a searching look. "I think I might have gone slightly insane at the time. They couldn’t leave me alone for long. Atar even asked Lord Manwë for the loan of some of his Maiar to keep an eye on me. Everyone thought I would try to... to kill myself."

"And were you?" Finrod asked softly, full of compassion.

Ingwion looked down, not able to accept the love and understanding he saw in his cousin’s eyes. "I think perhaps I was, but I little remember that time, except for the... the emptiness inside me."

For a moment neither spoke, then Finrod hugged Ingwion again. "I have no answers for you, or at least, none that would satisfy you. I can only tell you this: I love you. There’s an entire room full of people just down the hall who love you if you will just let them. Don’t shut us out, meldonya. That is not what he would have wanted for any of you."

Ingwion nodded, not looking up. Finrod clapped him on the shoulder. "Come, let us eat and plot how we will amaze the fair people of Eldamar with our sword-fighting tomorrow."

Ingwion actually grinned. "I think they will accuse us of staging the event."

Finrod feigned shock. "They wouldn’t dare!" he protested in mock dismay. "Why we are the very soul of honesty and good conduct. I insist that we draw straws to see who gets to lose."

Now Ingwion was laughing in spite of himself and Finrod joined him. "Let’s eat and then I think I will take my leave of you. I had thought to stay the night, but I think I should return to the encampment so none can accuse us of collusion."

"They probably think that already, considering our familial relationship," Ingwion snorted.

"Well, in that case, I will stay," Finrod decided. "I think I would enjoy spending one night away from the encampment."

"I can see that your usual rooms are made ready..." Ingwion began but Finrod shook his head.

"I think I would prefer sleeping outdoors, perhaps in a tree. It’s been some time since I’ve done that."

Ingwion gave his cousin a jaundiced look. "Tree? You want to sleep in a tree? Why?"

"You’ve never done so?"

Ingwion shook his head, "Not that I recall, no."

"Well, I think it’s about time you did, Cousin," Finrod said decisively. "In fact, I insist. Let’s finish our meal and then we’ll go find a nice tree to sleep in."

So they quickly ate their dinner and then donned their cloaks. Stepping out into the corridor, though, they ran into Ingwë and Arafinwë coming to see them.

"Where are you two off to?" Ingwë asked, seeing them wrapped in their cloaks.

"We’re going into the gardens to find a nice tree to sleep in, Uncle," Finrod replied.

"Tree?" Ingwë asked disbelievingly.

"That’s what I said," Ingwion retorted with a small smile.

Finrod merely laughed. "It’s really very relaxing," he assured the High King, "and quite safe."

"Well, as long as you don’t fall out," Ingwë drawled with a wry smile.

Both ellyn gave him shocked looks as the two kings laughed. "We’ll see you on the morrow, then, híninyar," Arafinwë said, reaching over to give his son a hug and a kiss. Ingwë did the same for his own son.

Then with a wicked grin, Finrod grabbed Ingwion’s hand and started running down the corridor. "C’mon, Cousin," he said with undisguised glee, "there’s an oak tree with our names on it."

As the two ellyn disappeared around the corner, Ingwë started chuckling. "And he means that literally."

Arafinwë gave him a quizzical look.

"When you sent Findaráto here for a time when he was... what? Thirty?" Arafinwë nodded. "Anyway, I caught him one day carving his and everyone else’s name on one of the oaks in the lower garden."

Arafinwë evinced shock at that revelation. "Why wasn’t I told?"

"Well, he was suitably punished and the matter was dropped," Ingwë said, then gave his nephew a wry grin. "Though I’m not sure the tree ever forgave him."

Arafinwë snorted at that. "Well, if we hear a loud yell followed by a thump as they’re pushed out of the tree, we’ll know, won’t we?"

The two kings started laughing as they made their way back to their wives.

As it was, the night was quiet, save for the soft singing of a half-sleepy oak where two ellyn slept blissfully arm-in-arm.

****

Híninyar: My children.

Note on timeframe: Eight yéni equals 1152 solar years. The events to which Ingwion alludes occurred during the Time of the Darkening which began 1142 years previous to this story.

136: The Tournament Resumes

A light rain began to fall in the pre-dawn darkness, forcing Finrod and Ingwion to scurry inside, swearing at being so rudely awakened. A hot bath followed by breakfast helped put them to rights, though, and a couple of hours later they were at the list checking the ground with Glorfindel, and Mithlas, along with Eönwë and the two Marshals of the List who would be overseeing the fighting. By then the rain had stopped and the sun was beginning to dry the ground, but it was obvious that the fighters would be hampered by a muddy field when they fought later in the morning.

"Well, I’ve fought under worse conditions against orcs and such," Finrod stated to Eönwë and the Marshals, "so this mud won’t be a problem for me and I suspect it won’t be for Mithlas or Glorfindel." The two ellyn in question shook their heads. "But I don’t think Ingwion has had such an experience and it would be an unfair advantage for me to fight him under these conditions."

Ingwion stared at the drying mud and frowned. "We do not fight for another two hours," he said. "Surely the ground will have dried up by then, or at least more so than it is now."

"We could always postpone the fighting until later," one of the Marshals suggested. "We can hold the final archery contest first. It will not matter to the archers if the ground is muddy."

Mithlas, as the only archer in the group, shook his head. "I do not think I want to have to fight this afternoon so soon after fighting this morning, if that be my fate. I prefer to have a longer break between bouts. The archery will not take long. Indeed, from what I understand, it will take longer to set up the targets than it will take to actually do the shooting and determine who wins," he concluded wryly.

Glorfindel then gave Eönwë a cheeky grin. "I don’t suppose you could... er... dry up the field for us, could you?"

"But that would be cheating," Eönwë replied with a laugh, "and my sister Maia might take a dim view of my intruding upon her domain." He glanced up at the sky where Anar was sailing above the peaks of the Pelóri and they saw him smile and wink. Then he returned his gaze upon the elves, his demeanor more sober. "Very well, we will hold to the original schedule, but we will postpone the fighting for one hour to give the field more time to dry."

So it was decided. Ingwion bade them good-bye to return to the city, while the other three fighters returned to the encampment. Finrod stated his intention to stop at Aldundil’s tent to see how Vorondil was doing before going back to his own pavilion. Glorfindel decided to accompany him while Mithlas continued on.

"Have Alassiel double check my hauberk," Finrod ordered Mithlas, "I think there might be a link or two that is out of place. If so, give her a hand with the repair, will you? I haven’t gotten around to teaching her how to mend chain, yet."

Mithlas nodded. "I will, aranya."

Finrod and Glorfindel went on their way and soon they were approaching Aldundil’s tent where they could see Vorondil standing outside running a comb through his locks. They were still streaked with yellow and fell only just below his shoulders in length, but Finrod decided they didn’t look too bad. Vorondil apparently was not of the same mind for he was scowling as he combed his hair.

"It’s not as bad as it looks, yonya," Aldundil said as he came out of the tent and saw his son frowning at one of his dye-stained locks as he held it in his hand. "I think it’s rather interesting looking myself. Very distinctive."

"But you’re not the one everyone snickers at when they see you," Vorondil muttered darkly.

Aldundil gave his son a chagrined look. "And I didn’t help matters when I cut your hair."

"More like, hacked off, if you ask me," Finrod said with a smile as he reached the tent.

Both Aldundil and Vorondil looked up in surprise, not having expected to see Finrod that morning.

"Master!" Vorondil exclaimed, backing up so he was closer to his atar, his expression wary. "Why are you here? Aren’t you and Lord Glorfindel fighting this morning?"

"Yes, we are," Finrod replied with a smile, "but Eönwë has postponed the bout for an hour to give Arien time to dry the field up a bit more. I was on my way back to my pavilion but decided to stop and see how you two were faring."

Aldundil gave Finrod a short bow in greeting. "We are managing, aranya," he said softly. "I had thought to take Vorondil into the city while everyone is at the tournament and spend some time in the royal gardens."

Finrod nodded. "That sounds like an excellent idea."

"Go to the lower garden where there’s the fountain of Uinen and Ossë cavorting with dolphins," Glorfindel suggested. "It’s perhaps my favorite part of the gardens."

Father and son gave Glorfindel measured looks, then Aldundil nodded. "Thank you for your suggestion, my lord," he said formally. Vorondil merely nodded.

"Well, we’ll leave you then," Finrod said. "Vorondil, remember that you and the other elflings are having lunch together. Lady Amarië has agreed to host you. She has reserved a private parlor at the Bowman’s Rest, so you won’t have too far to go from the gardens."

"Thank you, Master," Vorondil said quietly, though his expression was still wary.

Finrod gave him a gentle smile and took him by the shoulders. "Do not be so despondent, hinya," he said softly. "You’re going to be fine, you and your atar both. I have every faith that it will be so."

"And ammë?" Vorondil asked hesitantly.

Finrod shook his head. "I do not know, Vorondil. I’m sure that Lady Vairë will do all she can for your amillë, but the rest will be up to her. I think you should concentrate on your own healing for now."

"But how can I... I mean, there’s no cure for what I am," Vorondil retorted somewhat disparagingly.

"And what are you?" Finrod demanded.

"A mistake," came the bitter reply.

The three older elves sighed almost as one. Finrod hugged Vorondil. "No, Vorondil, you’re not a mistake. Eru would never have permitted your conception if you were. What your parents did was a mistake, but that’s not the same thing. You are alive and if so it’s for a good reason. Trust that Eru loves you no less than he loves Glorfindel here, and you know how hard it is to love him, especially when he’s whining." He smiled and gave Vorondil a wink.

Glorfindel meanwhile gave them a put-upon expression."But I never whine, so I’m always lovable," he said with a sniff, then stuck his tongue out at Finrod for good measure. Both Finrod and Aldundil chuckled; Vorondil found it hard not to snigger a bit himself.

"You see?" Finrod said encouragingly. "It’s not as bad as you think it is. Now we must be going if we are to be on time for the tourney. I will stop by this evening and you can tell me how the luncheon went."

Both Aldundil and Vorondil gave Finrod a bow and then he and Glorfindel went on their way.

****

By the time the tournament officially resumed, most of the ground had dried but there were still patches of mud, so the fighters would have to watch their footing.

"Just makes it more interesting," Glorfindel said with a shrug as he and the other three ellyn were donning their armor.

Finrod gave Ingwion a glance. "Are you fine with this, Cousin?"

Ingwion nodded just as he was pulling his hauberk over his head. It was a couple of seconds though before he could speak. "I’m fine, Findaráto. I may not have had the sort of fighting experiences you and Glorfindel and Mithlas have had, but I had my share of fighting under less than ideal conditions during the Darkening."

Both Mithlas and Glorfindel gave the Vanyarin prince puzzled looks. "When was there any fighting here in Aman during that time?" Glorfindel asked. "Unless you’re speaking of the Kinslaying at Alqualondë, but you were not there."

Ingwion shook his head, his demeanor sober. "No. I wasn’t at Alqualondë," he replied shortly and the tone of his voice alerted Glorfindel that any other enquiries would be unwelcome.

Glorfindel gave Finrod a significant look, but Finrod simply shook his head and the matter was dropped. One of the heralds entered the arming tent just then to see if they were ready. Finrod assured him that they would be ready in another five minutes. The herald bowed and left.

As Finrod adjusted his sword belt he gave them a wry grin. "Well, my brothers, it seems this day will see which of us the Valar truly hate."

"How do you mean, Finrod?" Mithlas asked in puzzlement.

"He means," Ingwion said with a light laugh, "that if you beat Glorfindel in this round, you’ll never hear the end of it from him. And if you don’t, that means either Findaráto or I will have to fight him on the morrow. And whichever of us beats him, we’ll never hear the end of it."

"Assuming any of you can beat me," Glorfindel smirked.

Mithlas gave Glorfindel a frown. "So, should I lose on purpose so as not to be burdened by your whining for the rest of the Ages of Arda?" he asked, apparently in all seriousness.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, then gave him a mock scowl. "You do, Mithlas, and you will truly never hear the end of it... and I never whine! Tell him, Finrod, I never whine, do I?" He then gave them a pout and stamped his foot for good measure.

The others laughed. "Well..." Finrod drawled, "not to say never, but..."

He sidestepped Glorfindel’s lunge and had the pleasure of seeing his brother fall halfway through the pavilion’s entrance. As Glorfindel started to pick himself up, muttering imprecations under his breath, Eönwë walked into the tent, neatly stepping over Glorfindel as if he weren’t there. He gave them all a wicked smile.

"The fighting is supposed to happen outside this tent, my children," he said, giving them his best parental disapproval look which set them all blushing. The Maia nodded, obviously pleased with himself. "Now, if you’re finished playing with Glorfindel," he gave a sideways glance at the ellon still trying to get on his feet, "do you think we can get on with it?"

"Yes, my lord," Finrod replied meekly, reaching down to give Glorfindel a hand up.

The Herald of Manwë nodded, a small smile on his lips as he helped straighten Glorfindel’s surcoat, then handed him his sword belt. "Fight well... all of you," he said, sweeping his ancient gaze upon them before exiting.

The four ellyn gave each other meaningful looks, then Glorfindel held out his right hand, palm down. "Otornor," he said simply.

"Otornor," the others echoed as they laid their hands on top of his before following Eönwë out.

****

The mood of the spectators this morning was more sober than it had been all week. Yesterday’s trial had placed a pall on the festive air and their excitement was tempered by what they had witnessed, as much by the revelations concerning Lady Calalindalë, Lord Aldundil and their son, as by the revelation of seeing the three Reborn holding court. There had been much rethinking on the part of many during the night, remembering how regal even the Sindarin Ward of the Noldóran had acted. Until then, most of the Vanyar and not a few of the Noldor had made the erroneous assumption that the Sindar were little better than rustic kin, country-cousins without any finesse, let alone having a culture comparable to their own. That even one who was known to have been naught but a potter before his death could comport himself with such dignity as they had witnessed during the trial was something they had never imagined.

Yet, when the four fighters stepped out onto the field, such sobering thoughts fled when their children, who knew naught and cared less about such matters as weighed on their parents’ minds, began squealing and shouting with delight and excitement. The elflings’ mood became infectious and soon their parents’ moods lightened.

Eönwë’s introductory speech was very short, since by then everyone knew who the principle fighters were and what the outcome of this match would entail. Before the fighting could begin, however, Ingwë stood up and Elindis joined him. The High King then motioned for the four warriors to stand before him. He also requested that Aldarion and Gilvagor, who would be fighting that afternoon to determine who would take fifth place in the tournament, come forward as well. As they gathered before the royal gallery, Ingwë gazed on them with regal serenity, perhaps his eyes lingering slightly longer upon his son than upon the other ellyn, but not so much so that those who did not know him well noticed.

"Whatever today’s outcome," Ingwë finally said, "know that you have our deepest respect. You have all shown yourselves to be honorable warriors, a credit to us all. We who are the rulers of Aman salute you."

At that the other two kings and their wives stood and joined the High King and his Queen at the railing and as one they bowed deeply to the six ellyn below them. Then they stepped back to resume their seats amidst whispers of approval or scowls of disapproval among the spectators. Before anyone could move, though, Lord Manwë and Lady Varda then stood. The Valar, with their Maiar attendants, had returned to the tournament, taking their usual places. Manwë also looked upon the six ellyn with regal benevolence.

"What King Ingwë hath spoken, we Valar affirm," the Elder King solemnly proclaimed. "Ye who stand before us represent the best of what it means to be Children of Ilúvatar, whether ye be of Vanyarin, Noldorin, or Sindarin blood, whether ye be Once-born or Reborn, whether ye be of the Faithful or the Forgiven, ye have nothing but our deepest respect. We, too, salute you."

With that every Vala and Maia stood and bowed even more deeply than had the kings and queens. Now the silence was absolute and it was obvious looking at the expressions on the six warriors that they were in shock and unsure how to respond. Eönwë saved them the trouble of trying to come up with a suitable reply when he gave them a brilliant smile.

"Shall we play?" he asked laughingly and that broke the tension amongst them and the four who were fighting nodded enthusiastically while Gilvagor and Aldarion gave them all hearty hugs and best wishes for a good match.

Soon the matches began in earnest and the crowd was presented with the realization that these four were perhaps the deadliest warriors they would ever see. Their movements were economical and precise and the speed with which they fought was beyond anything most had seen.

Ingwë gave a sigh and glanced at Arafinwë and Olwë. "Do you think we’ll ever see Glorfindel fight for real?" he asked with mock displeasure.

