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Elf, Interrupted: Book One: Glorfindel Redux  by Fiondil

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".





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