96: Mallessë Míretanoron

"He’s our WHAT!?"

That was Mistress Míriel. Glorfindel stood white-lipped in the corner of the main room of his Master’s home, clutching his one bag. He had taken the time to change out of his court garb and into the plain grey tunic he had worn at the trial. At the last minute he had ruthlessly undone his braids. After all, I’m not a warrior any more, but a thrall, he had thought bitterly to himself as he grabbed his plainest cloak before leaving the palace. Now he stood watching his Master and Mistress arguing over him. Both had apparently forgotten his existence for the moment in the heat of their argument.

"What, by all that’s holy, are we supposed to do with a... a thrall?" Míriel demanded.

Glorfindel found himself flinching at the word. Coming from someone else it sounded.... He sighed inwardly, remembering how the unfortunate elves who had escaped Morgoth’s thralldom had often been treated by their fellow elves... and then there had been Húrin....

"It’s only until the New Year," Martandur said apologetically.

"As if that makes all the difference," Míriel snarled, her expression becoming angrier by the minute.

Well, it does to me, Glorfindel said to himself, feeling somewhat exasperated by the entire situation. He wondered if he should say something, but one look at his Mistress’ expression convinced him that attacking a balrog with a kitchen knife would be safer and ultimately less painful. Lord Námo must be laughing himself silly seeing me in this position, he thought sourly.

Martandur looked pleadingly at his wife. "The High King..."

"The High King can..."

Glorfindel felt his eyebrows lift off his face at the expletive the elleth uttered and then, in spite of everything, he started laughing. That someone like his Mistress would even know that word, much less use it in a sentence! His Master stared at him and then glanced back at his wife. The absurdity of the situation finally became manifest and Martandur felt himself smiling for the first time in hours. Míriel merely fumed.

"Why are you laughing?" she demanded sharply.

"Forgive me, Mistress," Glorfindel gasped, unable to curb his mirth, "but I never thought to hear the High King spoken of in quite that fashion."

Míriel finally had the grace to blush. "Well, just you don’t go telling him what I said," she admonished him, trying to look stern but finally relenting in the face of the ellon’s laughter. She gave him a wintry smile. "Well, we’ll straighten this out tomorrow. Meanwhile, you can sleep in the workshop. Have you eaten yet?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "No, Mistress."

Míriel nodded and turned to her husband. "Well, while you show Lord Glorfindel..."

"Just Glorfindel, Mistress," the ellon said calmly. "I’m not a lord any more, at least not while I remain under your roof."

The elleth looked somewhat taken aback at that but recovered quickly enough. "Glorfindel then. I’ll just put dinner together for us while my husband shows you around."

Glorfindel bowed and Martandur gestured for the ellon to follow him down a short hallway to the back of the house where the elf’s workshop was located.

"You are a jewel-smith, Master?" Glorfindel asked when he saw the workshop. There was an alcove along one wall that was curtained off. Martandur threw back the curtain and Glorfindel could see a built-in bed. Martandur gave him an apologetic smile.

"Yes, I am. I’m afraid we have only this bed to offer you. I have often used it while working on a project late at night and did not wish to disturb Míriel. There is space beneath for you to store your clothes. The privy is through that door there and the kitchen is the second door on the right as you go back up the hallway past the bathing room. Our bedroom is the door to the left."

Glorfindel nodded, placing his bag with its meager contents on the bed as he looked around. It was a small workshop with an entrance to the street beyond for customers. The instruments of the craft were neatly arranged around a large wooden table where Martandur obviously worked. The smith gave the Noldo another apologetic look.

"I... I regret this has happened, my lord," he stammered. "When the High King told me what he planned... I did not wish to..."

Glorfindel shook his head. "There is no need to apologize, Master. I accept Ingwë’s decision in this. I would have been willing to make just recompense to you for the use of your horse, but the High King’s solution is a bit more... well, let’s just say that the next time I feel the urge to steal something, I’ll remember this little lesson." He gave the jewel-smith a deprecating smile. "And my name is Glorfindel, Master, as I said."

Martandur nodded. "I will try to make your... servitude as painless as possible, Glorfindel."

"Well, you better not make it too painless," Glorfindel rejoined with a wink. "It is, after all, supposed to be a punishment."

Martandur laughed at that. "In that case, I’ll let Míriel order you about. She’s a harder taskmaster than I could ever be."

"So I noticed," Glorfindel said, raising an eyebrow.

"Come," Martandur gestured for them to leave. "Let us see what my wife has prepared for our dinner. Míriel has many faults, but her cooking is superb."

