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Elf, Interrupted: Book One: Glorfindel Redux  by Fiondil

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.





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