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3.  Reconciliation

Rostaro was wistfully looking out the small window when Ulbanís came into her chamber.  He turned around to greet her with a broad, loving smile.  It had been a very long time since they had seen each other.  Joyfully, she came to him and took his hands.  He leaned in for her to kiss his brow; instead she loudly kissed each cheek as though he were still a small child.

“Mother,” he said, then kissed her cheek.  They embraced and he leaned back to playfully lift her off her feet.  Though a hair shorter than she, he was stronger by far.

“Son,” she replied, warmly returning his embrace.  He set her down and she took his hands again, stepping back to look at him.  They were not blood-kin.  But, they were as close as a mother and son could be having never lived in the same house for more than a few months at a time.

Rostaro was the only infant that had come out of Mandos to her guest house.  Infants had been reborn other places – her little seldo was not the only one ever.  But, he was her only one.  The reborn maiden that had carried him up was not his mother and so Ulbanís had had to quickly find a wet-nurse for him.  It was a fretful task for he could have died without immediate nourishment, but all had turned out well.  Surprisingly, he had bonded with Ulbanís, taking her as his new mother and not the nís that had fed him.  Through all his childhood, every Isilya and every feast day unfailing, she had visited him at his foster-family’s home in the village.  When he grew older, he had visited the farm.  During his schooling away, he had come back and worked as her helper over any long leave.  That he would become a brother servant of Nienna was everyone’s expectation.  However, upon his becoming apprenticed to a curator, which had made her very proud despite it not being what she had hoped for him, he came back to the village and farm less and less until he came back no more.  Now only letters kept them close, not nearly as close as she wished.

“So, Amillë, why am I here?” he asked her, beaming and golden.

His Vanyarin features were deceiving.  As an adult, he was entirely straight-forward, but without the ingenuousness of her kindred.  A scholar, but with an adventurous streak that extended to mapping unknown terrain and studying natural history.  He was as capable with his hands as he was with his mind.  Much more generous than most Noldor she had met, tending to simply give away his works rather than accumulate wealth or reputation.  For whatever reason, he often pursued solitude – in a library, at sea, in the mountains – in his small apartment in Tirion.  So, she figured that there was Telerin blood in him too. 

She had sent for him weeks ago thinking he would be ideal help for Feren, but it had taken time for her message to catch up to him.  In the meanwhile, Feren’s condition had changed.

“Hmph,” she lightly huffed.  “Not even waiting for the tea and gossip.  You have become too important and too busy for simple courtesies?  How disappointing.”

“Oh no, do not start with me,” he replied in good humor.  He took back his hands and wagged a finger at her.  “You summoned me to ask a favor, not to visit.  But, I will not complain,” he said adopting a tolerate expression and a fond twinkle in his eyes.  “Since you would not have done so unless you had something immensely interesting for me to do”.

She laughed, not minding being teased about her promise never to punish him for leaving behind what he called ‘this boring, rural life’.  Taking his arm, she led him over to sit in the chairs by the small fireplace, the coziest place to talk and where they had always sat together to discuss the high and low.  Pulling up the tray-table, she proceeded to pour their tea, gesturing for him to take a sweet biscuit.  He grinned affectionately at her knowingly providing his favorite kinds.

“I do have someone immensely interesting I want you to meet,” she said confident that she did.  “And to help.”

He remained silent, politely waiting for her to explain.  He took the cup she offered, but did not drink, again courteously waiting upon her to pour her own.  His younger self would never have done that after such a petty scolding as she had just given.  Well, she told herself a bit sarcastically, maybe there were some benefits to having a grown child after all.

“Do you remember that Umanyar fellow that could not remember for all the anger he felt toward the Noldor?” she asked.  “You were in your twenty-fourth coranar with Ñolmo Yulindo.”

“Yes, very well.  And it was hatred not anger that bound him,” he clarified.  “I never really understood why Mandos even sent him out.”  She stirred a dollop of syrup into her cup and sipped it.  Rostaro looked into the cold fireplace, recollecting.  “His name was Naurdothir.  It so happened at the time, I was reading about the battles in Beleriand.  We argued a lot.  About everything I had ever read about Endor.  After his recovery, he left for Tol Eressëa.”  Her son drank some tea and picked out a treat from the plate.

“I have another like him.  He has been here since the beginning of spring.”  She was pleased that Rostaro had started munching and did not politely hide his enjoyment.  She sipped her tea, savoring it even more.  “He is Sindar, but also Silvan.”  Rostaro’s eyebrows rose.  She nodded.  “That seemed a bit odd to me too.”

