38: Ingwë Alone

Waking to find himself lying on the floor of his own dining hall, Ingwë couldn’t decide if he should feel amused or insulted that Manwë had treated him so cavalierly, but decided that the Elder King was simply being practical in placing him on the floor. It was best not to read too much into it, he decided as he climbed to his feet, brushing his clothes down. He wasn’t sure if he should wake anyone or allow them to come to themselves on their own. In the end he left everyone where they were and began to wander through the palace.

Everywhere he went he found his people fast asleep. He made his way into the city out of curiosity and discovered that the entire city was asleep. People appeared to have simply dropped where they were, though none looked as if they had suffered any injury and he suspected that the Valar, or more likely their Maiar servants, had made sure none suffered unduly.

He did not know what he should feel. The silence was deafening. Some impulse kept him walking through the city towards the northern gate, the gate that led directly to the road leading up into the mountain and the abode of the Valar. As usual, the gate stood open. What was not usual were the fourteen Maiar standing there apparently waiting for him. Each one wore a different colored surcoat on which was embroidered a different emblem, emblems that Ingwë knew only too well.

On seeing his approach, one of the Maiar stepped forward and bowed. Ingwë saw that this one wore a sky-blue surcoat with an eagle embroidered upon it.

"Greetings, High King, I am Fionwë of the People of Manwë."

Ingwë nodded his own greeting but said nothing. Long experience with the Valar had taught him the virtue of not speaking.

Fionwë gave the High King an appraising look, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Do not fear for your people, Ingwë, they are unharmed and will waken soon."

"I have no fear, my lord," Ingwë said quietly. "I trust Lord Manwë implicitly. I will admit though that I am at a loss to understand the meaning of all this. I little appreciate waking up on the floor of my own dining room and finding that the entire city is asleep. I wonder if I were to wander through Eldamar if I would find every one of the Eldar sleeping."

Fionwë raised an eyebrow at the High King’s words. When he spoke it was in formal tones and the amusement in his eyes was gone. "The Valar summon thee, High King. We are sent to escort thee."

Ingwë stared at the Maia for some time. "And the Valar deem it necessary to send fourteen of you where one has always sufficed in the past? Have I fallen so low in their esteem that they must needs assure my presence by force of numbers?"

Fionwë shook his head. "Say rather that our Masters value you too highly to do other than honor you with their most trusted servants as your escort."

"And if I refuse the summons?" Ingwë asked quietly. "I do not wish to leave my people alone and defenseless in their slumbers. Someone needs to keep watch over them."

Now Fionwë smiled and came to Ingwë, putting his hands on the High King’s shoulders with great familiarity. "Child, do you really think your people are alone? Look now." He breathed gently upon Ingwë’s eyes then turned him around. Ingwë gasped.

Everywhere he looked Maiar stood, each beside a slumbering elf. Each one’s gaze was intent upon the sleeping form over which they stood guard, never taking their eyes off their charges. Ingwë felt faint and Fionwë had to steady him.

"Come, Ingwë," the Maia whispered. "It is best not to keep the Valar waiting."

Ingwë nodded mutely and allowed himself to be drawn away from the city. Thus he found himself walking in the midst of the Maiar, making the slow climb up the mountain. More than once one of the Maiar had to reach out and offer the High King a steadying hand, as he was so lost in his own thoughts that he paid little attention to his steps.

In time they reached the summit and the mansions of Manwë and Varda, but rather than being led to the throne room as usual, he was taken to a small antechamber and asked to wait. There was another door on the other side of the room from where he had entered which he knew led to the throne room. The chamber was furnished with comfortable chairs and low tables and tapestries graced the walls. Light came from high clerestory windows. Refreshments were offered but he politely refused them, for all that his breakfast had been summarily interrupted. Finally, he was left alone.

Time passed. He began to pace, beginning to feel annoyed. They had dragged him all the way up here against his will only to make him wait? And what of his people? Were they awake yet? Did they even know he was missing? He began to fume, feeling ignored. Finally, he uttered an oath under his breath and yanked open the door that led to the throne room only to find his way blocked by two Maiar, one of whom was Fionwë.

"Does my lord require anything?" Fionwë asked blandly.

"What ‘my lord’ requires is for you to stand aside," Ingwë said, gritting his teeth.

Fionwë shook his head. "No, Ingwë, go back inside and wait."

It was like a slap in the face. Never had he been treated with anything but respect and now he was being talked to as if he were an errant elfling. What was going on? Why were they treating him with such seeming disrespect? He felt the blood drain from his face and his breathing turned ragged. Fionwë started to take his arm but he flinched and started backing away, looking at the Maiar in dismay.