Arafinwë grinned. "I sincerely hope not, Uncle. If that’s Glorfindel when he’s only playing," he said, pointing at the ellon in question, "I don’t think Aman would survive him fighting for real."

At that precise moment, Glorfindel swept his sword below Mithlas’ knees as if to cut him off, forcing the ellon to jump, stumbling slightly in the semi-dried mud, thereby losing his balance and falling flat on his back. Glorfindel placed his sword against the ellon’s neck, thereby ending the match. A roar of approval from the spectators resounded across the fields. Glorfindel then reached down and offered his hand to Mithlas. The two of them embraced and Mithlas must have said something funny because they all saw Glorfindel throw back his head and laugh, giving the ellon a hug and a kiss before the two of them made their way off the field after giving bows to the royals and the Valar.

Arafinwë gave Ingwë a wink. "See what I mean?" They all laughed, including Manwë, Varda and their Maiar attendants.

Fionwë turned to Olórin with a grin. "Did you ever think you would see that one acting like anything other than an elfling?"

"Well, I had my doubts on occasion," Olórin opined with a grin of his own. "But then I would just remember what Lord Námo told me when I first asked to be Glorfindel’s chief attendant once he was re-embodied."

"What was that?" Fionwë asked. The Eldar in the gallery were listening to the conversation between the two Maiar with unabashed interest.

"I reminded him that if even I could stop acting like a newly created ayanuz hopping from one star to the next in search of a good place to hide, there was hope even for someone like Glorfindel."

They all looked up to see Námo standing there giving them a wry grin. Manwë snorted and muttered something about still waiting for that day to happen. Varda and the Maiar all started laughing and Námo stuck his tongue out at Manwë, then joined in the laughter while the Eldar just stared at the Powers in bemusement, not understanding the joke.

"Well, at any rate, Ingwë," Námo continued, once the laughter had died down, addressing the High King, "I only came by to tell you that I will not be present for the archery or afternoon fighting. I have some... business to attend to but I will be back tomorrow to enjoy the show between Glorfindel and Finrod."

Ingwë gave the Lord of Mandos a skeptical look. "Do you really think it will come down to Findaráto and Glorfindel, my lord?"

As if in answer, there was a groan of disappointment from the crowd and they all turned to see Ingwion slip on some mud and fall to his knees, dropping his sword. Finrod stepped back, giving Eonwë a glance even as he held his hand up to forestall the Marshal who was approaching them. Then, he reached down and picked up Ingwion’s sword, handing it to him hilt first. Ingwion just stared at the sword as if he’d never seen one before.

"Take it, Cousin," Finrod said softly, though in the ensuing silence, all could hear him. "I’m not finished fighting."

Ingwion looked up at his cousin in surprise and then seeing the sincerity in Finrod’s eyes, slowly took the sword and stood. Finrod nodded in approval.  "When you are ready, Cousin," he said.

Ingwion glanced at Eönwë for confirmation, and the Maia nodded, the light of approval in his eyes assuring him. He then turned to Finrod, saluted him with his sword and the two began again. Those in the royal gallery exchanged looks of approval at Finrod’s move and settled in to watch the match with obvious pleasure. Ingwë found that it no longer mattered to him if his son won his match against Findaráto or not. He simply sat there and enjoyed watching the two cousins fight with consummate skill and rejoiced in the fact that Ingwion at least had Findaráto returned to him from the dead. He knew how much his son had missed his young cousin when Findaráto had left Aman.

The bout did not last all that much longer, but while it lasted it was a sight to behold and all were pleased with how it ended, for Ingwion finally conceded defeat when Finrod managed to strike his sword arm with the flat of his sword, causing the arm to go numb, though he only just managed not to drop his sword a second time. The two cousins then embraced and Finrod gave Ingwion the three kisses of the warrior, much to the delight of the Tol Eressëans who shouted their approval, though the Amaneldi were at a loss as to what the gesture meant. Arafinwë, in fact, had to explain its significance to the other elves in the gallery and they all looked upon the two ellyn with grave respect.

Námo, who was still there, turned to the royals with a smile even as Finrod and Ingwion walked off the field arm-in-arm. "May I offer my congratulations, Ingwë and Elindis, Arafinwë and Eärwen, for raising such wonderful ellyn. They are both proving themselves to be apt pupils beyond our expectations."

"You have our thanks, lord," Ingwë said with a bow of his head, answering for them all. "Elindis and I have had no reason to be anything but proud of our son."

"As are we," Arafinwë added sincerely. "Findaráto has come far since his return and we rejoice that we have him back again where he belongs."

Námo nodded. "I will leave you then," he said, then turned to Manwë, speaking more formally. "If I may borrow Olórin, my lord."

Manwë nodded and the Lord of Mandos and Olórin were gone. Then Varda spoke. "Now we have the final archery round to look forward to."

"Yes. That should be interesting to see as well," Manwë remarked rather blandly.

The Eldar noticed a knowing smile pass between the Elder King and the Elentári that they could not interpret. Ingwë looked at Arafinwë and Olwë with a bemused expression and the other two shrugged, as much at a loss as he.

Then the moment was forgotten as pages began circulating with refreshments and they all began dissecting the morning’s matches while various people in tournament livery scurried about readying the field for the archery competition.

137: Recognition

While the four fighters were removing their armor, Ingwion invited Finrod and Glorfindel to sit with him in the viewing gallery for the final archery meet.

"You’ve seen nothing of the archery at all, Findaráto," he said as he doffed his surcoat, "and I don’t think Glorfindel has seen anything of it except for the first round."

Glorfindel shook his head. "I think I watched a couple of the archers shoot and then left," he replied. "I ended up at the Leaping Frog nursing an ale. I just had too much on my mind to pay much attention to anything else."

The others looked at him with sympathy. Mithlas, who was nearly done undressing, smiled. "At least you can watch the final meet and afterwards I’ll introduce you to Turindil."

Both Finrod and Glorfindel gave the Sinda a blank look. "Who?" Finrod asked.

"The elf I told you about," Mithlas answered. "The one who seemed familiar but I couldn’t place?" Both ellyn nodded, remembering now. "His name’s Turindil," Mithlas continued. "Gilvagor, Aldarion and I have become his friends. He’s only recently been released from Mandos and is very shy."

The light of understanding brightened in both their eyes and Finrod nodded. "I would be honored to meet him." Glorfindel nodded in agreement.

"It’s settled, then," Ingwion said. "The Valar favor your arrows this day, young Mithlas. We’ll see you and your friend after the match."

****

The final test in the archery competition was somewhat unique. The previous morning, while the list was being readied for Vorondil’s trial, the six archers were taken outside the area to a nearby meadow that was perhaps four hundred rangar or so wide, bordered by trees. The archers were made to stand at a particular spot and, one at a time, were asked to shoot a single arrow towards the trees. As each arrow was shot, a length of hísilia, knotted along its length for measuring, was stretched out from the archer to where the arrow landed, the distance carefully recorded.

Now, as the six archers readied themselves for this final match, the marshals were carefully measuring out certain lengths along the area where the shooting would take place. At certain points along the length of the rope a small colored pennant was placed in the ground, no two pennants the same color. There were actually four such pennants placed: red, yellow, green and blue. Once that was done then a target was put next to the first pennant. This target had a single malinornë leaf placed in the exact center. The leaf had been carefully measured and its center marked by a blob of red paint.

Each pennant represented the length at which one of the archers’ arrows had landed in the meadow the previous day. The red pennant represented Elemmirë’s and Marilla’s arrows. Their arrows had landed close enough together that the judges deemed it fair for them to shoot at the same target. The yellow pennant represented the arrows shot by Gilvagor and Aldarion, who again were deemed close enough in skill to warrant having them shoot at the same target. Mithlas would shoot at the target from the green pennant and Turindil would shoot at the target situated at the blue pennant. The targets were therefore set at the extreme distance that a particular archer could easily shoot and expect to hit something. Each archer was allowed two arrows. The first arrow would be for practice only, to allow the shooter to gauge the distance more correctly and would not count. The aim was to come as close to the center of the malinornë leaf as possible. If by chance two or more archers managed to hit the exact center of their leaf, then the next item placed on the target for them to shoot at would be a silver disc that would be half the diameter of the leaf.

Ingwion, Finrod and Glorfindel made their way to the viewing gallery, giving the royals and the Valar their obeisance while everyone congratulated Ingwion for placing fourth in the competition. The three ellyn sat together on the other side of Eärwen in the front row, chatting easily among themselves and ignoring the others as they accepted goblets of wine and pastries offered to them by one of the pages on duty. The others in the gallery watched with amusement as Finrod and Glorfindel attempted to teach Ingwion some curse words in Sindarin, muttering them under their breaths and giggling like elflings who know they are doing something naughty.

"No, no, Ingwion," Glorfindel said with a smirk. "That’s ‘pui-en-orch’," he enunciated the word carefully, "not ‘pweenorch’. There’s no such word."

Ingwion nodded and everyone could see him trying to say the word correctly, but it kept coming out as ‘pweenorch’ or something close to it and the three ellyn ended up in a fit of giggles.

"Sounds like you’re having a respiratory attack," Finrod proclaimed laughingly. "If you were an atan I would be seriously worried for your health."

That set them off laughing again. The older elves gave each other pleased looks at the easy camaraderie of the three ellyn, especially in light of yesterday’s events. The Valar and Maiar looked equally pleased and smiled benevolently on them all.

Then it was time for the archery contest to begin. The six archers made their way towards the starting place as Eönwë introduced them and explained how the final contest would be done.

"That must be Turindil, then," Ingwion said, pointing to the silver-grey-haired ellon who was walking next to Mithlas.

No one noticed the shocked looks on Finrod’s and Glorfindel’s faces at first. Then Glorfindel stood up abruptly and the intensity of his gaze alerted the others that something unexpected might be happening. "Finrod," he whispered, "is that..."

"BELEG!"

Everyone started at the sound of Finrod yelling, and then both he and Glorfindel jumped the rail of the gallery and landed at a run.

"BELEG!"

Turindil turned in surprise at the sound of someone calling him by his real name and when he saw Finrod and Glorfindel running towards him, he pushed his bow into Mithlas’ hands and began to run as well.

"FINROD! GLORFY!" he shouted as the three met and grabbing hands did an impromptu dance right then and there, laughing and crying and hugging each other. There were murmurs among the spectators and everyone could see Mithlas and Gilvagor staring at the trio of dancing ellyn in shock, for they at least recognized the name Finrod had shouted.

Ingwë and the other elves in the viewing gallery stood in amazement and befuddlement, not sure what was happening.

"I thought he said his name was Turindil," Ingwë said to no one in particular.

"That is the name he decided to use," Manwë said, "lest the other competitors become intimidated."

They all stared at the Elder King in confusion. Manwë merely smiled and said, "I think I’ll let Findaráto and Glorfindel explain."

By now the three ellyn had calmed down and were speaking to one another in rapid-fire Sindarin, ignoring everyone else, trying to catch up on each other’s news. Mithlas and Gilvagor walked over to them, their expressions still blank with shock. As they were approaching, the other three ellyn ceased their talking and waited for the two to reach them. When they did, Mithlas silently handed over Beleg’s bow and then the two Tol Eressëans gave him deep bows of respect, which confused the Amaneldi looking on even more. They watched as the silver-grey-haired ellon gave Finrod his bow then give Mithlas and then Gilvagor a hug. None could hear what was said between them but finally there were nods and glad smiles all around. Beleg retrieved his bow and he, Mithlas and Gilvagor returned to where the other three archers still stood. Finrod and Glorfindel made their way back to the gallery where everyone gave them enquiring looks.

"Friend of yours?" Ingwë asked with a quirk of a smile.

Finrod and Glorfindel both nodded. "We played with one another in Mandos," Finrod said matter-of-factly as he took his seat, but would say no more and the others had to be content.

Meanwhile, several people in the stands, all of them Tol Eressëans, were attempting to reach the field. At a silent command from Manwë several Maiar appeared quite suddenly, gently but firmly ordering the elves to return to their seats. They did so with much reluctance and disappointment. Even Sador had started to cross the field and had been stopped by a Maia, who was patiently listening to the ellon arguing and pointing towards the viewing gallery. Finally, the Maia relented and allowed the ellon to continue on his way. Sador gave the Maia a cheeky grin and a cheery wave to Alassiel and the elflings sitting in the stands and then loped across the field, taking the stairs to the gallery two at a time. He rushed past the Elder King and Varda, past Ingwë and Elindis and the other elves, never even acknowledging their presence, intent as he was in reaching his gwedyr.

"Is it true?" he asked, in his excitement speaking Sindarin. "Is that truly Beleg Cúthalion?"

Both Finrod and Glorfindel nodded but said nothing more. Sador sat down abruptly, his expression becoming distant as if he were chasing down a memory. "When we heard that he was dead, all of Doriath went into mourning. I... I heard that Thingol cursed the day Beleg found Túrin and brought him to Menegroth." Then his gaze focused on the present and he stared at Finrod. "Did you know him... I mean, before... in Doriath?"

Finrod shook his head. "I think I met him once, but being a marchwarden he was often away from Menegroth. I doubt if many of the people of Doriath even knew what he looked like."

"Mithlas..." Glorfindel started to say and Finrod nodded.

"He said ‘Turindil’ seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place him. I suspect that Mithlas knew of Beleg only by reputation."

"But who is he?" Ingwion asked in frustration, "besides a former playmate while you were all in Mandos."

"Túrin’s friend," Glorfindel stated categorically.

Sador’s eyes widened. "Even after what happened... he still loves him, doesn’t he?"

Finrod nodded, then turned his attention to the archery where Marilla was about to shoot. During their conversation they had missed Elemmirë’s shot and so did not know how well she had done. Already a new leaf had been placed on the target. Marilla’s first arrow fell short of the target by only a foot. She grimaced and they saw the elf now known to be Beleg Strongbow say something to her and she nodded before nocking her second arrow. Then she let loose and the arrow flew true, hitting the leaf, though not in the exact center. The archers all applauded and Elemmirë hugged her. Then they waited while the target was moved back to the yellow pennant and another leaf was put into place.

Now it was Aldarion’s turn. His first arrow hit the target just below the leaf, but his second went straight through the center. All saw Beleg say something that went unheard by the spectators but whatever was said sent Mithlas and Gilvagor into a fit of laughing while the two ellith turned bright red. Aldarion just stared at Beleg for a moment in shock and then he fell to the ground laughing hysterically. Beleg looked on with undisguised surprise. He gave Eönwë, who was standing nearby, a confused look. Everyone could see the Maia was trying hard not to laugh. Instead, he bent down and whispered something in the Sinda’s ear. Now everyone could see Beleg going white and then start blushing furiously. He appeared to be trying to stammer what must have been an apology, but the others waved it off. Mithlas gave him a fierce hug and Aldarion followed with a hug of his own.

Finrod, watching from the gallery, turned to Glorfindel and Sador with a laugh. "I think our newly Reborn Sinda just said something in Quenya he shouldn’t have."

Glorfindel snickered. "We’ll have to corner Mithlas or Aldarion and find out what he said," he replied with a wicked grin and Finrod nodded.

Sador, on the other hand, just shook his head, looking troubled. "I know how he feels. I wouldn’t want to embarrass him more than he already is."

Finrod gave the younger ellon a considering look, then leaned over and gave him a brief hug. "Then we won’t ask," he said quietly and Sador nodded, giving Finrod a grateful smile.

Then Gilvagor stepped up to the target and Mithlas clapped a hand over Beleg’s mouth and that set everyone laughing again. The spectators looked on with unfeigned interest, wondering what the Sinda could have said that had the other archers in hysterics. It took a couple of more minutes before Gilvagor was able to shoot. Both his arrows hit the leaf, but neither one hit the exact center.

It took several more minutes for the marshals to move the target further back to the green pennant and set it up for Mithlas.

"What do you know of this Beleg, Findaráto?" Olwë asked suddenly during the lull as the target was being set up.

Finrod turned to his grandfather and shrugged. "Not much more than that he was Thingol’s chief marchwarden, highly respected and loved by both Elu and Melian."

"What of his parentage?" Olwë asked.

Finrod shook his head. "Sorry, Anatar."

