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Elf, Interrupted: Book One: Glorfindel Redux  by Fiondil

83: On the Shore of an Endless Sea

Ingwion arrived at Nienna’s house with some trepidation. He was also in a sour mood. He resented the highhandedness of the Valar in ordering him around. He was the haryon of the Vanyar, a respected member of his atar’s court and here he was being escorted by several Maiar to the back of the beyond, a prisoner to the Valar’s caprices.

Fine, he had been upset, but under the circumstances who could blame him? And he had apologized... sort of. What more did they want? Obviously a lot more, he thought with a sigh as he dismounted to greet Lady Nienna with as much dignity as he could muster, though in truth he would prefer to have dispensed with the pleasantries and just get on with his punishment.

Nienna smiled at him knowingly. "This is not a punishment, Ingwion."

"You could have fooled me," he muttered darkly, then blushed, knowing he was being rude but not able to help himself.

Nienna only smiled more deeply and motioned him to enter her house. ‘House’ was perhaps a misnomer, Ingwion decided. ‘Manse’ might be a better word. It was much larger than he had imagined. The entrance was an arcade that led into a cloister with an upper gallery reached by a wrought-iron spiral staircase in one corner. The cloister was quite large. A fountain in which the statue of a kneeling woman wept graced the center. Flowers — blue irises and purple sage intermixed with white clematis and bindweed, though there were others he did not recognize — surrounded it and a stone path led to the center from the middle of each wing of the house. Tall tasari in the four corners of the garden provided shade and solace. Stone benches were scattered about, though none were presently occupied.

Nienna moved left along the covered walk to the stairs and led the way up to the gallery, then down one side of the house to a room that faced west. "I think you will like this room, Ingwion," she said with a smile. "There is an excellent view of the ocean."

The room was spartan but elegantly appointed with a large canopied bed and an oak-carved wardrobe taking up the bulk of the space. Nienna pointed out where the privy and bathing room were on this floor and bade him to take his time unpacking.

"When you are ready, come down and we will talk. You will find me in the second room to your left as you come down the stairs."

With that the Valië left him. For a long moment, Ingwion merely stared at the room that was apparently to be his cell for the duration of his stay. As cells went, it could be worse. He strode over to the embrasure and sat on the cushioned ledge to look out, gazing over the sea-cliffs to the ocean beyond. He sat there for the longest time before finally turning away with a sigh. He stood up and went over to where he had dropped his saddlebags, beginning the ordeal of unpacking.

****

He found the room where Nienna awaited him readily enough. It was a workshop. That much he could figure out. Beyond that, he was at a loss to know what sort of workshop. Nienna was standing next to a dark-haired elleth dressed in a simple gown of worsted wool dyed a forest green, looking at something on a long table. The Valië was shaking her head.

"Nay, Niélë, I do not like this design. I think you can do better, dear. Why don’t you rest for now and come back to this later when you are feeling more refreshed."

The elleth stammered an apology, looking both tired and mortified, but Nienna put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Hush now, child. For any lesser project your design would be ideal, but I wish for something different and I know you have the skill and the imagination to effect such a design for me. Go now and rest and do not let your fëa be forlorn or discouraged. You are doing very well. I am very proud of you." She kissed the elleth on the forehead and Niélë gave the Valië a short curtsey and turned away. Ingwion could see she’d been crying, but there was now a look of calm acceptance in her expression. She saw Ingwion standing at the doorway and gave a small gasp, then made her way past him without a word, reddening in embarrassment.

Nienna watched with amusement. "Come in, Ingwion. Don’t mind Niélë. She is very clever about some things but not about others. She does not handle social proprieties very well. Come sit and we will talk." She gestured to a chair that was at one end of the long table. Nienna sat in another chair across from him.

Ingwion complied, though with some reluctance. He was still feeling resentful and wanted to hate Nienna for being his gaoler, but at the same time, his innate respect for the Valar made it difficult to maintain such a stance. Nienna gave him a shrewd look.

"If you wish for me to be your gaoler, Ingwion," she said without preamble, "then that is what I will be... for now. I hope, though, that in time you will see me as a friend."

"Why am I here, Lady?" he asked with a weary sigh.

"You are here because we wish it," Nienna said somewhat coldly and Ingwion gave her a surprised and wary look. He had always thought the Valiër to be... softer than their male counterparts, but he was beginning to dimly realize that that was a misconception, one that he was sure he would regret ever having.