"Ingwë, wait. Come back," Fionwë said, but the High King would not listen. Instead, he turned and ran to the other door, but found it locked. He pounded on it, yanked on the doorknob, practically sobbing in fear and frustration, but the door would not open. He felt panic rising within him yet could not understand its source, only knowing that it was overwhelming him and he could not stop it. He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and with a cry turned and slithered away from the touch, ending up crouching in the corner, eyes wide as he saw Varda standing over him, a look of deep concern on her face.

"Ingwë? What is wrong?" Her melodious voice was tinged with worry as she watched the High King of All the Elves crouch before her, his eyes white with terror.

He tried to answer but something inside him snapped and he felt himself unraveling. Waves of nausea hit and he was suddenly sick, vomiting at the Valië’s feet. His misery knew no bounds then and he was barely aware of his surroundings. He felt hands lift him up and begin removing his sick-spattered clothing. Then he was being guided towards a divan where he was lowered. A cool cloth was placed on his forehead and a warm blanket was thrown over his shaking body.

"Shock, my lady," he heard Fionwë say, but the words were meaningless to him.

He seemed to float in and out of awareness then, coming back to himself at one point to find Námo sitting on the edge of the divan stroking his hair and murmuring words he did not entirely understand. Námo seemed to know that he was aware again for he stopped his ministrations.

"Stay with us, Ingwë," the Lord of Mandos commanded, but the words made little sense to the elf and it took too much effort to stay focused. He felt strangely detached from everything, including himself and could feel himself receding. He lay there waiting, not caring that he was waiting.

Námo looked up at a spot beyond Ingwë’s line of sight, speaking to someone whom Ingwë could not see, nor did he feel he had the strength necessary to move enough to do so. "I think we’re losing him again. He’s still in shock, though I don’t know why. He shouldn’t have woken as soon as he did and I fear his fëa is wandering afar."

"Can we call him back?" Ingwë knew the voice but could not place it. It was warm and gentle and held great promise of comfort. Another’s hand began stroking the top of his head and Ingwë sighed as waves of peace began to flood him. He closed his eyes in relief, barely paying attention to the words being spoken above him.

Námo looked back down at Ingwë who was now nearly asleep again. "It will be difficult. He has fled far back into Time."

"Who, then, will follow?" Nienna asked as she continued stroking Ingwë’s head.

"Only the one whom he trusts the most," Námo replied, "for only that one will succeed in bringing him back to himself."

"Very well," the Elder King said. "Let it be so."

****

He was fleeing, but from what, he did not know, only that he should not remain still for very long, otherwise he would be caught and that would be a terrible thing. Where he fled, he did not know either, but there was a destination, a direction, and he took it.

Once, whatever pursued him nearly caught him when he paused for breath and looked around. This was nowhere in Aman that he recalled, though there was a haunting familiarity to it. He was staring up at mountains, not as high as the Pelóri, but high enough, and terrible enough in their serene and implacable beauty to give one pause. He stood there mesmerized by them, awed by them.

"Ingwë," came a voice from behind him. He started and turned, feeling the blood draining from him as unreasoning fear took over. He could not see who had called but felt that the person was close by. He could not be caught, he mustn’t allow himself to be caught. It was the only thought he had in his mind. He gave a small cry and began running towards the mountains.

"Ingwë!"

He paid the voice no heed, but ran, not realizing that running through the mountains and not over them should have been impossible, yet run through them he did. He did not pause on the other side, not even for the wide river that suddenly came into view. Somehow he crossed it, but had no real memory of doing so. He was not sure in which direction he fled, but the further he went the darker it became and only the stars lit the way.

****

He stopped running when the lake came into view. By now he was breathless and spent, collapsing to the ground before the wide waters that stretched into the darkness, its other shore hidden from sight. He had arrived at the place he felt he needed to be, but he did not know where he was. He searched his memory but came up empty. So, he lay on the shore of the lake, breathing in the dark green scent of the fir trees nearby and waited.

For what, again he did not know. For whatever pursued him? That thought at least brought him to his knees in an attempt to rise and flee. He could not be caught, mustn’t be caught. If he were caught...

"Ah, here you are, child," a voice came to him from out of the darkness and he screamed, flailing about in an attempt to rise to his feet and flee once again, but this time there was no escape.

Strong arms took hold of him and held him close even as he continued screaming and flailing about. Suddenly someone began singing and the music pierced through the fog of terror that surrounded him and he collapsed into the other’s embrace, weeping, uncaring now. He’d been caught and there was no help for it. He knew something dreadful would happen to him now and all he could do was wait for it.

The song continued on for some time and there was a familiarity to it that spoke to his fëa and in spite of his terror he found himself relaxing, allowing the one in whose arms he lay to caress him and soothe him with voice and hands until he fell asleep.

****

"Feeling better?"

He came to himself and found that he was still in the other’s arms by the shore of the lake, the stars glittering coldly above them, their light reflected in the dark waters below.

"Where am I?" he whispered as he leaned against his captor, feeling oddly content in his captivity as he stared out across the lake. He did not bother looking at the one holding him.