Olwë nodded and lapsed into contemplation, his brow furrowing in concentration. Glorfindel nudged Finrod to draw his attention back to the competition. By now the target was readied and Mithlas was stepping up to shoot. There was not a sound from anyone as all waited to see how well the Sinda would do. Already the target was at a distance that even the best Amanian archer would have found difficult to hit.

The first arrow sped towards the target and....

There was a resounding roar from the crowd for the arrow had hit true in the center of the leaf. Mithlas stepped back and there was a brief discussion between the marshals, Eönwë and Mithlas who shook his head at some question put to him and Eönwë nodded. When at that point the target was taken back to the blue pennant there was applause throughout the stands. Beleg clapped his friend on the shoulder and offered his congratulations before stepping up to the target.

Now there was a hush over the crowd as everyone practically held their breaths watching this mysterious archer. He nocked his arrow and brought the bow up, drawing back slowly and then he released. Before anyone could register the fact, he had his next arrow nocked and released within a second of the first arrow. The first arrow plowed through the target, hitting the center of the leaf and then the second arrow split the first arrow in half. The silence that followed that feat was absolute. Then Sador jumped up from where he’d been sitting and raised his hands above his head.

"Cúthalion!" he shouted, his expression one of near adoration.

"Cúthalion!" came the resounding reply from the stands as every Tol Eressëan stood and shouted the name out. "Cúthalion!"

The Tol Eressëans shouted the name over and over again and it was several minutes before there was order again. Meanwhile, Finrod had pulled Sador down and was whispering something in the ellon’s ear while the others looked on in bemusement. Manwë and Varda exchanged smiles.

Finally, the excitement of the spectators calmed and there was a discussion going on between Eönwë, the marshals, Beleg, Mithlas and Aldarion. What was being said, none could say, but at last there were nods all around and both Mithlas and Aldarion gave Beleg a brief bow. Then, the target was being moved back to the yellow pennant and now a silver disc, barely seen, was being attached to the target. Aldarion stepped up and carefully took aim. He would only have the one shot. Everyone heard the ping of the arrowhead hitting the disc but on close examination it could be seen that it had only grazed the upper edge of the metal rather than hitting true. Aldarion scowled but Beleg and Mithlas hugged him, attempting to mollify him as the marshals moved the target back to the green pennant.

Then it was Mithlas’ turn. Again, it was as if the entire world had gone still, holding its breath, waiting to see how the Sinda would fare. He nocked the arrow and was about to draw when Beleg stepped forward and laid a hand on the ellon’s arm. Mithlas looked at his friend in surprise. Then Beleg said something and soon they were both examining the arrow. Mithlas nodded when Beleg pointed something out and he reached for a different arrow, dropping the first arrow into Beleg’s palm. Now he stepped up again and released and there was a dull ringing sound as the arrow pierced the disc.

Everyone stood up and cheered. Beleg, Mithlas and Aldarion all hugged and then hugged Gilvagor and the ellith, before the six of them headed towards the viewing gallery. Ingwë raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Beleg isn’t shooting," he stated.

Manwë shook his head. "After that demonstration Mithlas and Aldarion agreed that he was the winner and this round was just to determine which of the two of them would take second prize."

As the archers approached the gallery, Ingwë and Elindis stood. The archers gave them their obeisance.

"We offer our congratulations to you all," Ingwë said formally. "You have given us much pleasure in watching you demonstrate your skills, but more importantly you have shown us your courtesy and your friendship towards one another and we are well pleased at this. May you continue to offer us an example of right conduct towards one another as you have shown throughout this competition. You have our deepest respect."

He and Elindis bowed and all the other elves in the gallery stood and followed suit. Then they stepped back as Manwë and Varda stood. The Elder King looked upon the six archers with solemn joy in his expression. "I will not repeat myself, for all that I have said concerning those who have been fighting in the list applies to you as well. You, too, have our respect, but more importantly, you also have our love."

He and Varda bowed to the archers and all the other Valar and Maiar followed them. Then, before anyone could say or do aught, Vána and Oromë walked across the field to stand beside Beleg, who looked upon them with equanimity. Vána smiled at the ellon, then looked up at the gallery, gesturing to Finrod and Glorfindel to join them. Sador and Ingwion came as well.

"Did I not promise you, child," she said to Beleg, "that there would be those who would greet you and welcome you home when they were able?"

Beleg blushed slightly, looking incredibly young for all that he was perhaps as old as Ingwion. "Thank you, Lady," he whispered.

Oromë then took Sador’s hand and smiled at his protégé. "And here is one who will be as a brother to you as well." He introduced Sador to Beleg and the former marchwarden of Doriath stared at the younger ellon, eyeing Sador’s single warrior’s braid.

"You... you are the grandson of Mallor, Lord Celeborn’s personal guard."

Sador nodded. "Yes," he said simply.

"He is also our gwedyr," Finrod then said, "as are you, mellon nîn."

"Gwedyr," Beleg sighed.

"And more than gwedyr," Glorfindel stated, giving the erstwhile marchwarden a hug. "Henair e-gûr."

Finrod nodded in approval. "Aye. Henair e-gûr," he echoed, then he hugged Beleg in turn. "Welcome back to Life, hanar nîn," he whispered in Beleg’s ear and the Sinda started weeping with joy. Finrod merely held him and rocked him gently. Then, Sador started to softly sing an ancient lullaby and soon Glorfindel and Finrod joined him while everyone else looked on with varying degrees of approval.

Thus the archery competition ended with a returned Beleg Cúthalion as the winner, followed by Mithlas, Aldarion, Marilla, Gilvagor and Elemmirë.

****

Rangar: (Quenya) Plural of ranga: a linear measure equivalent to a yard; actually 38 inches. Thus the meadow is about a fourth of a mile wide.

Hísilia: (Quenya) elvish rope, literally "mist-thread" [hísië (stem hísi-) + lia]. The Sindarin form is hithlain.

Atan: (Quenya) Man, human; the plural is atani. The Sindarin forms are adan and edain, respectively.

Henair e-gûr: (Sindarin) Brothers of the heart.

Note concerning Beleg Cúthalion: For those of you scratching your heads, Beleg was introduced in Chapter 3, "Return to Innocence". He, along with Saeros and Finduilas, was Glorfindel’s first playmate in Mandos after Finrod. There is no physical description of the marchwarden that I could find, so for purposes of this story, I have given him silver-grey hair, inspired by the beautiful painting by ilxwing which can be found at: http://ilxwing.deviantart.com/art/Beleg-64802998

Her renderings of Finrod and Glorfindel are also quite exquisite. Turindil, in case you’re wondering, is Quenya meaning "Túrin’s friend".

138: The Reborn Archer's Tale

It was Ingwë who suggested that they retire from the field as he and the other royals left the gallery. "There are many who want to greet you, child," he said, nodding towards where a number of spectators were attempting to leave the stands and cross the field. Several Maiar, however, were ranged around the small group by the viewing gallery, blocking their way, and their view. "However, I don’t think you’re ready for them just yet."

Beleg looked across the field and shook his head. "I still don’t remember much about my life... before," he said apologetically. "I fear I’m not very comfortable with people yet."

"Then why don’t we get you away from here, go somewhere quiet?" Ingwë replied.

"We could go to my pavilion," Finrod suggested. "The elflings will be in the city having lunch with Vorondil so we will have the place to ourselves but I’m not sure if I’d be able to keep them away," he nodded towards the crowd still milling about hoping for a glimpse of the famous Beleg Strongbow.

"Don’t worry about that," Oromë said. "My people will guard your compound and make sure you have privacy."

"Thank you, my lord," Finrod said with a short bow. "I appreciate the offer." He turned to Ingwë. "Shall we go?"

The High King nodded. "Yes, let us hence."

They made their way behind the gallery and headed for the encampment with Beleg firmly in the middle of the group flanked by the three high kings of Eldamar, Finrod, Glorfindel and Sador. Mithlas, and Ingwion acted as the vanguard, ensuring they had a clear path to their destination, while Gilvagor and Aldarion held the rearguard. As soon as they reached the compound, several Maiar, all in Oromë’s livery, appeared around the perimeter, effectively keeping everyone else out.

In short order they were all gathering around Finrod’s dining table. The queens and Lady Findis, however, declared that they would see to luncheon, and strolled merrily towards the kitchen tent giggling over something only they found amusing. Seated around the table were Ingwë, Arafinwë, Olwë, Ingwion, Finrod, Beleg, Glorfindel and Sador. Mithlas, Aldarion, Gilvagor and Valandur grabbed camp stools and the others made room for them. It was apparent to all that Beleg was feeling uncomfortable. The ellon would not meet anyone’s eyes. Finrod cast him a sympathetic look and put an arm around his shoulders.

"Be at peace, mellon nîn," he said comfortingly. "You’re among friends and more than friends."

"How long have you been out?" Glorfindel asked.

Beleg looked up and smiled shyly. "Only since the solstice. I think I came to Lórien near the end of summer, but..." he furrowed his brow, trying to remember.

"That’s all right, Beleg," Sador said. "I think we Reborn don’t have the same time sense as the other elves. I can never remember how much time passed while in Lórien myself. Sometimes I think I was there only for a few weeks, other times I’m sure it must have been several years."

Finrod nodded. "So it was with me. I would not concern myself with it. But if you left Lórien at the solstice where have you been living and why has no one recognized you?"

Beleg sighed and his expression was downcast.

"What is it, child?" Arafinwë asked from across the table. "Why are you so sad?"

Beleg didn’t answer immediately but when he did it was in a whisper, and he sounded lost and forlorn. "I left Lórien and there were several others who left with me. I... I walked through the Gate and... I could see the others who had gone ahead of me being greeted by family...."

Beleg was standing next to Lord Irmo, waiting for his turn to go through the Gate. It was a rather strange Gate, for a heavy mist seemed to wreathe it, making it impossible for him to see beyond it, yet all around was bright sunlight.

He looked up at the Vala when Irmo placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Irmo smiled down at him and Beleg nearly wept for the love and concern he felt coming from the Lord of Lórien.

"I want you to remember, my son," Irmo said, "no matter what you find on the other side of that Gate, you are loved. Can you do that for me?"

Beleg nodded. "Yes, Lord," he replied softly, clutching his few possessions to him, wondering why Lord Irmo was telling him this when he had not said anything to the other Reborn save to wish them joy in their reunions with family and friends.

Irmo patted his shoulder. "Good. Now, off you go." He gave the Reborn Sinda a gentle push towards the Gate and Beleg made his way through to find himself in another sun-filled glade.

All around were strange elves greeting the Reborn. He looked, hoping to see a familiar face, or at least hoping that someone would come and claim him, but no one did. One by one the other elves left, barely registering the fact that there was one lone elf standing by the Gate, looking lost and bereft. Finally, someone did come, but not an elf.

"Beleg."

The Sinda turned and gasped. Before him stood a Maia wearing the black surcoat with the Sun-in-Eclipse insignia of the Lord of Mandos. It was Calimo, one of the attendant Maiar in the Halls of Waiting. Beleg had to stop himself from stepping back. Calimo held out his hand.

"Come, child."

Beleg stared at the Maia with something akin to despair and shook his head. "I... I’m suppose to wait for m-my family," he whispered.

Calimo gave him a pitying look. "There will be none who will come, Beleg. Those who would greet you and welcome you are not in a position to do so yet, though they will be soon. In the meantime, you must come with me."

"Bu-but why?" he asked fearfully, clutching his bag of possessions even more tightly than before as if it could be a shield against what was to come. "I... I’ve done nothing wrong. Wh-why are you... s-sending me back?" Now he was weeping and the Maia made a tsking sound and wrapped him in his arms, gently rocking him.

"You’re not being sent back, child," Calimo said. "Why would you think that? I’m merely taking you to a place where you can stay until your friends can claim you, that’s all. Now, dry those tears and let us be away from here." The Maia gently wiped the tear streaks from Beleg’s face and gave him an encouraging smile. "I found someone who is willing to take you in. You’ll like him. His name is Vánandur and he’s a woodcarver."

Calimo continued to talk to him in dulcet tones, calming him, as he brought him away from the Gate towards a road that led northeast. Before Beleg understood what was happening, he found himself on a horse while Calimo continued to walk beside him telling him about some place called Eldamas that was near the city of the Powers. Beleg decided he was happy that he wasn’t going to be sent back to Mandos after all, but he wasn’t sure about the rest....

"I cannot believe that Lord Irmo would release any Reborn without there being someone to take them in," Ingwë said, shaking his head as Beleg finished his tale. "I find the thought of having anyone put in that position disturbing."

"What happened next, gwador?" Glorfindel asked, casting a glance at Sador, who was sitting white-lipped, remembering how he had had no one to greet him when he had left Lórien. Arafinwë reached over and placed a comforting hand on the ellon’s arm, patting it. Sador gave him a weak smile but otherwise did not speak.

"We came to Eldamas and Calimo took me to the home of Vánandur where I’ve been living ever since," Beleg answered. "He was very nice to me and let me help him around his workshop."

"And that’s where you’ve been all this time, in Eldamas?" Olwë asked.

Beleg nodded. "That’s where I learned about the tournament. Vánandur helped me find the right kind of wood and everything so I could make my own bow and arrows."

"Whose idea was it for you to enter the tournament and who thought for you to use the name Turindil?" Ingwë asked.

Beleg blushed slightly. "Lord Oromë."

"Ah...."

"He said it would be better if I left the name of Beleg behind," the Sinda added, then he looked down at his hands. "I... I thought because I couldn’t remember much of my life from before and no one was there to greet me, that perhaps I’d done something... bad." He looked up then at Mithlas. "That’s why Lady Vána was speaking to me when you found me. She was assuring me that that was not the case."

"How much of your former life do you remember?" Finrod asked gently.

For a moment Beleg did not answer. "I remember Túrin," he whispered.

Sador and Mithlas both closed their eyes at that and sighed, their expressions sad.

"Is that why you gave yourself that name?" Glorfindel asked.

Beleg nodded but otherwise did not elaborate.

In the ensuing silence Olwë leaned forward, gazing intently at the former marchwarden of Doriath. "Beleg, who are your parents?" he asked softly.

Beleg looked up at the Telerin King. "My father’s name is... Denweg," he replied hesitantly, as if unsure of the answer, "and my mother’s name is...is Olwen."

Olwë leaned back with a gasp, his face registering shock. Ingwë and Arafinwë also looked nonplused.

"Olwen!" Ingwë exclaimed as he looked between his fellow ruler and the Sinda, suddenly understanding. "No wonder he seemed familiar to you, my brother. Olwen!"

"Who’s Olwen?" Ingwion asked, looking as confused as the rest of them.

"My sister," Olwë answered, sounding distant, his face pale with shock. He jumped up suddenly from his chair and came around the table to stand behind Beleg, pulling him into his embrace. "My sister," he repeated. "She’s my sister."

The others could only stare at the King of Alqualondë standing there with Beleg in his arms, Beleg who was now revealed to be the king’s own nephew. The Sinda’s expression held more confusion than shock as he tried to assimilate what was being said around him. Just then, Elindis and the other ladies entered the pavilion with trays of food in their hands. The High Queen of Eldamar took in the tableau at a glance and gave her husband a considering look. "Did we miss something?" she asked somewhat archly and Ingwë began to laugh.

****

"Where are you staying during the tournament?" Olwë asked at one point during the luncheon. The mood had brightened somewhat when Ingwë explained to the ladies what had been learned about Beleg and Eärwen was introduced to her cousin. Now they were seated around the table still, enjoying some afters of fruit and cheese.

Beleg shrugged. "Master Vánandur gave me a small tent for my use but in truth I spend most nights in one tree or another." He blushed a bit as several eyebrows among the Amaneldi were raised. "The Nandorin guards don’t seem to mind," he said apologetically.

"Well, I don’t think that would be practical after today," Finrod said with a sympathetic smile. "Why don’t we have your tent brought here inside the compound and you can stay here with us? Even if you don’t wish to sleep inside you can sleep by the fire and no one will disturb you."

"I’ll ask one of the Maiar to bring your things here if you’d like," Glorfindel said, then gave them all a wink. "Might as well put them to use as long as they’re just hanging about."

The elves were rewarded by the sound of laughter coming from outside. Then Glorfindel found the empty fruit bowl upside down on his head, which set the other elves laughing. Beleg turned to Finrod with an easy smile. "I see Glorfy’s as cheeky as ever. Lord Námo’s punishments don’t seem to have made an impression on him."

