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.