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2.  Dreams

Holding high her softly glowing lamp, Ulbanís made her last round for the night checking on the sleeping inhabitants of the guest house that had been under her hand since its foundation was laid. 

It was a small, out-of-the-way place, but it suited her.  She preferred homely to extravagant; comfortable to lavish.  Her time in the great mansions, run like guild houses with their inflexible rules and entrenched hierarchies, had taught her to appreciate the closeness of her small community and limited number of guests.  She liked overseeing the everyday operations and still personally helping the reborn begin their new lives. 

In those larger institutions, she had found that the reborn were often not guided as well as each individual deserved and many times not as needed.  She and her few sisters were not only proud of their service to Nienna, they were dedicated to their charges.  Here they could handle cases that would have become failures elsewhere.  And she did believe that Nienna sent particular people to her for just that reason.  It was fulfilling work.  Although once in a while, They did not send enough warning to be properly prepared.

There were only two other guests at the moment, a situation for which she was grateful.  It allowed her to give more attention to Feren.  He was one of those needful individuals.  A season had passed and he was still here and sadly slipping into a decline.  His reluctant memory was sapping him and every therapy she had tried, even giving him a name, had not worked.  So, she had fallen back upon the tried and true treatment of talking with him about his dreams – or rather the dream.  For he had only one recurrent dream of his past – when he had died, slain upon a battlefield.

She arrived at his room and looked in.  Not surprisingly, he was not there.  He was probably where he went whenever the events of his death visited him.  The eastern end of the garden where he could watch the rising stars.  With a resigned sigh, she went to find him.

A fair number of Umanyar had reentered the world by way of her house.  Depending on the personality, some progressed quickly while others took time.  Eventually, within a few weeks at the very most, they were ready to embark upon their new life in Eldamar.  Forest quendi, such as the Silvan and Laiquendi and their parent people, the Nandor, emerged on the western side of the Pelori where they could go further west into open lands and need never have to cope with Amanyar.  Which was best for both parties.  She suspected that most Eldar never even knew the patently moriquendi were being reborn at all.  Only two of their kind had ever before come to her.  On the other hand, she had welcomed many of the sea quendi, the Teleri remnant of Olwë’s people in Endor.  They usually went down to the coast after their time here.  Some of them would occasionally come back to visit and tell of goings-on outside the valley.  The majority of Sindar were like to Elwë’s people, the star quendi.  They always looked for family first.  She assumed the Kinslayings had affected them in this way.  Oddly though, after leaving to stay with kin for a time, they could end up resettling just about anywhere in Eldamar, even Tirion.

Setting her lamp down on the small table beside the door, she went out onto the portico.  The night sky was clear; the air crisp.  With the coolness, there were less than the usual nocturnal sounds of early summer, something rather disquieting.  She stepped down onto the dim path knowing Feren would instantly feel her presence.

That he was Sindar had been revealed to her before his arrival, but he was not of the star quendi as would naturally be assumed when given that information.  He was of the forest quendi who were even more attuned to the natural world around them.  Their unique sensibilities resided in the orë and sweeping away the past did not make such a quende forget what he was.  Feren’s differences were evident on his first day.  He had talked and begun remembering too much too soon.  As well as confused Venyel about her vocation.  From now on, Ulbanís would make a point of sending an older sister when awaiting any sort of Umanyar.

As expected, she found him sitting cross-legged, perfectly balanced on a strong branch in the birch with his head bent back gazing at the stars.  But, she knew he was finding little comfort in their light these days.

The most important part of the process the reborn went through to come to terms with their deeds and rejoin society a renewed person was to safely dream of their past.  In doing so, they relearned their lives from a higher perspective.  Having forgotten themselves made that new perspective possible.  It provided a needed detachment.  Usually, the Dying Dream was welcomed as an important milestone, rarely suffered more than once.  But for poor Feren, only that dream repeated and it always moved quickly, soundlessly to the same dark and fruitless end.

He saw the same faces without knowing their names, speaking words without voices.  There was no sound of battle and he felt no pain from his wounds.  He never moved past his last breaths to any other moment, forward or backward.  Fortunately or not, his visions had ended early.  But at least, without any more bad episodes as suffered on his first day.  Only one single, dissonant note had rung for him in all these weeks.  The third time he had dreamed his end, he awoke to swear he had refused Mandos and been taken anyway.  Sensibly, his anger – over what to him was an incredible injustice – was swiftly spent.  After all, it could not be undone any more than the Kinslayings.  What also could not be undone was his unspoken fear that he had died a coward.  Ulbanís was convinced that guilt was indeed what blocked him knowing himself.  An act of cowardice might be the reason, but personally she could not believe it.  It simply was not in his nature.