"But why? Why?" he demanded, standing up abruptly, and the pleading he heard in his voice appalled him. One would think he was a ten-year-old whining after a favorite treat that had been denied him by his elders. He could feel the tears threatening to come and ruthlessly held them back, though he did not know for how long he could do so.

"Sit down, Ingwion," Nienna said quietly, the steel of command in her voice too difficult to ignore. Ingwion sat and then the tears came in earnest. He hid his face in the crook of an arm as he wept, silently cursing himself for his weakness even as the tears continued to flow unabated despite his best efforts to stop. Nienna merely sat there, patiently waiting for the storm of emotion to pass. Eventually the tears slowed and Ingwion gave a gulping sigh as he fell into a state of uncaring, floating serenely, waiting for what would come next, unaware that he was even waiting.

He felt a hand on his back, rubbing it gently and the sense of serenity deepened. He might even have slept for a time, for suddenly his eyes focused and he was back in the workshop. He raised his head, his expression bleak, for he had thought himself back in his rooms in Vanyamar, but that had simply been a foolish dream. He was here with Nienna, a prisoner of the Valar as surely as his uncle was a prisoner of the High King.

"You are not a prisoner, Ingwion," Nienna said softly as she continued to rub his back, bending over him to whisper in his ear. "Though you are not permitted to leave the vicinity of my house without escort, you are free within its bounds to do as you please, to come and to go as you will."

Nienna sat down again and looked kindly at the still bewildered elf. "Child, this is an opportunity for you to grow and to learn. Use this time wisely."

Ingwion remained unconvinced, but found that he no longer had the strength or the will to argue. He merely nodded and sat there mutely, waiting. Weren’t prisoners supposed to wait to be told what to do? Prisoners and thralls. He wondered suddenly how that poor child, Vorondil, was faring under his cousin’s hands. Nienna shook her head and sighed.

"Why don’t you spend the rest of the time before dinner exploring, acquainting yourself with the layout of the house? None will hinder you. If you wish to explore outside you only need ask and one of my people will escort you. There’s a path to your left as you go out that will take you down to the seashore."

Ingwion sat staring at Nienna, not sure what was expected of him. Nienna smiled. "Go, child. I will see you at the dinner hour."

Ingwion stood then and giving the Valië a bow left the workshop. Standing in the cloister, he was undecided what he should do next. Exploring the house did not appeal to him and he had the sudden urge to be outside. He strode to the arcade entrance only to find the door closed and locked and he collapsed against it, full of misery and confusion, unsure what was happening to him.

"Would you like to go outside, child?"

Ingwion looked up to find himself facing a Maia smiling down at him with compassion. He wore an ankle-length white tunic with a dark grey surcoat upon which was embroidered a silver fountain. Ingwion noticed that it was a rendering of the same fountain that graced the cloister garden. He nodded mutely. The Maia put out his hand and helped Ingwion to rise.

"My name is Tiutalion of the People of Nienna," he said gently, taking a key from a chain around his neck and unlocking the door, opening it and motioning the ellon to pass through. The Maia followed and closed the door, then motioned to the left where a path began. "The sea is that way. Would you like to go down to the shore?"

Ingwion nodded again, not willing to speak yet. He felt drained of emotion for some reason and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he should feel concerned about this. Tiutalion walked beside him, warning him of the steepness of the path. A tangy breeze ruffled his hair as he took the path downward and he could hear the sound of breakers, though he could not actually see the beach, for the path was a series of steps carved from volcanic rock that towered above him on either side. The steps did not go straight down, though, but wound slightly so that the beach was invisible until one reached the very end of the defile. Tiutalion walked behind him and every time Ingwion looked back he saw the Maia nod encouragingly, his smile gentle and his eyes compassionate. At the foot of the stairs Ingwion found himself on a black sand beach, which was interesting in itself, never having seen one before. The cliff swept away to his left, ending in the sea. The beach stretched before him several hundred paces to a rockfall on the other end. Large black rocks they were, strewn about as if tossed carelessly by some giant child at play.

Tiutalion joined him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "The beach is yours, child, and you may do as you wish, but when I call for you, you must come." Then Ingwion was alone, which, on one level, frightened him and he knew not why. For the longest time he stood there staring down the strand. The sea looked... sullen was the best word he could think of and it perfectly fitted his mood. The grey waves endlessly ate away at the land in a remorseless, almost joyless, dance, a slow dirge against time and tide. Whenever the sun appeared from behind clouds, the sand would glitter darkly from the volcanic glass and the waters would turn bluer, but the light was fitful and pale and there was no warmth in it. Seagulls cried above him but there were no other signs of life.