"What sort of punishments?" Arafinwë asked with a frown and looked surprised when all four Reborn ellyn started laughing. He turned to Ingwë. "Did I say something funny?" Finrod answered before the High King could speak.

"Nay, Atar," he said, "not funny, just that we’ve all been there. Lord Námo’s... punishments are rather unique, to say the least."

"But what..." began Mithlas, but all four Reborn shook their heads.

"Not for us to say," Finrod answered, then turned to Beleg with a wicked grin. "But you are mistaken, brother. Glorfy’s learned many lessons, he just chooses to ignore them."

Glorfindel put on a disdainful air without bothering to remove the bowl from his head. "Boring things, lessons. They just get in the way of having fun."

Now they were all laughing. On that note, Finrod stood. "Well, as enjoyable as this is, some of us are fighting this afternoon and must needs go and prepare." He gave Mithlas, Gilvagor and Aldarion each a meaningful glance and the ellyn stood, though Mithlas did so reluctantly.

"I don’t know why I’m even bothering to get myself killed," he said with a scowl. "We all know who’s going to win."

Finrod frowned as well. "We know no such thing. I lost one match, I can easily lose another. Do not sell yourself short, Mithlas."

Beleg looked up from where he was sitting at his first friend among the tournament players. "It’s not a question of being beaten, mellon nîn," he said in all seriousness. "It’s making sure Finrod earns the right to fight against Glorfindel. Your fighting him assures that Finrod’s victory over Glorfindel, if it occurs, will come honestly rather than by default. Your fighting Finrod assures his self-respect before others and himself."

Mithlas stared at the silver-grey-haired Sinda for a moment and then smiled, bending down to plant a kiss of friendship upon Beleg’s cheek. "I am very glad we are friends," he said.

"And more than friends," Beleg replied with a smile of his own.

Ingwë nodded in approval. "We will see you in the lists, then," he said and the four fighters gave him and the others deep bows before setting off.

As Finrod and the others were leaving, Olwë turned to Beleg. "Tell me about my sister," he asked almost pleadingly and for the next half hour before they needed to leave for the tournament Beleg told them all he could remember about his parents and his life in Doriath.

****

Everyone, or at least all the Tol Eressëans, wanted a look at the famous Beleg Cúthalion. They were lined up on either side of the avenue of tents that led towards the lists hoping for a glimpse. Beleg went pale at the sight of them as they were leaving Finrod’s compound. Sador and Glorfindel took him by the arms and kept him steady.

"Easy now, Beleg," Glorfindel whispered in Sindarin, "they’re not going to hurt you. They just want a look at you."

"But why?" came the confused question.

"You’re famous," Sador explained. "Your exploits are known far and wide among those of Beleriand. I don’t think too many people were expecting to see you released from Mandos so soon."

"Has it been soon?" Beleg asked. "I don’t know why I was released when I was, only that Lord Námo said it was time."

"If he said so, then it must be true, whether you feel you are ready or not," Glorfindel said. "I know I was reluctant to resume a hröa again. I’d forgotten what it meant to have one."

All this time they continued walking past the crowd of people who did not attempt to reach for Beleg, but merely bowed or curtsied as the former marchwarden walked by. There were soft whispers of "Beleg" and "Strongbow" among the crowd but no one tried to start up a conversation with the Reborn archer. When they finally reached the viewing gallery, Beleg almost sighed with relief, for no one would be able to importune him there and he was left alone to enjoy the afternoon’s fighting.

Finrod, Mithlas, Gilvagor and Aldarion stepped out onto the field amidst cheers and shortly thereafter they were fighting. Whoever lost the match between Finrod and Mithlas would take third place. Gilvagor and Aldarion were fighting to see who would take fifth.

It was obvious, though, that most of the crowd were not there to see the fighting but to get a glimpse of Beleg and there were more people craning their necks to see inside the viewing gallery than there were trying to see the matches over their neighbors’ heads. That knowledge made Beleg nervous. Both Glorfindel and Sador had to reassure him that their fascination would ebb soon enough.

"They will latch onto any new thing, so long as it’s new," Sador said with sage contempt, "then forget about it for something else that is newer, or more interesting. Do not concern yourself overmuch by their actions."

"A rather cynical view, my young ellon," Ingwë said with a hint of disapproval in his voice.

"But true, nonetheless," Arafinwë retorted, coming to his Ward’s defense.

"I just wish I could remember why they think I’m famous," Beleg replied, sounding and looking frustrated.

"The memories will come, mellon nîn," Sador said sympathetically. "Take it from one who knows."

Beleg gave his fellow Doriathrin a considering look and then nodded. "Thank you," he said softly. "Your words restore my hope."

The two ellyn turned their attention to the fighting in time to see Mithlas give a stunning blow on Finrod’s shield that drove the prince to his knees. There was an audible gasp from the stands and then a sigh of relief when Finrod managed to regain his feet. Then the two of them went at each other with deliberate fury and it was almost impossible to follow their moves as they danced a deadly duet. Suddenly, all heard Finrod laugh and the sound of it was both wonderful and terrible in the joy it conveyed: joy of battle, joy of holding steel in his hands, joy of having a worthy opponent with whom he could test his skills. No one who heard that laughter was unmoved. One or two of the Amaneldi even fled from the stands, too overcome by the emotions that laughter, both darkly dangerous and gloriously lighthearted, evoked within them. Even Sador found himself on his feet unconsciously reaching for a sword that was not there. Arafinwë had to pull him down and hold him tightly as all watched the match between Noldo and Sinda continue.

It did not continue for very much longer. Suddenly the match was over with Mithlas lying on his back, his shield shattered, his sword flying towards the stands. Finrod stood there, calmly removing his helm and gazing at the stunned elf with almost a blank dispassionate look. Mithlas finally stirred and sat up and Finrod’s expression became gladsome as he reached down to help his friend up.

"Your Glassiel would be very proud of you, gwador nîn," Finrod whispered to Mithlas as he gave him a hug. "As am I."

Mithlas was too winded yet to answer, merely nodding and attempting to hold back unshed tears at Finrod’s words. The prince gave him another hug. "Come, let us retrieve your sword and see you to the healers. I want them to check your shield arm and make sure you did not suffer serious hurt."

Mithlas nodded again and the two of them walked arm-in-arm from the field, stopping only long enough to retrieve Mithlas’ sword before going towards the nearest healers’ tent where Laurendil and Manwen were already waiting for them.

Assured that the Sinda was well, the spectators’ attention was drawn to the other match still going on. Neither Gilvagor nor Aldarion could equal the level of skill and finesse evidenced in the fighting between Finrod and Mithlas, yet all could see that these two were evenly pitted against each other. If Gilvagor had perhaps a greater range of experience in fighting, Aldarion had learned much from Glorfindel in the weeks they had sparred together and that small knowledge was enough to tip the balance at the last minute when it looked as if Gilvagor would best the Vanya. Quicker than thought, Aldarion twisted his body away from Gilvagor’s well-considered thrust and at the same time was able to come underneath the Exilic Noldo’s guard, striking him with a "killing" blow.

There were cheers all about, especially from the Vanyar, glad that two of their own had won places in the tournament. Gilvagor and Aldarion hugged each other and all could see the two ellyn laughing over some jest or other as they walked off the field.

Manwë turned to the elves in the viewing gallery, his expression benevolent. "In spite of certain incidents," he said, "this has proved a most enjoyable event. We look forward to its conclusion tomorrow." He gave Glorfindel a brief, private smile, and then he, Varda and their Maiar attendants were not there.

Ingwë stood up then and smiled on them all. "I think this calls for a celebration, considering that our brother ruler has been reunited with kin he never knew he had." Both Olwë and Beleg blushed at that. Eärwen, sitting next to Beleg, reached over and gave him a heartfelt hug, which he returned. "Therefore, let us all adjourn to the city where we will have an impromptu feast."

Everyone cheered at that and Glorfindel volunteered to bring Finrod and the other three fighters to the city. Ingwë agreed. "Let us have Alassiel and those five elflings come as well. I fear my great-niece has been relegated to the status of nanny of late. I’m sure she would appreciate joining us."

In the end, Laurendil and Manwen were encouraged to come along as well when Glorfindel found them tending to Mithlas, whose shield arm had sustained some heavy bruising but nothing worse. Alassiel, when she learned what had been planned was thrilled and rushed to find a fitting gown to wear. The elflings were also excited, but Veryandur then balked at going when he realized that his friend Vorondil would not be there. Eventually, Finrod sent word by way of one of the Maiar to Aldundil’s tent instructing him and his son to don their best tunics and meet Finrod at the southern gate of the city. Father and son were naturally nervous but when they learned what the summons was about, Aldundil tried to bow out for them both, insisting that, under the circumstances, it would be inappropriate for them to attend the feast. Finrod demurred. Veryandur, refusing to take ‘no’ as an answer, grabbed Vorondil’s hand and physically began pulling him through the gate with the other elflings in tow. The adults gave each other amused looks, Aldundil shrugged resignedly and with much laughter they set off for the palace led by the six children.

If Ingwë was surprised to find the number of dinner guests increased by four, he gave no sign, merely ordering additional trenchers to be brought. Thus, on the penultimate evening of the tournament, the High King of Eldamar held a minor feast in honor of Olwë and Beleg. The night was merry with song and laughter.

Unseen, Námo and Irmo stood in the shadows of the hall, smiles wreathing their faces as they saw the one known as Beleg Cúthalion, former marchwarden of Doriath, late of Mandos and Lórien, be welcomed into the household of his uncle, the King of Alqualondë.

****

Note: Beleg’s parentage is purely noncanonical, as is the idea that Olwë, Elwë, and Elmo have a sister.

139: Day of Reckoning

The feast lasted only as long as the elflings were able to stay awake. Veryandur, in fact, was sleepily perched on Elindis’ lap and the older elflings were trying to hide yawns when Finrod decided that it was time for them to leave, though the night was young.

"The morrow will come soon enough," he said to Ingwë, "and unlike Glorfindel, I’ve had to fight twice today. I need some sleep if I’m going to be halfway competent in fighting him tomorrow."

So with some reluctance everyone bade the fighters good-night. Olwë wanted Beleg to stay with him but the Sinda demurred, saying that he needed time to come to grips with what had happened. "I spent the last three months thinking no one wanted me," he said quietly. "Now my friends have found me and... I have a family again. I need...." but what he needed he could not articulate even to himself.

Olwë merely hugged him and gave him a tender kiss. "Then you should go with your friends, hinya," he said softly. "When you are ready, I’ll still be here."

Beleg gave him a grateful smile and went to join Finrod and Glorfindel who were helping Sador and Alassiel herd the children away. Ingwë insisted that they be escorted back to the encampment and so they were. Eventually all were settled in their beds. Finrod and Glorfindel invited Beleg to sleep on the cot recently occupied by Sador who was now sleeping with Veryandur. He was reluctant at first, for he seemed always to have trouble sleeping inside. Even in Lórien he often ended up sleeping in a tree and in Eldamas Vánandur had finally fixed up a sleeping pallet for him on the roof of the house when, on the second morning, he found the ellon sleeping sitting up on the window sill of his bedroom.

"You don’t have to sleep with us, gwador," Finrod said, noticing the Sinda’s reluctance. "We can put some rugs down by the fire for you, instead. Do not feel you have to join us inside. We won’t be offended."

Beleg nodded and feeling somewhat stupid about it, decided he would like to sleep by his gwedyr after all. Glorfindel grinned and gave him a hug. Soon the three of them were nestled in their blankets, but neither Glorfindel nor Finrod were surprised when sometime in the night they felt Beleg stirring and slipping outside, dragging several blankets with him. The two ellyn gave each other knowing looks before returning to sleep.

****

Both Finrod and Glorfindel were up with the dawn, as were Sador and Beleg, whom they found tending the fire when they came out of the pavilion. They had a light breakfast of hot tea, bread and cheese, then they made their way to the single arming tent that was still up, the other one having been taken down a couple of days earlier. Waiting inside the tent were two bathing tubs steaming with water. Finrod had made arrangements the day before with Ingwë and all was in readiness for the two champions as they prepared for the final battle of the tournament. If Glorfindel won the morning’s match, the tourney would be over, otherwise, the championship would be decided with the afternoon’s match.

When the four ellyn entered the tent, though, they stopped in surprise, for they found, not Ingwë’s people awaiting them, but Lord Irmo and Lord Námo, both dressed in matching robes. Irmo was dressed in an ankle-length tunic of soft suede bleached white. The openings of the sleeves were wide and underneath he wore a shirt of white lawn with the cuffs gathered at the wrist by ties. The cuffs, hem and placket of the tunic were embroidered with an intricate knotwork design in scarlet and gold thread interspersed with pearls. Over this he wore a sideless surcoat of white wool on which was embroidered his personal emblem of the rainbow.

Námo’s outfit was similar, except the suede tunic was dyed a deep midnight blue trimmed with a similar knotwork design embroidered with silver and gold thread interspersed with opals. His wool surcoat was dyed a greyish-blue on which his emblem of the Sun-in-Eclipse was embroidered.

Both Valar wore thin mithril circlets upon their heads, but only Námo’s locks were braided as usual.

The four ellyn bowed to the two Valar, giving them quizzical looks. Námo smiled at them. "Well, my children, so it comes down to this, does it not?" he said, speaking in Sindarin. He gestured for them to come all the way into the tent, which they did. He gave Beleg a considering glance. "Do you understand now, best beloved, why there was none to greet you at the Gate?"

Beleg nodded shyly, then frowned as he looked on the Lord of Mandos. "Why can I not remember more of my previous life, lord? Finrod, Glorfindel and Sador seem to have remembered much of their lives even before leaving Lórien. I barely remember my own name."

Námo sighed and motioned for Beleg to approach, taking the Sinda into his embrace and rubbing his back in comfort. "I do not know, child," he answered. "Each Reborn is different. I only know that the memories will come when you are ready for them... and even when you are not." He pulled the ellon out of his embrace a bit to smile down at him. The warmth of the Vala’s regard and the obvious love and concern in his gaze comforted Beleg and the Sinda nodded.

Irmo then spoke. "Well, the day is wasting and this water won’t stay hot for long." He gave them all a brilliant smile and the four elves chuckled. Finrod and Glorfindel began divesting themselves of their clothes and soon the two of them were slipping into the tubs while Sador and Beleg busied themselves checking over their friends’ armor and weapons. Irmo and Námo sat in identical ornately carved chairs waiting for the two elves to finish their bathing, each holding a large absorbent towel.

When the ellyn were done, the Valar handed them the towels and then gave them freshly laundered breeches and shirts. When Finrod started to rebraid his hair, though, Irmo stopped him and silently led him to his own chair, while Námo did the same with Glorfindel. The two Valar then proceeded to braid the elves’ locks themselves, much to Finrod and Glorfindel’s embarrassment and secret delight. While their hair was being braided, Námo started speaking.

"Today, my children, will be a day of reckoning for many." He paused and his amaranthine eyes took in Sador and Beleg standing nearby. "Yours is not the only battle being fought here, and perhaps not even the most important. Nevertheless, what happens in the list today will determine much of the future of Aman."

Finrod frowned and glanced sideways at the Vala, careful not to move his head as Irmo continued braiding his hair. "How so, lord?" he asked Námo. "Will it matter which of us wins this tournament, or is it that whoever wins is a Reborn rather than a Once-born?"

Irmo it was who answered him. "It matters not who wins, child, yet it matters much." He smiled slightly at the identical looks of confusion on all four ellyn’s faces. "There is still much resentment against the Reborn, or at least against those of you who are Noldorin," he added. "It is not that it will be a Reborn who wins the tournament that will upset some people, rather it’s the fact that the winner will be one who rebelled against our Authority. There is still resentment in some quarters that we Valar have forgiven you your rebellion and have welcomed you back into our good graces."

"But we never wanted to be forgiven," Glorfindel said with all sincerity, "otherwise, we would have turned back when the opportunity presented itself. We never expected forgiveness and would not have been surprised if it had been denied us, simply because we knew we deserved it not, nor had we earned it."

Námo stopped braiding Glorfindel’s hair long enough to lean over and give the ellon a brief kiss on his forehead. "Forgiveness is not something you earn, child. It is something that is freely offered, like love. It is for you to accept it or not. It cannot be forced on you."

"But wasn’t it?" Sador suddenly asked. "I... I mean when we died?"

Námo gave the Sinda a warm smile. "And do you think you needed to be forgiven, child?"