“Actually, it is not,” he replied, after swallowing.  “There was a large eastern migration at the beginning of the Second Age.  He might be one of those Sindar.  I certainly would like to talk with him about it.”

“All he can tell you is that he died on the battle field and not where.”

“I see.  This is where I can be of help.  You have very little to go on.”  He looked at her with some suspicion.  “Come then, tell me exactly what it is you think I can do.”  He set down his cup, adjusting himself in his chair to listen more closely.

“Take him to his family.”  Rostaro became confused, shifting nervously in his seat.  “He cannot tell us who they are, but they must be found or he will die.”

“Well,” her son slowly replied with obvious misgivings.  “I can do a reasonable search on minimal information and if there are some distinguishing physical features than all the better.  But, taking him along, I do not think so.”  His mood shifted from dubious to serious.  “You cannot let someone who does not know himself leave here.  The damage he could do – ”

“He will not last standing idly by.  Going with you on a quest will give him purpose and hope.”  Rostaro was plainly skeptical of her simple plan.  “You are perfect for this, Yondo.  You know what questions to ask and where to find answers.  You have acquaintances that will help you.  The trail will likely lead into unsettled forest and you are capable of following it even there.

“No longer unsettled, Amillë.”  A keen light sprang up in his eyes.  Meaning she had caught his interest and that was encouraging.  “There has been another Sindar migration, right here in Aman.  A fascinating turn of events precipitated by the arrival of the arelenlië.”  He gleefully smiled.  “Once again, they have left civilization and taken to the wild woods.”

“Oh, please tell me about it!”  She had heard very little of the grey princes’ doings since the muddled rumors that Finarfin wanted to be rid of them, especially his son-in-law.  Then, she thought about Feren’s last spoken words.  “Perhaps that is what Feren’s heart – no, he has not remembered his name,” she said, cutting Rostaro short.  “If he had, I would have told you.  ‘Feren’ is a given name from me, a treatment I know you do not support.”  Her son scowled his disapproval.  “However as I was saying, two nights ago in the garden, Feren’s heart told him that his family was not in Eldamar.”

“Careful you do not read that wrong.  It might be quite literal,” Rostaro gravely cautioned.  “Did he at first refuse Mandos?”

“Yes!  How did you know?”  More and more she was glad she had sent for him.

“There have been others who have said much the same.  All Umanyar and all forest quendi.  However, the reason They would do this is not understood.”  From his expression, she knew he had his own theory.

“What do you think?” she asked, curious.

He waved his hand in a vague gesture of humility.

“I know not the reason,” he began.  “But, I would guess it is a deep instinct for survival.  The Third Kindred flourished in Endor before and after the Great Journey.  Even in this Fourth Age, they have held out, continuing to ignore the call of the sea in significant numbers.  It is possible that many who can resist also refuse.”  He leaned forward, enthused with his idea.  “However I think, for most of those that do, at their heart’s last beat and falling into final unconsciousness, they concede.  The very thing that preserved them cheats them of their chosen End.  Their orë will not let them expire.  I am not surprised that They would ignore the mindful intention in favor of the heartfelt.  Can you imagine how many unhoused would haunt the hither shores otherwise?”

“Neither is it kind nor fair that They not allow ‘those that do’ to fade quickly if that is indeed their choice.”  She spoke as one who felt she had the right to criticize her Ainur patrons.  “But, if this instinct is so strong, then why does grief and guilt affect them so badly?” she asked with empathetic concern.

Rostaro shrugged and shook his head, baffled.

“Another paradox of the heart,” he suggested.  Being so vulnerable, how do they so often carry on after great tragedy?  After some events that would have devastated the Vanyar and Noldor?  Just look at the Teleri after the Kinslaying in Alqualondë.  The Sindar survived two kinslayings.  The loss of their kings did not fragment the Lindarin people, which is remarkable.  Seen as a fourth Kindred, they are the largest, most widespread, and most diverse within, yet they somehow retain their unity.”

He leaned over to pick up his cup again, but Ulbanís stayed him until she refilled it.  Choosing another biscuit, he thoroughly dunked it and popped it into his mouth.  They drank in silence for a short while.  Ulbanis wondered if she was being too dramatic concerning Feren’s needs.  Maybe he would get through his crisis.  No, she decided.  Not this crisis, not on his own.

“Yondo,” she said, broaching her request again.  “I am thinking that I should send a sister and helper with you.  You should not have to care for Feren and do your work too.”