Then, without conscious thought, he was running down the beach. The sand sucked at his boots and his progress was slowed by waves seeking to entrap him for he ran where the sand was wet and the surf crashed upon the shore. Soon, though, he reached the rockfall and began climbing it, wanting only to escape, to see what lay beyond. His breath was ragged now with tears as he continued climbing the basaltic rock, heedless of the sharpness of its edges so that his tunic became torn and his hands were bloodied. He was nearly to the top when two things happened.

Suddenly, above him, stood a Maia with a sword of light blocking his path, looking upon him with grim dispassion. At the same time he felt someone else grab him from behind, pulling him roughly from the rocks. He screamed, more in anger than in terror, and thrashed about, seeking escape, but the grip was adamant, though there was a gentleness to it as if whoever held him sought not to do him any further injury. Ingwion found himself back on the beach, sitting with his back against the rocks that he had been climbing in his bid for freedom.

"No, child! Be still!" came the command and such was the force of it that Ingwion had no choice but to obey.

Then Tiutalion was kneeling before him holding his rock-scraped hands and tsking gently, reminding Ingwion of his own atar clucking over his childish bruises when he was an elfling. He started crying again, a feeling of hopelessness stealing across him, and Tiutalion gathered him into his embrace and rocked him.

"Hush now, child," he crooned. "You must not carry on so. It’s not the end of the world... well, actually it is, come to think about it, but only in the geographical sense."

Ingwion pulled back from the embrace to stare at the Maia in confusion, his tears momentarily forgotten, though his misery was not abated. Tiutalion smiled at him. "Just a little joke, child."

"V-very little," Ingwion said, then allowed himself to be gathered into Tiutalion’s embrace again.

For a long while there was no sound but the endless shushing of the surf pounding the glassy shore and the quieter sounds of Ingwion sniffling. Then Tiutalion began speaking, his voice soft and compassionate.

"Ingwion, this place is a prison only if you choose to make it so. Prisons, whether of the hröa or of the fëa, are usually of our own making. No one here will force you to believe otherwise, but we will abide by your rules."

"W-what?" Ingwion asked in confusion, not sure he understood what the Maia had said.

"Your rules, child. As long as you think this place is naught but a prison, and you a prisoner of the Valar, we will treat you as such."

"What else am I, if not a prisoner? I’m not here of my own free will."

"Neither was Findaráto when summoned to Lórien, nor Glorfindel when sent to your own city. Neither wished to be where they were, yet each saw, not a prison, but an opportunity."

"W-what opportunity?" the prince asked bitterly.

"That is a question only you may answer, child. We will not enforce one upon you."

"I-I said I was sorry... what more do you want?" he cried with deep despair.

"Oh, child, you were forgiven before you even stepped across Lord Manwë’s threshold with Glorfindel’s knife in your hand ready to accuse all and sundry of foul deeds against your beloved brother," Tiutalion said with a light laugh. "This has nothing to do with punishing you for your... insolence I believe Lord Oromë called it. This has everything to do with your need to come to terms with what you’ve done."

"What have I done?" Ingwion was now totally confused. This was not how he imagined this conversation would go.

"Defied the Authority of the Valar, of course."

"But I didn’t!" Ingwion protested, breaking away from Tiutalion’s embrace to stare at him in shock and dismay. "I would never..."

Tiutalion placed a finger on the ellon’s lips to still him. "But you did, child, though it may not seem so to you. You stormed into the Elder King’s presence demanding answers and you trusted him not nor the words which he spoke to you. In your heart you were ready to defy Lord Manwë’s edicts."

Ingwion shuddered then, remembering the roil of emotions that had stormed across his fëa as he walked up the Landamallë with Glorfindel’s knife in his hands, knowing that the Maia’s words were true. He would have defied Eru himself for his brother’s sake and wondered if the Etyangoldi had felt the same way as they fled Aman under the Valar’s wrath.

"I-if I’ve been forgiven then why..."

"The Valar have forgiven you, Ingwion, but you have yet to forgive yourself."