Sador blushed. "Well, I am partly of Noldorin blood, so I thought..."

"It does not work that way, Sador," Námo said gravely as he continued with Glorfindel’s hair. "Your blood heritage has nothing to do with it. You and Beleg were always innocent of rebellion against us. Only those who left Aman without our leave were ever guilty of rebellion. Even the Noldorin children who followed their parents into Ennorath or those born there were ever deemed innocent."

"But the Noldor told us that we, too, needed forgiveness from you for having forsaken the journey west," Beleg said with a frown. "Though, I don’t remember feeling that was an issue when I... when I died."

Námo gave him a gentle smile. "Nor was it, not for you or for any Sinda or Nando who comes to Mandos. The Noldor, I’m afraid, projected their own sense of guilt and unease at what they had done upon you, little realizing or refusing to acknowledge the possibility that we Powers were well acquainted with the kingdom that our sister Melian forged with Elu Thingol. We’ve never truly understood why Eru permitted that union and its subsequent fruit in Lúthien. We only know that it was sanctioned by Him and therefore blessed by us."

"Yet, you refused to aid us until we were almost lost," Sador retorted, though not in anger, merely wanting to understand.

Irmo nodded. "So it would seem," he said with equanimity, "but in fact we needed to wait until you were ready to accept our help. Turgon’s attempts to reach us, for instance, were done, not because he truly wished for our aid, but because he feared the loss of his kingdom and wanted us to save it for him."

"Eärendil, on the other hand," Námo picked up the narrative, "came to us in all humility in the name of both Eldar and Edain. Turgon and the others who sent emissaries to us were more concerned for themselves and none of them were truly interested in the plight of the Mortals who were their allies, only in keeping what they had for themselves above all else. Eärendil had nothing, and he was Peredhel, having the blood of both Elves and Men, so could speak for both races."

"So your help was contingent on us wanting to save not only ourselves but the Secondborn?" Finrod asked.

"Of course," Námo said, sounding somewhat surprised, as if the answer was obvious. "Remember ye the lies of Melkor concerning the Second Children of Ilúvatar?" he asked formally.

Glorfindel scowled and Finrod looked ashamed. Both Irmo and Námo gave him knowing looks. "You believed them, didn’t you, child?" Irmo asked Finrod, his tone gentle and sympathetic.

Finrod blushed even more and nodded. "At first," he whispered, not looking up. "But when I at last met Bëor and his people, I... I fell in love with them and knew only that they were a marvel to behold, like yet unlike unto the Eldar. The year I spent with them below the springs of Thalos...." his expression cleared and his eyes held only wonder.

Both Valar nodded. "Many of you believed Melkor when he claimed that we did not speak of the Secondborn to you because we wished to deny you your inheritance in Ennorath," Irmo continued. "You believed that we kept you in Aman so that we could control both you and the Secondborn more easily."

Námo gave Finrod a piercing look. "You, best beloved, left because of your love for Turgon. Both of you followed Fëanor into exile, not to exact vengeance upon Melkor, but to ensure that the Secondborn never supplant you and what you thought was yours by right, refusing to acknowledge that it was never yours to begin with anyway, but belonged to your Sindarin kin." Here he glanced at Sador and Beleg, giving them gentle smiles.

"Your saving grace, Finrod," Irmo said as he worked the last braid, "is that, unlike your cousin Turgon, you truly are not arrogant and you showed proper respect towards Elu Thingol and Melian, learning much from them. When you found Bëor and his people you welcomed them. Turgon, I’m afraid would not have and the three Mortals he did welcome he did so grudgingly, even Tuor."

"And what was true for Turgon was true for the others, as well, but more so, for all that they accepted the Secondborn amongst them," Námo continued. "That is why we waited until circumstances forced the Eldar, especially the Noldor, to recognize that without the Edain, your kingdoms would have perished much sooner."

"Nargothrond would not have perished at all if Túrin had not convinced Orodreth to build a bridge before the secret gates of my city," Finrod stated heatedly, "or so I’ve since learned from those who survived that disaster."

"Think you so?" Námo asked. "Orodreth may indeed have been foolish to listen to the words of Túrin, but the truth is, child, that Nargothrond would have fallen regardless. The only difference is, it would have been the last of the kingdoms to fall, not the first. Do not blame Túrin overmuch in this; much of the fault must lie with your nephew."

There was considerable silence then and Irmo sighed. "Well, we’ve gotten a bit off the track here. The point we wished to make is that today’s outcome will not be welcomed by all, regardless of who wins. Be aware of this in the coming days, weeks and months... all of you."

The elves acknowledged the Vala’s words with varying degrees of understanding. Both Finrod and Glorfindel frowned, while Sador simply looked sad. Beleg, on the other hand, looked confused.

The Valar finished braiding Finrod’s and Glorfindel’s locks. Sador and Beleg came forward then to help the two fighters with their armor, while the Fëanturi sat in their chairs and watched. There was little speech save for a quiet word or two among the elves. Finally, all was done and the former King of Nargothrond and the former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin stood before the two Valar in knightly splendor save for their swords, which the Fëanturi held in their hands. To the surprise of all four elves, the two Valar then knelt before Finrod and Glorfindel and belted their swords on them, Irmo with Finrod’s sword and Námo with Glorfindel’s. Then they stood and both smiled.

"I have no doubt it will be a glorious battle howsoever it ends," Irmo said and Námo nodded.

Just then, Eönwë walked into the tent and gave them all a profound bow, then straightened and looked upon the Valar. "My lords, the Elder King would have words with you."

"Thank you, Eönwë," Námo said with a nod of his head, then he looked upon the four elves. "We will leave you now, my children, with this last thought: I told Glorfindel that the primary goal for this tournament has not been realized, yet that is not strictly true. The camaraderie and genuine friendships that have been forged between the various competitors, whatever their race, cannot be disparaged and it gives us hope for the future of Aman. Yet, never forget that peace is fragile and the peace of Aman has been severely threatened on more than one occasion. Your task, today and tomorrow and all the tomorrows of your lives, is to help ensure that that peace is not destroyed again the way it was during the Darkening."

With those words, the Fëanturi left by way of the tent entrance while Eönwë remained behind. The Maia gave them all warm smiles. "We will begin whenever you are ready," he said to Finrod and Glorfindel. "It has been a pleasure to act as Herald for this tournament," he added. "I am honored to be witness to the grace and courtesy, brotherly love and regard which all of you have exhibited this past week." He gave them a bow and the elves bowed in return, though Sador gave the Maia a jaundiced look.

"I don’t know why you include me with the others," he said, "I didn’t compete."

Now the Maia laughed and the sound was gay and heart-lifting. "Nay, you did not, my young friend, yet yours was the greater task with the least amount of glory."

All four ellyn gave Eonwë quizzical looks and the Maia laughed again, clapping Sador on a shoulder. "You had the unenviable task of keeping watch over five rambunctious elflings. If anyone deserves a prize it is you and Lady Alassiel."

Now the elves laughed and Glorfindel said that if he won the tournament he would share the prize with Sador and Alassiel. Finrod declared that was a good idea and agreed to do the same if he won. Beleg just smiled smugly when the other three ellyn gave him expectant looks.

"I don’t share," he said, sticking his tongue out at them. "It’s all mine... whatever it is," he added with a hesitant shrug, suddenly realizing he had no idea what the archery prize was.

The others laughed and Sador said that sharing with Finrod or Glorfindel would be more than he deserved anyway. "Alassiel did most of the work," he opined. "I just stood around trying to look useful."

"Well, it was a very convincing act," Finrod said with a laugh and they all joined him even as they headed out of the tent.

****

As they exited the tent and walked towards the list, the spectators went silent. Sador and Beleg went over to where Alassiel and the elflings were sitting while Finrod and Glorfindel continued on. The two ellyn gave Ingwë and the other royals profound bows and then Eönwë announced them with great solemnity. There was an expectant hush as the two faced each other. In anticipation of a marvelous bout, the ropes dividing the four lists had been removed, allowing these two the entire field of battle for their match. They stood in the center, bowed to one another, and then raised swords and shields before them.

For a few minutes they merely circled each other, tentatively checking each other’s defenses. Suddenly, Glorfindel feinted towards the left then swung around to the right only for Finrod to come back into a guard position in time for Glorfindel’s sword to land with a dull thud on Finrod’s shield. Then Finrod came back with a blow of his own and the fighting began in earnest.

Sador and Beleg heard some of the spectators behind them placing bets on the match. Most of the bets seemed to favor Glorfindel over Finrod. Some of the betting was not even on who would win or lose, but on how long the match was expected to last. The two ellyn grimaced at one another at the mercenary attitudes of the spectators placing bets. They realized that however the match ultimately went fortunes would be won and lost this day throughout Eldamar.

Alassiel, equally aware of what was occurring behind them, frowned but otherwise said nothing to either Sador or Beleg. Indeed, her heart was somewhat torn, for, as Findaráto’s squire, she wanted to see her lord win, but she also wanted to see Glorfindel win as well. Lindorillë, sitting on one side of Alassiel, seemed to understand the elleth’s quandary, because she leaned against Alassiel’s shoulder and whispered, "Maybe they can both win."

Alassiel looked down at the younger elleth in surprise and, seeing the seriousness in Lindorillë’s eyes, smiled and gave her a warm hug. "That would be something wouldn’t it?" she whispered back. Lindorillë smiled widely and nodded.

By now, the two fighters had left the center of the field and were moving across it at a rapid pace. At the moment, Glorfindel was on the defensive, being forced back towards the royal viewing gallery by Finrod’s onslaught. It was apparent to those watching that Finrod hoped to pin his opponent, but Glorfindel realized his danger and was able to sidle towards his right a little at a time so that before they were halfway across the field it was now Finrod whose back was to the royal gallery, though Glorfindel continued backing up until he was ready to launch his own attack, which he did with lightning speed that left all there breathless.

The battle between the two ellyn was increasing in both speed and intensity. It was becoming obvious that, as brilliantly as Findaráto had fought over the last few days, he too had been holding back in both skill and power. Those who had fought their matches with the Prince of the Noldor sat there with mouths agape, realizing that had Finrod fought against them the way he was fighting against Glorfindel none of them would have lasted five minutes on the field. Ingwion, sitting between his parents, felt himself go hot with embarrassment as he came to that conclusion for himself, wondering if he truly had had a chance at winning against his cousin. He felt a hand on his right arm, but when he looked down, there was nothing there. Then he heard the Elder King bespeak him mind-to-mind:

*Do not disparage thyself so, child,* the Elder King said gently. Ingwion looked up to see that Manwë was not bothering to take his eyes from the match even as he continued speaking to Ingwion’s mind and heart. *Thou art no less worthy than thy cousin in all things. Rememberest thou this though: thy cousin’s skills were honed by war against the might of Melkor’s Maiar servants and other fell creatures of our Fallen Brother’s making. Thou hast not that experience, but thou hast no need to feel shame for that lack. We are well pleased with thee in all things. Take comfort in that thought if thou wilt.*

Only then did Manwë turn to look at Ingwion, giving the ellon a warm smile and a nod before returning his ancient regard upon the field of battle. Ingwion sighed and silently thanked the Elder King for his words, feeling a gentle, though invisible, pat on his arm. Then he turned his own attention back to the fighting, marveling at the speed and the skill of both contenders, appreciating anew what these two must have endured all those centuries ago in Beleriand, while he had remained safely behind, not just once, but twice. That thought brought a frown to his face and then he heard Manwë bespeak him again, though his words were tinged with exasperation.

*Thou art a difficult student, my son,* Manwë said. *If thou had not volunteered to return unto my sister for further lessoning, I would have sent thee there myself.*

Now Ingwion blushed again. *Forgive me, my lord,* he thought. *I fear I’ve been a trial to all mine elders of late.*

*Understandably so, child,* came the reply, *but let not such thoughts lead thee to discouragement. The reasons for thee not joining Arafinwë when the Host of Valinor went to the aid of Beleriand were sound then as well as now.* There was a slight pause before the Elder King continued. *Second guessing thine elders is never good for one’s health, anyway.*

This last was said with such drollness that Ingwion could not help but laugh aloud, quickly turning it into a coughing fit so as not to have to explain what he was finding humorous. Even as he accepted a goblet of water from one of the pages he noticed Lord Manwë smiling slightly, his point made.

Meanwhile, the fighting continued apace. Both ellyn had stepped back to give themselves a breathing space, though they never stopped circling each other, waiting for the right moment to attack again. The clash of swords on shields reverberated throughout the stands. Finrod’s elflings often clapped hands over ears or eyes. Vorondil and Aldundil, sitting nearby, were equally stunned at the ferocity of the fighting. Vorondil suddenly realized just how much fortitude and patience his master had exhibited towards him over the last several months and Aldundil was at last beginning to understand just who held his life in his hands. Aldundil put an arm around his son’s shoulders and Vorondil unconsciously nestled deeper into his atar’s embrace, never taking his eyes off his beloved master.

The fighting had been going on for some time now. Each ellon had scored upon the other but it looked as if Glorfindel might come away the winner after all, for he had managed to land more blows on Finrod that fell true and there was a palpable increase in excitement amongst the spectators as Glorfindel suddenly took the offensive and began to drive Finrod back. Where there had been almost respectful silence from the crowds until then, now there was scattered cheering from the stands. Sador took a quick glance behind him to where the bettors were still at it, noticing with a grimace the nearly predatory looks on some of the elves’ faces who were sure they were backing a winner. Beleg noticed Sador’s scowl and reached over and placed his hand on the ellon’s arm and squeezed it, offering what comfort he could. Sador looked at his new friend and visibly relaxed, giving his fellow Sinda a brief smile.

Then a shout of surprise from the elflings returned their attentions to the fighting just in time to see Finrod suddenly twist his torso away from what should have been the blow that would have ended the match in Glorfindel’s favor and then at the same time sweep his sword so that the flat of it struck Glorfindel’s legs, knocking the ellon sideways. In his attempt to recover his balance, Glorfindel was forced to drop his sword. Even so, he still fell on his side, the wind driven from his lungs. He rolled onto his back stunned.

There was complete silence from everyone as they watched Finrod rise from his crouch and stand over his brother. The prince removed his helm and all there could see him grinning down at Glorfindel as he negligently placed the point of his sword on the ellon’s chest.

Then little Veryandur suddenly started jumping up and down, clapping his hands in excitement and screamed, "Findaráto! Findaráto!"

At once the chant was taken up by the rest of the spectators and Findaráto’s name reverberated across the fields until even those who had remained in the city heard it.

Finrod ignored the cries of the crowd, bending down to give Glorfindel a hand up, followed by a hug. Then the two walked off the field with arms wrapped around each other even as the spectators continued to chant the Noldorin prince’s name.

****

Note: As stated earlier in this story, I do not follow the genealogy of the House of Finwë, as presented in The Silmarillion, with regards to Orodreth. Instead, I accept Christopher Tolkien’s statement that his father’s final word on the subject was that Orodreth was the son of Finrod’s brother, Angrod, and that Orodreth, not Fingon, was the father of Gil-galad, as well as Finduilas.

Appendix to Chapter 139: New Year's Tournament List

The following is a summary of the Tournament up to this point showing who fought against whom, and who won in each round.

Those with screen-readers, please scroll down to view a screen-readable format, which begins after a line of asterisks.

[Names that are bolded are the winners of that particular round.]

TINC0-LIST

Round One            Round Two            Round Three           Round Four                                                                                            

01 Glorfindel          09 Glorfindel          13 Glorfindel          15 Glorfindel

01 Calmacil              09 Ardamírë            13 Gilvagor              15 Mithlas                                                                                          

02 Ardamírë           10 Gilvagor            14 Mithlas

02 Finrod                10 Findegil               14 Aldarion                                                                                                                          

03 Findegil            11 Aldarion

03 Aldundil             11 Haldir                                                                                                                                                            

04 Gilvagor            12 Mithlas

04 Region               12 Cirion                                                                                                                                                            

05 Haldir

05 Valacar                                                                                                                                                                                      

06 Aldarion

06 Hallas                                                                                                                                                                                        

07 Cirion

07 Ingwion                                                                                                                                                                                     

08 Mithlas

08 Vëantur

****

PARMA-LIST

                                                                                       |----------------SEMI-FINAL ROUNDS--------------|

Round One           Round Two            Round Three          Round Four           Round Five            Round Six                                     

L01 Calmacil          L11 Haldir               Finrod                    L13 Gilvagor            Finrod                    L15 Mithlas 

L02 Finrod                  Finrod             Aldundil                         Finrod              Ingwion                         Finrod                     

                                                                                          [Game K]                [Game M]                  [Game N]                              

L03 Aldundil        L12 Cirion               Ardamírë                   L14 Aldarion            LK Gilvagor 

L04 Region                 Aldundil           Ingwion                         Ingwion           LL Aldarion

                                                                                           [Game L]                 [Game X]                                                               

L05 Valacar          L09 Ardamírë

L06 Hallas                 Hallas                                                                                                                                                         

L07 Ingwion       L10 Findegil

L08 Vëantur               Ingwion

|----------FINAL ROUNDS-----------| 

Round Seven             Round Eight

16 Glorfindel               L16 Glorfindel

16 Finrod                   W16 Finrod

*****

Placement:

1st :

2nd:

3rd: Mithlas

4th: Ingwion

5th: Aldarion  

**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Screen-Readable Format: (w) after a name indicates the winner of that particular match.