She tsk-tsked as she approached his retreat for he wore only his sleeveless night shirt which hung loose over his shoulders. 

His thinning body was of increasing concern to her.  Lately, only Venyel could coax him to eat.  Even before, he had hated eating alone and would wait, hungry or not, until the sisters gathered and he could join them at their table.  To give him some simple companionship, she had allowed him to work in the barn for a short time.  Except that, the contented animals reminded him of his own discontent and had stoked his temper instead of dampening it.  The nér needed to be reunited with his family, but he also needed to know that he deserved them.  It was heartbreakingly simple to her.  He should surrender to any dishonor and go on to atone if necessary.  Nevertheless, he could not bring himself to do that and so moving on had become impossible.  Try as she might, she had yet to find the true source of his guilt in order to help him cope with it.  Her last hope was that she would find someone who knew the warrior and would become a catalyst.  If they forgave him whatever trespass they might, she hoped it would pry loose a rock from beneath the jammed rubble of his old life and the rest might tumble.  But, there were not enough clues to send for a comrade, family member, or friend.

Feren did not come down when she stopped beneath him and she was pleased by that.  It had taken a while to convince him that courtly graces were unnecessary and that being at ease with her was important to his recovery.  There was no doubt in her mind that he was of the nobility, if not a prince of his people.  Which again put him among the very few of a kind she had helped.

“So,” she began, “you saw it again.”  He nodded.  “Any change?”  He shook his head.  “And the face above you, still unknown?”  He nodded.

“Oh, what is the use of this ritual, Ulbanís?”  His voice was weary.  In fact, weariness draped over his lean frame like a thin cloak, stealing away warmth instead of giving it.  “I cannot remember or I will not remember.  What is the difference?  And if I were to die again, I will likely come back again.”  He heaved a sullen, frustrated sigh.  “Who is to say I have not been to other guest houses and Mandos is not just going down the doors to see if one of them clicks.”

“Special need might be precisely why you were sent here.  But, being reborn again is not so likely.  Do not waste your best chance like a foolish child,” she sharply admonished.  “I know you have more courage than this.”  She had learned not to be too soft with him.  He reacted much better to rebuke than cajoling.  As it was, he permitted only Venyel to be maidenly with him.  At first, Ulbanís thought it was a physical attraction, but it turned out to be paternal.  A fair indication that Feren had a wife and possibly children.  Now if his lady could be found, Ulbanís was absolutely certain the barrier to his memories would break down completely.

“So, describe him that held you as you were dying,” she ordered him.

“Again?  Why?  I have often enough that you know him better than I.  Nothing comes of it.”

“Yes again, if you please,” she firmly pressed.  What little they had learned had come from persistence.  Also, she knew that he found it pleasant to think on this person despite his protests.  She had pointed out to him that the face he described was very similar to his own.  Most likely a father or brother – maybe a son.  But, as he said, nothing more about the fellow had been learned.

Suddenly, Feren smiled a smile that was not ordinary.  Once before she had experienced this amazing openness on his part and marveled at it again.  His feelings were almost tangible.

“For those few moments, I feel at peace,” he whispered, his hands rising from off his knees.  He looked to be holding up the memory before his eyes, like a jewel; his glowing countenance like a reflection.  “I wanted it to end.”  The incredible smile vanished.  Elation was replaced with resentment.  “I would not be here if my true wish had been granted as it should have been.”  His eyes rose from his hands and fixed on something else.  Now, he drew back his inner Light until he was imperceptible.  She knew this to be an ingrained ploy of forest quendi, something learned by those who needed to hide from the truly dark creatures of Endor.  She had met a long count of reborn Exiles that had died because they could not hold back like this and evade their killers.

“But, all those that love you wished for you come here – to be with them again,” she began to explain, to try and make him see that just his being reborn was a sign of their love and acceptance.

“No,” he said quietly.  “They would not wish this upon me.”

She looked up to the patch of sky where he was staring and saw a slow-moving, shooting star.  It streaked across the sky from horizon to zenith before expiring in a peculiar flash.  He gasped.  Drawing up his knees, he wrapped his arms around them and buried his face, helplessly weeping.

“Feren!”  She climbed up to him and held him as he sobbed. 

“They are not here!” he wailed.  “They are there!  They are in Greenwood, where I should be!  I have failed them again!”  She could not get him to say more.  At dawn, when he was exhausted, she called for Ilcanu and they put him in his bed where he collapsed into unconsciousness.

Now, she was close to despair.  Drastic action would be necessary to save him.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

nér/nís – elf male/female Quenya

orë – spirit (inner mind) one’s innate nature

quendi – elves Quenya – quende is the singular