“A warrior has become so feeble in so short a time?” he lightly questioned.  “I am surprised.  Silvan are supposed to be a hearty people.  But then of course, he is Sindar by breeding and Silvan only by custom.”

“In truth, he has been weakened by guilt and loss.  Do not be deceived by his slightness for he will be very strong when in better health,” she advised.  “Now, seeing that you must sort out so much and protect him and lead the way and deal with their language - ”

“Languages,” he interrupted.  “It is a misconception to think all Umanyar speak only Sindarin,” he said this in Sindarin with no detectable accent, improved from the last time she had heard him speak the language.

“You see,” she said, putting down her cup and clasping her hands.  “You know that at least if not their native tongues already.  I will send Venyel and Ilcanu with you.  They have come to know Feren.  Besides his healing, Venyel will keep him in line for you.”

“And why should she have to do that?” he asked with genuine concern.

“Well, he can be troublesome... ” she admitted with a touch of annoyance.

“Venyel is distracted by me,” her son pointed out.  “You do know that?”   He was blushing slightly so Ulbanís knew he was flattered by Venyel’s long-standing interest.  But, she was also aware that he had no romantic feelings for Venyel.  She was his mother and Venyel his younger sister.

“Yes,” she sighed in acknowledgement.  However, this mission would definitely help Venyel to better understand her vocation.  It would be no surprise if the maiden never returned to the guest house.  She just might belong in the village raising a family.

After setting down his cup, Rostaro leaned back in his chair and appeared to be deliberating on her proposal.  She knew what he was thinking about because she had already thought about it many times over.  To allow Feren to leave her oversight while in his unrecovered condition bordered on immoral.

What if someone recognized him and tried to speak with him?  How would he respond to strangers insisting he trust them?  Most likely with rejection or uncertainty thus inflicting iniquitous pain upon innocent hearts and spirits.  Even worse, unrequited love could kill a bonded elda with a weakened fëa.  What if someone convinced him he was who they simply wanted him to be?  He may never know the truth for not having rediscovered himself.  Hröa and fëa unreconciled and living a lie that one day could cause madness.  Indeed, not unlike an unhoused spirit inhabiting one of the living.  An insidious condition where dying again was perhaps preferable.

Rostaro, raised as he was, understood these and the other even greater calamities that had lead to the establishment of his mother’s hospital order.  Laurelin and Telperion had been reborn in the sun and moon and that had signaled the start.  After ages of waiting, the reborn suddenly began to issue forth – as helpless as children.  Sunburn was not the worst that had happened to those first eldar returned to life.  Certainly, her son knew enough to avoid the pitfalls while on such a questionable mission as this would be.

“Shall you do this for me, Rostaro?” she asked, wanting a firm answer.  Ironically, this was the first great favor she had asked of him since his becoming his own master.  Moral quandary or not, the decision was his to make.  She could not command him.

“Do I get any compensation other then your gratitude?” he darkly joked.

“It is right that you ask for a favor in return,” she conceded, acknowledging his equality and his established worth in the outside world.

“Very well.”  He sat up straight, his hands holding onto the arms of his chair.  “I will do this under one condition, Aramillë.”  His head angled back, his jaw stiffened.  “That you will come to me when I summon you.”

“Why do you ask for that?”  It sounded rather calculating on his part and surprised her.  “I cannot leave my duties unattended.”

“Because I want you standing beside me when I marry,” was his simple reply.  “Absolutely no excuses.”

“Very reasonable,” she quietly agreed, holding back happy tears.  To see him wed with a loving wife, a real home and children, would be her reward as well for leading a good and unselfish life.  “How soon may I anticipate your summons?”

“Not for some time,” he sheepishly grinned.  “Since I have not yet met my spouse.”  Blushing, he apologized.  “Sorry, I just could not let the opportunity pass.”  He rose and moved the tray-table aside.  Kneeling down on one knee before her, his sincere eyes gazed up into hers.

“Bless your son, Mother.”  He placed his empty hands, palms up, in her lap for hers to cover.  “And pray for us and the success of our quest.”

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

amillë – mother Quenya (ammë is mom)

aramillë – mother superior high mother Quenya

ñolmo – wise person or loremaster Quenya

seldo/selde – boy/girl Quenya

seler/toron – sister/brother who is not a sibling Quenya

quendi – elves Quenya – quende is the singular

ainur – high ones, the Valar Quenya

yondo – son Quenya

arelenlië – high star folk, the Sindar princes Quenya

hröa – body Quenya

fëa – spirit (soul) Quenya

coranar – a solar year (sun-around) Quenya