Tinco-List

Round One:

01 Glorfindel (w)

01 Calmacil

****

02 Ardamírë (w)

02 Finrod

****

03 Findegil (w)

03 Aldundil

****

04 Gilvagor (w)

04 Region

****

05 Haldir (w)

05 Valacar

****

06 Aldarion (w)

06 Hallas

****

07 Cirion (w)

07 Ingwion

****

08 Mithlas (w)

08 Vëantur

Round Two:

09 Glorfindel (w)

09 Ardamírë

*****

10 Gilvagor (w)

10 Findegil

****

11 Aldarion (w)

11 Haldir

****

12 Mithlas (w)

12 Cirion

Round Three:

13 Glorfindel (w)

13 Gilvagor

****

14 Mithlas (w)

14 Aldarion

Round Four:

15 Glorfindel (w)

15 Mithlas

**** 

Parma-List

Round One:

L01 Calmacil

L02 Finrod (w)

****

L03 Aldundil (w)

L04 Region

****

L05 Valacar

L06 Hallas (w)

****

L07 Ingwion (w)

L08 Vëantur

Round Two

L11 Haldir

Finrod (w)

****

L12 Cirion

Aldundil (w)

****

L09 Ardamírë (w)

Hallas

****

L10 Findegil

Ingwion (w)

Round Three:

Finrod (w)

Aldundil

****

Ardamírë

Ingwion (w)

Semi-Final Rounds:

Round Four:

[Game K]

L13 Gilvagor

Finrod (w)

****

[Game L]

L14 Aldarion

Ingwion (w) 

Round Five:

[Game M]

Finrod (w)

Ingwion

Round Six:

[Game N]

L15 Mithlas

Finrod (w)

****

[Game X]

LK Gilvagor

LL Aldarion (w)

Final Rounds:

Round Seven:

Glorfindel 

Finrod (w)

Round Eight:

L16 Glorfindel

W16 Finrod

****

Placement:

1st :

2nd:

3rd: Mithlas

4th: Ingwion

5th: Aldarion 

140: iQuild’ epë iRaumo

Glorfindel and Finrod disappeared into the arming tent and no one was allowed to see them, save for the Valar. Sador and Beleg in fact had rushed to the arming tent only to be stayed by a contingent of warrior Maiar ringing it.

"But they’re my brothers," Sador exclaimed in exasperation when Manveru told them that no one would be allowed in.

The Maia looked fondly upon the ellon and smiled. "Nevertheless, my orders stand," Manveru said, not unkindly. "For all that you wear a warrior’s braid, young Sador, you little understand what this match has cost your brothers. They need time alone."

Sador looked unconvinced and even Beleg appeared skeptical, but all thoughts of arguing with the warrior Maia fled at the appearance of Lord Oromë, who took both ellyn in his arms and hugged them.

"Hush, now, my little warriors," he said softly. "Let us leave your brothers to their own devices, shall we? I wish to speak to the both of you. Come, we will go and have something to eat. I understand my Lady has put together a veritable feast for luncheon. We should not miss that if it can at all be helped."

He smiled at them and gave them a wink. The two elves were at a loss at how to respond to that, so they merely allowed the Vala to lead them away without protest. They found themselves leaving the encampment altogether. Beleg recognized their destination as the same grove of trees where he had had his conversation with Lady Vána. Soon, they were among the trees and in a small clearing they found Lady Vána sitting upon a blanket with several tempting dishes spread before her. Sador and Beleg gave her a bow and then without further urging, sat with the Valar and began to eat. During the meal the two Valar asked what seemed to the two elves to be rather innocuous questions, mostly having to do with their hopes for themselves in the coming days and months.

Sador was still young enough in experience not to question the reasons for the Valar’s interest and Beleg, for all that he was ancient, was still too new to Life to be wary and answered as honestly as he knew how, though he admitted he had given it little thought.

"I barely remember my past," he said at one point rather wistfully. "I haven’t the strength yet to think of the future."

The two Valar gave him sympathetic looks. Vána reached over and stroked him gently on the cheek. "Do not despair, child," she said. "Take one day at a time. You’ll get there eventually."

"Sador will help you there, I’m sure," Oromë then said, giving the younger ellon a smile. Sador merely nodded, taking Beleg’s hand and giving it a squeeze. Beleg smiled shyly back.

"Now, who wants another piece of wild berry pie?" Vána asked, sounding like any ammë with a brood of hungry elflings.

Sador and Beleg grinned and held out their plates but Oromë got there first with his own plate, laughing at his beloved’s look of exasperation as she dished him out a slice. He gave Sador and Beleg a wink and the two ellyn found themselves laughing even as they accepted their own slices.

****

Arafinwë was also put out when he and Eärwen attempted to see Findaráto and Glorfindel.

"Since when am I not allowed to see my own son and the son of my heart?" he demanded rather angrily of Manveru.

The Maia resisted a sigh, really wishing that he could just take his sword and... well, that wouldn’t really solve anything, though it might make him feel better... for about ten seconds, just before Lord Manwë came down on him like a Valarauco in a bad mood. He nearly grinned at that image, but managed to maintain a neutral expression as he addressed Arafinwë.

"Forgive me, Noldóran, but I have my orders from the Elder King himself," he said. "If you have a problem with that may I suggest you take it up with him."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow at that. "Perhaps I will," he said rather haughtily and Manveru stopped himself from grinning outright, but only just. Truly these Children were hysterically amusing.

Manveru nodded respectfully and Arafinwë sighed, suddenly looking less the King of the Noldor and more like a worried atar. Manveru felt sorry for him, but his orders stood and he could make no exceptions.

"They are well, my lord," he said sympathetically. "Even so, they are both tired and Lord Irmo thought it best that they rest undisturbed until the afternoon’s bout."

"In that case," Arafinwë replied with all sincerity, "it eases my heart that the Valar are so solicitous of my sons and are looking after their welfare. Please convey my heartfelt thanks for their care." He gave the Maia a bow and left with Eärwen.

*Amazing creatures, are they not, brother?* Erunáro thought to him from where he stood nearby on guard.

*Yes,* Manveru said, *they are that. I rejoice that Atar saw fit to entrust us with them. They are indeed a great gift and I cherish them... even when they are most annoying.*

Erunáro laughed silently in agreement. *Yea, what would our lives be like without someone like Glorfindel to brighten our days?*

Now all the Maiar guarding the arming tent were laughing though any elf watching them would never suspect.

****

Alassiel was trying to herd the five elflings back to the compound for lunch, silently cursing Sador for deserting her again. She was supposed to be her cousin’s squire but so far she had done no squiring at all. Really, she might as well have just stayed in Lórien for all that Findaráto truly needed her. She was beginning to resent being relegated to the role of nanny. She was a member of the High King’s household, not a servant, after all.

She was still silently fuming when Laurendil and Manwen appeared as if from nowhere. She gave them a grateful smile. "I’m glad you are here. I am beginning to feel unappreciated and unwanted."

Manwen gave her a fierce hug. "Never that, my sister," she said. "Come, let us leave Laurendil to feed this brood while you and I go to the city and do some shopping. Lady Amarië left word with us through the High King that she will join us at the Bowman’s Rest for lunch."

Alassiel brightened at that and gave Manwen a grateful hug, never seeing the wink that passed between Manwen and Laurendil. She would never know that it was Findaráto who had suggested the shopping trip and luncheon to Manwen while Laurendil watched the elflings. Laurendil rounded up the children and announced that lunch was at the Leaping Frog to which they all cheered while Manwen led Alassiel away chattering about nothing of consequence, yet the two healers could tell that Alassiel already looked happier than she had been all week.

****

Aldundil and Vorondil were attempting to leave the stands when they were confronted by a group of elves, Vanyarin by the looks of them, although there were also a couple of Noldor in the mix as well. They did not look pleased to see father and son and Aldundil wrapped a protective arm around Vorondil, hoping that there would be no trouble. His son had suffered enough.

"You got off too easily, thrall," one of the elves snarled at Vorondil. "I little like Prince Findaráto, but no one should be allowed to attack a lord of the realm without being suitably punished."

"And what punishment would you deem suitable, Morinquar Alassardion?"

The elves all turned to see a Maia standing there, dressed in the livery of Nienna. He gazed upon them with mild interest, though there was a light in his eyes that cowed them, except Morinquar, who glared at the Maia.

"Death is the usual punishment," he declared.

The Maia nodded. "Yes. It usually is... but even Fëanáro did not suffer that for his attack on Ñolofinwë, his own brother. Do you not think the same mercy should be shown to this child?"

"A child who is an abomination," exclaimed one of the other elves. "His existence is a curse on us all."

Vorondil went white at the vehemence of those words and Aldundil had to hold him tightly to prevent him from collapsing. The Maia’s expression went dark and several of the elves quailed, taking a step or two back.

"No one is a curse," he said. "Vorondil Aldundilion is no less beloved by Ilúvatar than any of you. He is not an abomination and the manner of his conception is not something for which he can be blamed." The Maia paused and his expression went even colder than before. "Go now, all of you, before my Lord Manwë decides that you have breached the Sérë Valaron. He does not look kindly on those who flaunt the Peace of Aman. Lord Aldundil and his son are under the protection of the Valar. Seek to harm either one at your peril."

Such was the force of his words that the crowd melted silently away, many of the elves looking sheepish, even fearful, as if they suddenly woke to the fact that they may have been swimming in dangerous waters. When all were gone, the Maia turned to Aldundil and Vorondil and gave them a warm smile.

"I am Tiutalion of the People of Nienna, my children," the Maia said with a bow. "Fear not, all is well."

Vorondil gave his atar and the Maia a hurt and confused look. "Wh-why do they all hate me?" he whispered forlornly. "I... I said I was sorry."

Tiutalion took the ellon into his own embrace. "They do not hate you so much as they feel cheated," he said gently. "They were hoping to be entertained by watching you being humiliated before all and feel thwarted that your master showed you mercy and love instead."

"M-master..." Vorondil gulped. "He... he... I never knew he could fight like that."

Tiutalion looked down at the ellon with a smile. "Surprised you, didn’t he?"

The drollness of the question forced a giggle out of Vorondil and he visibly relaxed in the Maia’s embrace. Aldundil gave Tiutalion a wry look.

"I fear my son will forever be paying for my mistakes," he said softly.

The Maia shook his head. "Nay, child, that is not true. But come, let us away. My Lady Nienna bade me to see you safely to your tent. I will remain as your guardian until such time as you leave with Prince Ingwion."

Aldundil merely grunted at the news, but Vorondil looked troubled. "Does my master know?"

Tiutalion gave the ellon a smile and a gentle kiss on his forehead. "It was he who asked my Lady for the loan of one of her People so that you may enjoy the rest of the tournament unmolested."

Both father and son looked mollified by that. Aldundil nodded and gave the Maia a bow. "Then I am doubly grateful to my lord and Lady Nienna for their solicitousness," he said, then turned to Vorondil. "What say you, yonya?"

Vorondil gave his atar a grave look and then turned to the Maia. "Wouldst thou join us for the nooning, lord?" he asked formally, his voice shy and uncertain.

Tiutalion smiled warmly, giving Vorondil a hug and another kiss on the brow. "I would be honored, Little One."

Thus, two who thought themselves as outcasts knew now that their lord and master loved them and that even the Valar wished them well. By the time they reached their tent, Aldundil and Vorondil were speaking to Tiutalion as if they were life-long friends.

Nienna, helping her brothers watch over Findaráto and Glorfindel, smiled to herself as she observed the deft way in which Tiutalion handled the fragile fëar of these two Children, so in need of love and understanding.

"Yes, a useful Maia indeed," she muttered to no one in particular. Her brothers in the Thought of Ilúvatar exchanged knowing smiles which she deigned not to notice.

****

Finrod and Glorfindel had in fact intended to join their family and friends for the noon meal but found themselves thwarted by three Valar. When they entered the arming tent, they found, not only Lord Irmo and Lord Námo waiting for them, but Lady Nienna, as well. There were also two steaming tubs of hot water, which the two ellyn looked upon with gratitude, for they were both drenched in sweat.

When the Fëanturi indicated that they would help the ellyn to disarm and disrobe, the two elves balked. Finrod gave Nienna a polite but cool stare.

"Perhaps we could have some privacy, my lady?" he asked.

Nienna raised an eyebrow and smiled but said nothing, merely turning around and humming softly to herself. Finrod and Glorfindel exchanged glances. Glorfindel rolled his eyes and began divesting himself of his sword belt, throwing it onto a nearby cot. Finrod grimaced slightly as he followed suit. The Fëanturi had amused smiles on their faces, silently laughing at the prudish nature of their charges. They surreptitiously cast a glamour over the elves’ eyes so neither one was aware of the fact that Nienna had so positioned herself that she could see into a standing mirror that revealed all.

*You are very naughty, sister,* Námo laughed silently even as he helped Glorfindel with the lacings on his vambraces.

*I remember when they first came here, all wearing clothes,* she commented with a snort of amusement that only her brothers heard. *How strange they looked. I had to consciously remember to cover my hröa whenever I incarnated.*

*We all did,* Irmo replied as he handed Finrod a flannel to wash himself with after the ellon had slipped into the tub with a grateful sigh. *Until Ingwë, Elwë and Finwë showed up, none of us ever bothered with such things whenever we clothed ourselves in flesh.*

*You have to admit, though,* Námo added as he gathered up Glorfindel’s things and hung the armor up on its stand, *they are quite creative in the weaving and cutting of cloth into clothes. Vairë was most pleased when she saw that they had invented looms all on their own, crude though they were.*

The other two nodded as Glorfindel and Finrod stepped out of their tubs and began drying themselves off. The ellyn were surprised when, instead of breeches and shirts, the Valar handed them nightshirts.

"We think it best that you sleep for now," Námo said when they gave the Valar quizzical looks. "This last bout was quite strenuous and you will be fighting again in a few hours. Take some refreshment first and then lie down. We will waken you in plenty of time to re-arm."

The ellyn were rather reluctant at first but finally acquiesced, slipping on the nightshirts.

"Can I turn around now?" Nienna asked innocently.

"If you must," Finrod said with feigned annoyance, giving Glorfindel a wink as the two sat down to a light repast. Neither elf noticed the smug looks on the three Valar’s faces. A half an hour later both were sound asleep while the Fëanturi and their sister sat and watched over them, reminiscing about earlier times when the Eldar had first arrived in Aman, all innocent and wide-eyed with wonder.

****

When the royals returned to the list in the afternoon, they were joined by Amarië and Alassiel, as well as the elflings, Sador and Beleg. Laurendil and Manwen returned to their stations at the healers’ tent which had been turned into a sort of nursery as infants and small children were left in the care of healers with no one to heal and the occasional off-duty Maia while their parents enjoyed the tournament in peace.

Aldundil and Vorondil had also returned to the stands with Tiutalion, but now they were sitting close to the royal gallery. When Veryandur and the other elflings saw where Vorondil was sitting they insisted on being allowed to join their friend. All in the gallery watched the older elfling’s eyes light up with joy at the sight of the younger children. The surprised yet shy look on Vorondil’s face as he made room for Veryandur and Eruanna was poignant and more than one onlooker felt nothing but sympathy for the child.

Eärwen turned to Amarië as the elleth seated herself between her and Arafinwë. "We’ve missed you, my dear," the Queen of the Noldor said. "We wondered if we would ever see you again."