"This is Cuiviénen, child. The place of your Awakening in Arda."

Ingwë gave a small shiver and snuggled closer into the other’s embrace. He was beginning to feel lost again. "H-how did I get here?"

"You were drawn here by need."

Ingwë thought about that for a moment but could not decide what need he had to come here so he asked a different question. "Who are you? What are you going to do to me?" His fear was beginning to rise again and he tried to squirm out of the other’s embrace but was held firmly in place.

"Look at me, Ingwë," came the soft command and Ingwë finally looked up into the face of his captor. "Do you not know me, child?"

"No, lord," he whispered, his voice thin with fear. "Please... don’t hurt me," and he began weeping, hiding his face in the other’s chest.

"Oh, child. It was never my intention to hurt you," Manwë said softly. "Hush now. No tears, my best beloved. All will be well. Sleep now, sleep."

The Elder King began singing again, the same song Ingwë had heard before, and soon he was relaxing into sleep, his weeping stilled.

****

When he woke again, there was a small fire going and he was lying next to it, a blanket over him and a pillow under his head. He felt refreshed and his mind was no longer fogged by fear and confusion. He sat up and looked around. Someone came into his line of sight and his captor, as he still thought of him, knelt beside him holding out a goblet.

"Drink this, child," Manwë said and was pleased that Ingwë took the proffered goblet with only the slightest hesitation. He was somewhat concerned by the elf’s listlessness, as if Ingwë had resigned himself to some fate and was merely waiting for its doom to fall upon him.

When Ingwë finished drinking the water he handed the goblet back to Manwë. "I’m ready now," he said emotionlessly. He had been caught and could not escape. Best to accept whatever pain was bound to follow. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if he tried not to resist.

"Ready for what?" Manwë asked, stroking the elf’s hair.

"Ready for my punishment," Ingwë replied, then he gave the Elder King a forlorn look that pierced Manwë’s heart to the core. "Please...I’m sorry... d-don’t hurt me too much."

Manwë spoke barely above a whisper. "Why do you think you deserve punishment, child?"

"Be-because I ran away from you. I know I shouldn’t have, though I don’t remember why I shouldn’t have." This last was said with a note of apology and Manwë took Ingwë into his arms and held him tightly, rocking him.

"I’m not going to punish you, Ingwë," Manwë finally said. "You have done nothing to deserve punishment. You did not run away from me, best beloved. You were running toward Another, though you were not aware of it. That is not a reason for punishment, but for rejoicing."

"Another? What other?"

"Hush. Listen. Perhaps you will hear him."

And Ingwë listened. At first all he heard was his own breathing and the gentle lapping of the water nearby and the cheerful crackle of the fire next to him. Then he heard the trees humming their slow song of life and deep earth. Finally, he heard the remote song of the stars, a song of welcome to this Firstborn. He had almost given up hearing anything else. Then he heard it, a deep voice, full of bells, faint and clear. The voice was singing the song, the lullaby, that had so soothed him earlier. He looked up at Manwë in wonder.

"I hear him," he whispered in awe. "I hear him."

Manwë smiled and kissed Ingwë on the brow. "I am so glad, best beloved. Do you recognize the voice?"

Ingwë shook his head and snuggled closer into Manwë’s embrace, feeling somewhat bereft by his lack of knowledge.

Manwë hugged him closer. "That is your Atar singing to you, telling you how much he loves you."

"M-my atar? I have an atar?" Ingwë asked in wonder and Manwë nodded. Then Ingwë asked another question. "Wh-who are you, again?"

Manwë gave a light laugh. "I am Manwë. I am your elder brother. Atar has charged me to care for you."

"My elder brother... you’re my elder brother?"

"Are you not pleased that you have someone like me in your life, child? It’s what elder brothers are for you know. I will always care for you and love you and help you remember that your Atar loves you when you begin to forget again."

"Thank you," Ingwë said with all sincerity.

"You are most welcome, child," Manwë replied. "Now, go to sleep," and Ingwë found himself falling asleep once again, snuggled contentedly against his elder brother, feeling safe for the first time in a long time.

Manwë sat there, the Elf-lord sleeping in his arms, and listened to the Song that had greeted the Firstborn in their Awakening by the shores of Cuiviénen with only half an ear, for he was busy plotting the coordinates for taking them both back home. It would not do for Ingwë to remain here in the Past any longer than necessary. There had been enough damage done to his fëa already.

He looked down at the sleeping elf and smiled. Then he bent down and gently kissed Ingwë on the head as he waited for the High King to waken once again.

****

Note: While I have used the word 'lake' here to describe Cuiviénen, that is from Ingwë's perception at this point. According to the Silmarillion, Cuiviénen was a bay in the inland Sea of Helcar far to the northeast of Middle-earth where once the Lamp Ormal stood, or so the Loremasters say.