Ingwion scrambled to his feet to face Lord Námo, who stood there in grim majesty, dressed in a somber grey ankle-length wool tunic with black silk thread embroidery. Over the tunic was a black linen surcoat belted in front but with the back left free. He wore a diadem on his head of wrought mithril in the shape of a cross with equidistant arms. Embedded in the center of the cross was a large tumbled white topaz. Amber was set in the four arms. Tiutalion rose more slowly and gave his lord a respectful bow. Ingwion merely stood there, waiting. Námo sighed and gazed out into the endless sea for a moment.

"How many times do you waken in the night in a cold sweat after dreaming of your confrontation with us in my brother’s throne room?" the Lord of Mandos asked suddenly.

Ingwion started. "How did..."

He blushed when Námo looked at him, raising an amused eyebrow. "Sorry."

Námo nodded. "As I thought. Do you not see, best beloved? You replay that scene over and over again in your mind and you find no solution to what you know was a defiance of our Authority, though admittedly you did not utter unspeakable oaths or run off to Endórë. Yet, in your heart you were already beyond our Authority and that is something with which you have not come to terms, for you have always been obedient to our will in all things."

"S-so what do I do now?" Ingwion asked, sounding lost. He had always been obedient — to his atar, to the Valar, to Eru — and he had been ready to throw all that away for one Reborn Noldo who had stolen his heart when he wasn’t looking. He shivered, and not because of the slight cool breeze that now blew off the waters.

Námo smiled gently at the downcast ellon. "Go swim."

Ingwion looked up in surprise. "Huh?"

"And look," the Vala pointed out into the ocean. "My brother has sent you playmates."

Ingwion followed Námo’s finger and saw two dolphins dancing in the deeper waters past the breakers. He glanced at the Vala and Maia standing next to him and saw the amused expressions on their faces. Tiutalion nodded.

"I think you should do as my lord suggests, child," the Maia said in a slightly chiding voice that nevertheless was full of encouragement and love. "But when I call for you, you must come."

Still in a daze, Ingwion stripped off his clothes and then went hesitantly into the ocean, which proved surprisingly warm, under the watchful eyes of two Maiar and a Vala. He swam out towards where the dolphins were frolicking. They greeted him joyfully and one of them nudged him so he knew that he was to hang onto the dorsal fin. Suddenly the dolphin leaped into the air carrying the Vanyarin prince with him. He gave an involuntary shriek that was a mixture of shock and delight, remembering at the last moment to take a deep breath before they dove into the water.

As he continued swimming and playing with the dolphins he felt something within him unfold itself and he began to weep. At that point the dolphins swam gently in slow circles, chirping softly to the star-child clinging to them whom their lord had entrusted into their keeping. When the storm of tears came to an end Ingwion felt empty, but it was an emptiness full of promise, not of despair, and for the first time since leaving Vanyamar he felt hopeful. The dolphins, sensing a change of mood, clicked and whistled in delight and then they were frolicking once again with the star-child who now laughed with a joy he thought had been forever lost.

How long he and the dolphins played, he never knew, but at last he heard Tiutalion call to him and without hesitation, though he truly wished to remain with his new friends, he began swimming back to shore. It took longer than he anticipated, for, in their play, he and the dolphins had gone further away from the shore. He stumbled a few times before reaching the beach as he fought the undertow and then a large towel was being wrapped around him. Soon he was dried off and dressed. Both Tiutalion and Lord Námo were there, though the sword-bearing Maia was gone, or at least, no longer visible. Ingwion suspected that if he tried climbing the rocks again the Maia would return.

"Did you enjoy your swim, best beloved?" Námo asked with a smile.

Ingwion nodded and smiled in return, the first genuine smile he had shown to anyone since leaving Vanyamar.

"You did well in obeying me, child," Tiutalion said warmly as he kissed the ellon on the brow. Ingwion felt inexplicably happy at the Maia’s words.

Then Námo was gesturing back down the beach to the rock stairs. "Now, why don’t we go back up to the house? I understand my sister has ordered all your favorite foods for dinner tonight. We wouldn’t want to miss that, now would we?" He gave them a sly grin.

Ingwion stared at the Vala in surprise. "All?"

Námo nodded, still grinning.

"B-but oatmeal is for breakfast!" the ellon protested disbelievingly.

Námo and Tiutalion began laughing. In spite of himself, Ingwion found himself joining in.

****

Haryon: Prince and heir to a throne.

Tasari: Plural of tasarë: weeping willow.

Tiutalion: Son of Consolation. This is the Quenya version of the real-world name, Barnabas, which is one of my favorite names.

White Topaz: Symbol of truth and forgiveness.

Amber: Symbol of the Presence of Eru Ilúvatar.





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