Amarië made a slight moue. "Ammë refused to let me attend the tournament," she answered. "She’s not yet forgiven Findaráto and me for our... subterfuge. I’m only here today because Atto realized what was going on and put a stop to it."

Eärwen patted the elleth on the arm in sympathy. "Well, I’m sure she’ll come around eventually, dear. After all, she has twelve years in which to get used to the idea. More than enough time, even for your amillë."

Amarië gave the queen a blank look then started snickering, a hand to her mouth. "Ammë doesn’t realize how close I came to climbing out my bedroom window and sneaking away to the tournament."

Arafinwë gave his soon-to-be daughter a wry grin. "And knowing your atar as I do, I wouldn’t be surprised to find he had supplied you with the rope."

Now Amarië started laughing and they all joined in.

"Look!" Beleg exclaimed, pointing. "I think the tournament is about to begin."

They all looked to where the Reborn archer pointed and sure enough, there were Findaráto and Glorfindel exiting the arming tent and heading for the list with Eönwë escorting them. They all sighed and unconsciously began settling in for what they were sure would be a most exciting match.

None of them, not even the Valar, could have predicted just how exciting.

****

iQuild’ epë iRaumo: "The Calm before the Storm". Quildë is elided; the word literally means "hush, rest, quiet".

141: Songs of Power and Glory

Glorfindel and Finrod reached the center of the list and gave their obeisance towards the royal gallery, then bowed to Eönwë. There were no introductions or explanations. Indeed, none were needed. All knew the stakes. The two ellyn squared off and gave each other bows before going into their en guarde positions.

As before, they circled one another, testing each other’s defenses and weaknesses. There was barely a sound from the spectators as they all watched, waiting for the first blow. It was not long in coming. Suddenly, Finrod swung his sword in a complicated pattern that the uninitiated found hard to follow though several Tol Eressëan warriors nodded in approval, and then Glorfindel was soon hard-pressed to block the sword as it came spinning down towards him. Not only did he manage to block the sword but he was able to land a blow on Finrod’s shield as the prince stepped back from the attack. Then the match began in earnest.

Ingwë, looking on, closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face. Elindis, noticing, placed a solicitous hand on his arm.

"What is it, my husband? Art thou ill?" she asked, her tone one more of surprise than worry.

Ingwë shook his head and opened his eyes, his expression rueful. "Nay, my beloved," he assured her. "I am well. I just need to remember to be careful what I wish for from now on."

Elindis gave her lord and husband a quizzical look which made Ingwë chuckle. "All week I’ve been hoping to see Glorfindel fight for real. Now that he is, though, I find that I’ve changed my mind."

The High Queen of all the Elves raised an eyebrow at Ingwë in disbelief, then rolled her eyes and sighed mightily as she turned her attention back to the tournament. "Neri!" she muttered in disgust and the other ellith sniggered in agreement, while the older ellyn gave each other sheepish smiles. Beleg and Sador, watching the exchange, looked at each other then shrugged almost as one before turning back to the fighting, being more interested in how their gwedyr were faring against each other than what their elders were up to. The Valar and Maiar sitting in the gallery looked on with amused indulgence.

Then the tenor of the match changed. It was a subtle change, barely noticeable, but every Vala and Maia suddenly became tense, though the elves were slow to notice. Varda was the first to respond, standing up with a look of disbelief in her eyes.

"What is he doing?" she whispered in shock.

Now, several things happened at once. Just as the elves began to realize that something was wrong and Ingwë was turning to Lord Manwë for an explanation, Lord Námo was suddenly there, looking grimmer than any of them had ever seen him. Beleg even cowered in Sador’s arms, afraid that he might have done something wrong himself and was about to be punished. Sador took him in his embrace and quietly assured the newly Reborn that all was well and not to be afraid. The other elves looked upon the Lord of Mandos in dread and wonder, but Námo ignored them all, his gaze intent upon Manwë.

"We need to stop this match now," he said without preamble.

"Do you know what is happening?" Manwë asked, appearing calm, though only the other Valar and Maiar knew what the effort to remain thus cost the Elder King.

Námo nodded. "Findaráto isn’t fighting Glorfindel any more," he said darkly. "He’s fighting Sauron. He’s reliving his final battle against our Fallen Brother’s servant."

Sador gasped, his face gone white. He was perhaps the only elf there who understood fully the significance of Námo’s words. The Elder King frowned. "Can we stop it safely?" he asked.

"It matters not," Námo retorted. "If we don’t stop...."

There was a scream from the stands and they all looked to see what was happening on the field. All heard Finrod singing, yet it was not a normal lay, but a Song of Power. Even as he sang the air around him and Glorfindel shimmered into incandescence. All could see Eönwë motioning the elven herald and marshal away as the Song continued, bespeaking of blood and treachery, trust unbroken and secrets kept. The spectators looked on in fear and wonder as suddenly Glorfindel laughed and began his own Song, a Song of glory in battle, of friendship and oaths unending.

In after years, Beleg, who would prove to be as excellent a bard as he was an archer, would compose a lay about this very battle:

     "Findaráto chanted a song of wizardry,

     of piercing, opening,

     revealing, uncovering,

     of secrets kept,

     and trust unbroken.

     Then sudden Glorfindel there swaying

     sang in answer a song of staying,

     of friendship dear, of oaths unending.

     Battling against power,

     the mighty Balrog-slayer revealed

     strength like a tower.

     Backwards and forwards swayed their song.

     Reeling and foundering, as ever more strong

     Findaráto’s chanting swelled, Glorfindel fought,

     and all the magic and might they brought

     of Eldamar into their words.

     Softly in the gloom they heard the birds

     singing afar in Lórien,

     the sighing of the sea beyond,

     Where Ulmo holds sway, on sand,

     on the pearlescent strands of Alqualondë."

Námo turned to Manwë, his expression bleak. "We cannot stop it now," he said. "It has gone too far beyond our powers to do so without endangering their lives or the lives of everyone else."

"What are you going to do?" Arafinwë demanded as he stood, his expression one of shock and anger. "What is happening to my son, to both my sons?"

"Peace, Pityahuan," Manwë said, raising a hand, not even bothering to look at the Noldóran, his entire attention on the battle. "All will be done that can be. If we cannot stop them, we must shield them and us from the Power they are evoking."

Then, none of the Valar or Maiar were there. In seconds the entire field was surrounded by the Powers and their servants, forming a ring around the still battling ellyn who paid no attention to anything but their duel of sword and song. As one, the Valar and Maiar raised their hands and all saw shimmering curtains of light in every hue rise from the ground before them until they came together to form a dome under which Finrod and Glorfindel continued fighting.

The elves in the stands watched in shocked silence. The sense of Power they had felt with the first notes of Finrod’s Singing was lessened with the shield, yet none were unaffected. Still the two continued to battle, and the Songs continued:

     "Then the gloom gathered: Glorfindel’s words brought forth

     images of doom, of darkness unabated,

     of Balrogs enflamed and orcs amassing.

      Findaráto returned with words of hope,

     of freedom, escape, of Angband shaken

     with the loss of a single jewel upon an iron crown.

     Light and Dark strove together,

     as Sun and Moon and stars of night

     were called forth as witnesses to the

     Mahtalë-nu-Telluma-Valaron."

All this time, Finrod and Glorfindel continued fighting with sword and shield, as well as with Song, lost in the memories of their final battles. Under the dome of light they battled on, heedless of all. Ingwë could see the expressions on the faces of the Valar and Maiar and the grimness of the light that shone from their eyes was enough to shake him to the core.

"What have we wrought?" he whispered in horror to no one in particular. None who heard the question responded, for there was no answer to give.

Then, almost as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. A crescendo of Song from both ellyn rose above the Shield and with it a Flame of purest Light appeared between them, spreading outward to engulf them both. Screams from more than one throat rent the air and then...

Nothing.

Silence reigned across the list as the spectators struggled to make sense of what they saw.

Amarië suddenly screamed. "Where are they? Where are they?" before fainting in Arafinwë’s arms.

All there watched as slowly the dome of light fell away to reveal more clearly the killing ground. When the final curtain faded into nothingness, Námo walked into the center and stopped. He looked down dispassionately at the blob of metal that had once been two swords, now melted into an unrecognizable slag of iron.

Of Finrod and Glorfindel there was no sign.

****

"Ah, Finrod?" Glorfindel asked, sounding suddenly young and frightened.

"Hmmm?" Finrod answered.

"Wh-where are we?"

The two ellyn stared across a wide meadow of wildflowers stretching towards a range of impossibly high mountains. The contours of the landscape were familiar yet they were not, for there was no sign of road or city or even the encampment. They were alone.

Finrod sighed and gave Glorfindel a rueful look. "That, hánonya, is a very good question."

TO BE CONTINUED IN

Elf, Interrupted: Book Two: Glorfindel’s Quest

****

Mahtalë-nu-Telluma-Valaron: Battle-under-the-Dome-of-the-Valar, the Shield that was erected to protect the elves from the Songs of Power being sung by Finrod and Glorfindel.

Hánonya: My brother.

Note: Much of Beleg’s Lay of Finrod and Glorfindel, (in Quenya, Lirilla Findaráto ar Laurefindilo; in Sindarin, Glîr Finrod a Glorfindel) is adapted from or inspired by Canto VII of the Lay of Leithian, which can be read in its entirety in the Lays of Beleriand, HoME III. Part of this Lay can also be found in The Silmarillion, Chapter 19, ‘Of Beren and Lúthien’.

Character List

Note: Numbers in parentheses refer to the chapter where a character first appears or is first mentioned even if they later appear in subsequent chapters. If a character is referred to by both their Sindarin and Quenya names, these are listed separately.

* - deceased (if a Mortal) or presently residing in Mandos

My sincerest thanks to Rhyselle for compliling this list for me. Words are not enough to express my appreciation.

 ****

Elves and Mortals 

Aegnor – *(mentioned) Finrod’s brother (13)

Aicanáro – (mentioned) Quenya form of Aegnor (13)

Alassiel Intaroniel (OFC) – Granddaughter of Ingoldo and Tinwetariel, daughter of Intarion and Lirulin (32)

Alcareru Lanyamo – Eruanna's father, a weaver (132)

Aldarion (OMC) – Junior member of Ingwë’s court, trained in the salle with Glorfindel (92)

Aldundil (OMC) – Vorondil’s father (OMC) (73)

Almáriel (OFC) – Amarië’s mother, spouse to Castamir (111)

Amandil (OMC) – (mentioned) Martandur’s last apprentice who followed Fëanor to Endórë (100)

Amarië – Finrod’s betrothed (13)

Anardil (OMC) – One of Tulcaner’s thugs who attacked Glorfindel and guided Vorondil to the hunting lodge (50)

Andreth – *(mentioned) Edain woman to whom Finrod spoke of the Eldar (28)

Angaráto – (mentioned) Quenya form of Angrod (13)

Angrod – *(mentioned) Finrod’s brother (13)

Arafinwë – High King of the Noldor, the Noldóran, father of Finrod, Aegnor, Angrod and Galadriel, son of Finwë, brother of Ñolofinwë (Fingolfin) and half brother of Fëanor, also called Finarfin, spouse of Eärwen (3)

Arafinwion – Son of Arafinwë, Finrod’s patronymic (27)

Ardamírë (OMC) – Vanya, fought against Finrod in the first round of the Tournament (118)

Arodeth (OFC) – Member of the Tol Eressëan delegation to Tirion, member of the Tol Eressëa Embroiderers’ Guild (26)

Artanis – Galadriel's Quenya name (14)

Artelemnar (OMC) – Reborn Noldorin vassal of Celegorm, participated in the Kinslaying of Alqualondë and in the Sack of Doriath, Glorfindel’s roommate in Lórien (11)

Axantur (OMC) – Master of Ceremonies of Arafinwë’s court (89)

Barahir – *(mentioned) Father of Beren, Finrod made an oath to come to his and his heirs’ assistance and gave him the Ring of Barahir, which eventually was passed down to Aragorn (25)

Beleg – *Glorfindel and Finrod’s playmate in Mandos, killed by Turin (3)

Bëor – *(mentioned) Mortal man, father of Barahir, grandfather to Beren, the first Adan that Finrod ever met (28)

Beren – *(mentioned) Mortal man, spouse of Lúthien, father of Dior, grandfather of Eluréd and Elurín (13)

Berethiel (OFC) – Gwilwileth’s best friend, assisted in plans to rescue Sador (66)

Bronweg (OMC) – (mentioned) Sador’s father, fate unknown (61)

Calalindalë (OFC) – Vorondil’s mother (73)

Calamandil (OMC) – (mentioned) Baker in Vanyamar, friend of Lindorillë’s father (126)

Calandil (OMC) – Chief guard in Arafinwë’s palace (13)

Calemmíriel (OFC) – *(mentioned) Sindarin name taken by Ezelmiril, Sador’s grandmother, killed in the sack of Doriath (61)

Calmacil (OMC) – Father of Elessairon. Fought against Glorfindel in the first round of the Tournament (34)

Castamir (OMC) – Amarië’s father, spouse to Almáriel (111)

Celeborn – (mentioned) Spouse of Galadriel, a prince of Doriath (13)

Celegorm – *(mentioned) Son of Fëanor, Artelemnar’s liege lord (11)

Celepharn – Sindarin form of Artelmnar (11)

Cemendur Mastano (OMC) – Sorondil and Lindorillë’s father, a baker (132)

Círdan – (mentioned) The Shipwright of the Grey Havens (130)

Cirion (OMC) – Sinda, fought against Ingwion in the first round of the Tournament, was one of Arafinwë's captains during the War of Wrath (118)

Denethor (OMC) – Nandorin ellon participating in the archery Tournament (130)

Denweg (OMC) – (mentioned) Beleg’s father, fate unknown (136)

Dior – *(mentioned) Son of Beren and Lúthien, heir of Elu Thingol, last King of Doriath, father of Eluréd and Elurín, killed in the Sack of Doriath by the Fëanorionnath (4)

Eärendil – (mentioned) The Mariner, son of Tuor and Idril, grandson of Turgon, father of Elrond and Elros, spouse of Elwing, Bearer of the Silmaril (1)

Eärnur (OMC) – Journeyman Lóriennildo, friend of Finrod (51)

Eärnur (OMC) – *(mentioned) Voronwë’s childhood friend, who died at his side at the Kinslaying of Alqualondë (20)

Eärwen – Finrod’s mother, spouse of Arafinwë, the Noldotári (13)

Ecthelion – *(mentioned) Lord of the House of the Fountain in Gondolin, Glorfindel's friend, dies defeating Gothmog, Lord of the Balrogs (92)

Edrahil – *(mentioned in author’s note) One of Finrod’s companions who died in Sauron’s dungeons, protecting Beren (13)

Elemmacar (OMC) – Quenya form of Gilvagor (26)

Elemmírë (OFC) – Fosterling to King Ingwë’s court, twin to Elessairon (31)

Elennen (OMC) – Teleri soldier who accompanied Laurendil to Kortirion to rescue Sador (66)  

Elenwë – *Spouse of Turgon, died during the trek across the Grinding Ice (3)

Elessairon (OMC) – Fosterling to King Ingwë’s court, twin to Elemmíre (31)

Elessoron Aranwion (OMC) – Ellon, Archery champion of the Winter Solstice Tourney, "Beloved Quingaráto" (95)

Elindis (OFC) – Queen of Vanyamar, spouse of Ingwë, mother of Ingwion and Indil (92)

Elmo – (mentioned) Brother to Olwë who did not come to Aman at the Summoning, grandfather to Celeborn (canon does not give details on Celeborn’s forbears) (15)

Elrond Peredhel – (mentioned) Son of Elwing and Eärendil, great grandson of Beren and Lúthien, twin brother of Elros (26)

Elros Tar-Minyatur – *(mentioned) First King of Númenor, son of Eärendil and Elwing, twin brother to Elrond Peredhel (109)

Elu Thingol – *(mentioned) Brother of Olwë and Elwë, ruler of Doriath, spouse of Melian, killed by dwarves over the possession of the Silmaril and the necklace of the Dwarves (11)

Eluréd – *Twin brother of Elurín, son of Dior and Nimloth, grandson of Beren and Lúthien, great grandson of Elu Thingol and Melian, abandoned in the forest at age 7 by Maehdros and Maglor’s Kinslayers (4)

Elurín – *Twin brother of Eluréd, son of Dior and Nimloth, grandson of Beren and Lúthien, great grandson of Elu Thingol and Melian, abandoned in the forest at age 7 by Maehdros and Maglor’s Kinslayers (4)

Elwë – (mentioned) Elu Thingol, King of Doriath, spouse of the Maia Melian (15)

Elwing – (mentioned in author’s note) Mother of Elrond and Elros, wife of Eärendil, daughter of Dior and Nimloth (11)

Ercassë (OFC) – Friend of Amarië, fosterling to King Ingwe’s court (25)

Eregil (OMC) – *(mentioned) One of Laurendil’s Dorthonion ranger scouts, tricked Laurendil into peeling and chopping onions for a stew (24)

Ereinion Gil-Galad – (mentioned) High King of the elves in Endórë (130)

Eruanna (OFC) – Elleth who tried to sneak into the tourney encampment, cousin to Oromendil (113)

Ezelmiril (OFC) – *(mentioned) Netilmírë’s daughter (16)

Fëanáro – *(mentioned) Quenya name for Fëanor, who created the Silmarils and rebelled against the Valar, leading the Noldor to Middle-earth, Kinslayer (15)

Fëanorionnath – *(mentioned) Sindarin collective name for the Sons of Fëanor (20)

Finda – Finrod’s childhood nickname (28)

Findaráto – Quenya form of Finrod (3)

Findecáno – *(mentioned) Quenya form of Fingon (78)

Findegil (OMC) – Sinda, fought against Aldundil in the first round of the Tournament (118)

Findis – Oldest daughter of Finwë and Indis (32)

Finduilas – *Glorfindel and Finrod’s playmate in Mandos, died when Nargothrond was overrun by Morgoth’s forces, Finrod’s grand niece (3)

Fingolfin – *(mentioned) Finrod’s uncle, died in Endórë (78)

Fingon – *(mentioned) Finrod’s cousin, died in Endórë (78)

Finrod – King of Nargothrond, Haryon of the Noldóran, gwador of Glorfindel and Sador (3)

Galadhonion (OMC) – Sinda who bet 3 bows that Finrod and Glorfindel would fight in the final match (126)

Galadriel – (mentioned) Finrod’s sister, married to Celeborn of Doriath (13)

Gilaneth (OFC) – Reborn Sinda on Tol Eressëa, can climb up but can’t climb down (26)

Gilvagor (OMC) – Member of the Tol Eressëan delegation to Tirion (26)

Gilvor (OMC) – (mentioned) Initiated Glorfindel into the Sindarin warrior society (25)

Glassiel (OFC) – *(mentioned) Mithlas’ wife, in Mandos (58)

Glorendil – Sindarin form of Laurendil’s name (26)

Glorfindel – The Balrog-Slayer, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, gwador to Finrod and Sador (1)

Gwilwileth (OFC) – Haldir’s wife (62)

Haldir (OMC) – Reborn Noldo on Tol Eressëa (62)

Hallas (OMC) – Sinda, fought against Aldarion in the first round of the Tournament (118)

Hallatiro Pelendurion – Quenya form of Haldir, son of Pelendur (90)

Helyanwë – Quenya form of Ninniach (61)

Húrin – *(mentioned) Mortal man, father of Túrin, captured by Morgoth’s minions at the Battle of Unnumbered Tears (89)

Idril – (mentioned) Daughter of Turgon and Elenwë, spouse of Tuor, mother of Eärendil, ultimate fate unknown (1)

Ilissë (OFC) – Veryandur's mother (132)

Indil (OFC) – (mentioned in author's note) Daughter of Ingwë and Elindis (32)

Inaglaurë (OMC) – Elindis and Ingwë’s grandson, twin brother of Ingaranel (95)  

Ingaranel (OFC) – Elindis and Ingwë’s granddaughter, twin sister of Inglaurë (95)

Ingoldo (OMC) – Tinwetariel’s husband, brother of Ingwë (32)

Ingwë – Ingweron, High King of the Vanyar, spouse of Elindis, father of Ingwion and Indil (31)

Ingwion (OMC) – Son of Ingwë, Haryon to Ingwë, friend to Glorfindel (34)

Intarion (OMC) – *(mentioned) Alassiel’s father, Lirulin’s husband, killed during the War of Wrath (36)

Itarildë – Quenya form of Idril (14)

Lassezel (OMC) – Vanyar lord that Vorondil attacked for grabbing Finrod, at the beginning of the tournament (105)

Laurefindil – Quenya name for Glorfindel (11)

Laurendil Rialcarion (OMC) – Vassal of Finrod in Middle-earth, captain of the Orod-nuin-elenath Company, Dorthonian ranger, apprentice Lóriennildo (23)

Lindórië (OFC) – Ingwë’s steward (74)

Lindorillë (OFC) – Elleth who tried to sneak into the tourney encampment, sister to Sorondil (113)

Lirillë (OFC) – (mentioned) Queen of Alqualondë, spouse of Olwë and mother of Eärwen (105)

Lirulin (OFC) – Alassiel’s mother (35)

Lómion (OMC) – Fosterling to King Ingwë’s court (31)

Lossellë (OFC) – Member of Arafinwë’s court, spouse of Pelendur, mother of Haldir (90)

Lótemalda (OFC) – (mentioned) Mistress of Pages in Arafinwë's court (122)

Lúthien – *(mentioned) Daughter of Elu Thingol and Melian, wife of Beren (13)

Macalaurë – Quenya form for Maglor, one of the seven sons of Fëanor (27)

Maedhros – *(mentioned) Son of Fëanor, lost a hand when rescued by Fingon from imprisonment by Morgoth (11)

Maeglin – *(mentioned) Betrayer of Gondolin to Morgoth (92)

Maglor – (mentioned) Son of Fëanor, fostered Elrond and Elros after the sack of the Havens at the Mouths of Sirion (11)

Mallor (OMC) – *(mentioned) Calemmiriel’s husband, Sador’s grandfather, killed in the sack of Doriath (61)

Manwen (OFC) – Laurendil’s wife, apprentice to Irmo and Estë (24)  

Mardillë (OFC) – Elleth of Arafinwë’s court, friend to Sador (90)

Margil (OMC) – Ellon at the Blue Dolphin Inn, watched for "reinforcements" for Netilmirë in Tavrobel after Sador’s kidnapping (65)

Marilla (OFC) – Vanyarin Elleth participating in the archery Tournament (130)  

Martandur (OMC) – Jewel smith in Vanyamar, owned the horse Glorfindel stole, Glorfindel’s master during the three months of his thralldom (95)

Meneldil (OMC) – Master Loriennildo, almost killed by Mithlas in a blood trance, arrogant (52)

Meneldur (OMC) – One of Ingwë’s court guards (123)

Menelgileth (OFC) – Mistress of the Tol Eressëan Weavers’ Guild, one of the plotters of Sador’s kidnapping (66)

Míriel (OFC) – Lóriennildë who counseled Glorfindel in Lórien (12)

Míriel (OFC) – Spouse of Martandur (96)

Mithlas (OMC) – Sindarin ellon who is a patient in Lórien, went into blood trance (52)

Morinquar Alassardion (OMC) – Vanyarin lord who accosts Aldundil and Vorondil at the Tournament (140)

Netilmírë Cemenariel (OFC) – Master of the Guild of Potters in Tirion, Sador’s great grandmother (16)

Niélë (OFC) – Elleth at Nienna’s home, making a design for a project for the Valië (83)

Nimloth – *(mentioned in author’s note) Wife of Dior, Mother of Eluréd and Elurín, killed during the sack of Doriath (4)

Ninniach (OFC) – (mentioned) Sador’s little sister, whom he died protecting, fate unknown (12)

Ninquelótë Manwendiliel (OFC) – Elleth, Sword champion of the Winter Solstice Tourney, "Beloved Macilarátë" (95)

Ñolofinwë – *(mentioned) Quenya form of Fingolfin (78)  

Olwë of Alqualondë – Finrod’s maternal grandfather, King of the Teleri of Aman (15)

Olwen (OFC) – (mentioned) Beleg’s mother, sister of Olwë, fate unknown (136)

Orodreth – *(mentioned) Nephew of Finrod, son of Angrod, father of Finduilas, ruled Nargothrond when Finrod left with Beren (26)

Oromendil (OMC) – Ellon who tried to sneak into the tourney encampment, cousin to Eruanna (113)

Pelendur (OMC) – Member of Arafinwë’s court, spouse of Lossellë, father of Haldir (13)

Pityahuan – Quenya, "Little Hound," nickname or epessë given to Arafinwë when he was apprenticed to the Elder King (68)

Rananur (OMC) – Journeyman Lóriennildo (58)

Region (OFC) – Fought against Gilvagor in the first round of the Tournament (118)

Rialcar (OMC) – (mentioned) Father of Laurendil, councilor to Arafinwë (23)

Rían (OFC) – (mentioned) Sador’s mother, fate unknown (61)

Rúmil (OMC) – (mentioned) Blacksmith in Vanyamar, friend of Lindorillë’s father (126)

Rúmilion (OMC) – Ellon of Arafinwë’s court, friend to Sador (90)

Russafindil (OMC) – Lóriennildo (59)

Sador (OMC) – Reborn Sindarin potter, killed in the Sack of the Havens at the Mouths of Sirion while protecting his younger sister, Glorfindel’s roommate in Lórien, Ward of the Noldóran (11)

Saeros – *Glorfindel and Finrod’s playmate in Mandos, his death is attributed to Túrin (3)

Sérener (OMC) – Guard in Ingwë’s court (95)

Séretur Samno (OMC) – Veryandur's father, a carptenter (132)

Serindë (OFC) – Elleth of Arafinwë’s court, friend to Sador (90)

Sorondil (OMC) – Ellon who tried to sneak into the tourney encampment, brother to Lindorillë (113)

Sorondilmë (OFC) – Jewel smith, cousin to Martandur (99)

Sorontor (OMC) – Chamberlain to Ingwë (31)

Súlimondil (OMC) – Insulted the Edain when Glorfindel had the flashback to the Nirnaeth Arnediad (121)

Súrendilmë (OFC) – Oromendil's mother (132)

Teleporno – Telerin Quenya form of Celeborn (16)

Tinwetariel (OFC) – Sister-in-law of King Ingwë, High King in Vanyamar (30)  

Tulcandil (OMC) – Chief guard at Valacar’s encampment (123)

Tulcaner (OMC) – Servant of Ingoldo, attacked Glorfindel (49)  

Tuor – (mentioned) Mortal man, Messenger of Ulmo to Turgon, spouse of Idril, son in law of Turgon, father of Eärendil, ultimate fate unknown (2)

Turgon – *(mentioned) Exiled Noldo, King of Gondolin, spouse of Elenwë (14)

Túrin – *(mentioned in author’s note) Mortal man, son of Húrin, friend of Beleg Cúthalion (Strongbow) (11)

Turindil – Name used by Beleg Cúthalion (Strongbow) in the archery Tournament (130)

Turucáno – Quenya form of Turgon (14)

Urundil (OMC) – Noldorin soldier who accompanied Laurendil to Kortirion to rescue Sador (66)

Valacar (OMC) – Fought against Haldir in the first round of the Tournament (118)

Valandil (OMC) – Noldo at the Gates of Reunion, awaiting his granddaughter’s release (13)

Valandur (OMC) – Findis’ husband, Ingwë's chief loremaster (34)

Vánandur (OMC) – (mentioned) A wood carver in Eldamas who took in Beleg upon his release from Mandos (136)

Vanyafindë Mancar (OMC) – Oromendil's father, a trader (132)

Vëantur (OMC) – Aldarion’s sparring partner in the salle (92)

Veryandur (OMC) – Ellon who tried to sneak into the tourney encampment (113)

Vorondil (OMC) – fosterling to King Ingwë's court, son of Aldundil and Calalindalë, thrall to Finrod (31)

Vorondil Herendilion (OMC) – *(mentioned) Calalindalë’s betrothed, Aldundil’s brother, killed in the War of Wrath (128)

Voronwë – Quenya form of Sador (11)

Voronwë (OMC) – *(mentioned) Netilmírë’s husband, killed in the Kinslaying at Alqualondë (20)

Wilwarin – Quenya from of Gwiwileth (butterfly) (62)

Yavalda (OFC) – Sorondil and Lindorillë’s mother (132)

Yellánië (OFC) – Eruanna's mother (132)

Valar, Maiar and Other Beings

Aiwendilmë (OFC) – Maia, of the People of Nienna (85)

Aulë – Vala, The Worldmaker, one of the Aratar, also known as Mahal (the Maker) to the Dwarves (20)

Calimo (OMC) – Maia, of the People of Námo (4)  

Cemendillë (OFC) – Chief Maia of the People of Yavanna (7)

Eonwë – Chief Maia of the People of Manwë, Lord Manwë’s Herald, and Keeper of the Book of Oaths (39)

Erunáro (OMC) – Maia, of the People of Manwë, twin brother to Manveru in the Thought of Ilúvatar (39)

Estë – Valië, the Gentle, spouse of Irmo (2)

Fionwë (OMC) – Maia, of the People of Manwë who escorts Ingwë to Taniquetil after Manwë and the Valar sang the lullaby (38)

Gothmog – *(mentioned) Lord of the Balrogs, killed by Ecthelion of the Fountain at the sack of Gondolin (124)

Ilmarë – Chief Maia of the People of Varda (108)

Ilúvatar – Eru, God (1)

Ingil (OMC) – Maia, of the People of Irmo (101)

Irmo – Vala, Lord of Dreams, Lord of Lórien, spouse of Estë the Gentle (4)

Manwë – Vala, Súlimo, Lord of the Breath of Arda, the Elder King and Chief of the Aratar, spouse of Varda (2)

Manveru (OMC) – Maia, of the People of Manwë, twin brother to Erunáro in the Thought of Ilúvatar (39)

Maranwë (OMC) – Chief Maia of the People of Námo, brother to Tiutalion in the Thought of Ilúvatar (39)

Marilliën (OFC) - Maia, of the People of Nienna (85)

Melian – Maia, of the People of Irmo and Vána, Spouse of Elu Thingol, Queen of Doriath, Finrod’s great-aunt, mother of Lúthien (58)

Morgoth – (mentioned) Sindarin name for Melkor, the Fallen Vala, the original Dark Lord (12)

Námo – Vala, Lord of Mandos, Keeper of the Halls of the Dead, one of the Aratar, spouse of Vairë (1)

Nessa – Valië, spouse of Tulkas (42)

Nienna – Valië, Lady of Pity, one of the Aratar, sister to Námo and Irmo in the Thought of Ilúvatar (12)

Olóremmárië (OFC) – Maia, of the People of Irmo (82)

Olórin – Maia, of the People of Manwë, attendant to Glorfindel and others in Mandos (4)

Oromë – Vala, Lord of Forests, one of the Aratar, known as Araw and Tauron by the Sindar. (40)

Ossë – Maia, of the People of Ulmo (32)

Roimendil (OMC) – Maia, of the People of Oromë, helped rescue Sador from the Tol Eressëan kidnappers(65) 

Salmar – Chief Maia of the People of Ulmo (47)

Sauron – (mentioned) Fallen Maia, Morgoth's lieutenant, becomes the new Dark Lord during the Second and Third Ages (27)

Therindë (OFC) – Chief Maia of the People of Vairë (134)

Thorondor – Lord of Eagles, bore Glorfindel’s body up from the chasm into which he fell when he killed the Balrog (34)

Tindomerel (OFC) – Maia, of the People of Námo (45)

Tiutalion (OMC) – Maia, of the People of Nienna, brother to Maranwë in the Thought of Ilúvatar (83)

Tulkas – Vala, Astaldo, spouse of Nessa (42) 

Uinen – Maia, one the People of Ulmo, spouse of Ossë (32)

Ulmo – Vala, Lord of Waters, one of the Aratar (16)

Vairë – Valië, The Weaver, Spouse of Námo (17)

Vána – Valië, Ever-young, spouse of Oromë (42)

Vanimeldë (OFC) – Maia, of the People of Námo (4)

Varda – Valië, Elentári, Queen of Stars, The Star Kindler, one of the Aratar, spouse of Manwë (4)

Yáravinyon – Alias used by Lord Manwë when he cared for Glorfindel in the caves on Taniquetil after Glorfindel was assaulted and kidnapped (69)  

Yavanna – Valië, Giver of Fruits, Valië, Kementári, Queen of the Earth, one of the Aratar, spouse of Aulë, (7) 





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