Glorfindel followed the smith back to the main room, which also contained a small dining alcove, to find that the table was ready. In a short while they were eating, though it was not a comfortable meal. Martandur was embarrassed for Glorfindel, while Míriel was still somewhat angry. Glorfindel also felt awkward and at first had thought he should be waiting on his Master and Mistress before eating himself, but Míriel put all thoughts of that out of his head with a single gesture.

"Sit down, Glorfindel," she said, not unkindly. "For tonight, you are merely a guest in our house. Tomorrow is soon enough to continue with this charade of you being our thrall. Whatever was the High King thinking? I expected better from him than to humiliate someone in this fashion over a horse."

"It is more than my stealing your horse, Mistress," Glorfindel said as he took some bread and dipped it into the stew that was the meal’s main dish, "and this is no charade. I fully expect for you and my Master to treat me as your thrall and I will do my best to obey you in all things save where my honor is threatened."

Míriel shook her head. "Well, as long as you don’t think your honor is threatened by scrubbing floors and such, I suppose we can live with the situation, but I intend for the High King to know precisely what I think about this entire affair at the earliest opportunity."

Glorfindel felt himself smiling wickedly. "Then, I hope, Mistress, you will allow me to be present when you do."

"Me, too, dear," Martandur added, leaning over to give his wife a husbandly kiss on the cheek and then both he and Glorfindel were laughing as Míriel blushed.

****

Later, Glorfindel attempted to get comfortable in what would be his bed for the next three months, the strangeness of the situation finally forcing itself upon his consciousness. He had studiously avoided thinking too much about everything that had happened while it was happening but now he was alone in an unfamiliar room lying on a bed that was not his and his thoughts would not leave him be.

He admitted to himself that while he accepted Ingwë’s right to punish him as he had, he still resented the public manner in which his punishment had been meted out and felt himself growing hot with shame at the memory of the looks of the courtiers as he had been escorted from the throne room. He also resented the fact that this effectively meant that he would not be able to compete in the New Year’s tournament as well, for he would have no opportunity to practice with either sword or bow during the time of his indenture.

Glorfindel sighed, adjusting his position somewhat on the bed that was just a bit narrower than he liked and wondered again what Lord Námo must be thinking about all this.

"Probably thinks I richly deserve being a thrall," he said out loud for no particular reason than to hear his own voice as he stared at the ceiling of the alcove waiting for sleep to come.

Erunáro, now on watch, shook his head, leaned over and placed an invisible hand on the ellon’s head and willed the elf towards the Path of Dreams. In minutes, Glorfindel was fast asleep.

****

"Ingwë did what?" Námo asked in disbelief.

The Vala was still at Nienna’s, having spent the day with Ingwion, explaining some of the ellon’s duties as his apprentice. The Lord of Mandos had, in fact, been quite aware of Glorfindel’s movements during the night before, especially when the ellon arrived in Valmar. Even as he had been accepting Ingwion’s oath he had kept half an eye on Glorfindel’s whereabouts, but had not paid much attention to anything or anyone but Ingwion all the next day. Now, with that ellon safely abed, he and Nienna were sitting in the cloister enjoying the evening. Or at least he had been until Manveru came with his report.

The Maia nodded grimly. "Until the New Year," he said. "Ingwë effectively banished Glorfindel for the next three months and reduced his status to that of a thrall."

"All for stealing a horse?" Nienna asked skeptically.

Manveru shook his head, looking unhappy. "Nay, Lady, for leaving without Ingwë’s permission or letting anyone know where he was going. The theft of the horse is a convenient fiction. Master Martandur would have been happy enough with a monetary compensation."

"Ingwë is angry," Námo said baldly.

Manveru nodded. "I have never seen him this angry before, and it’s all the more terrifying because he does not appear to be angry at all."

"How is Glorfindel handling it?" Námo asked with some concern.

Manveru actually smiled. "Better than some others. Lady Alassiel actually called the High King a bloody tyrant and stormed out of the throne room declaring that she would leave for Lórien in self-exile until Glorfindel was permitted to return and was reinstated to his former position as a lord of the Eldar."

Both Námo and Nienna raised amused eyebrows at that.

"Ingwë looked rather hurt at the elleth’s outburst," Manveru said diffidently, and Námo snorted.

"Well, my main concern is Glorfindel," the Vala said gruffly. "Ingwë can take care of himself."

Manveru nodded. "You should know that Glorfindel undid his warrior braids before leaving the palace."

"On Ingwë’s orders?" Nienna asked.

Manveru shook his head.

"Did he now?" Námo asked with a slight smile, feeling pride in his favorite Balrog-slayer. "Who’s with him now?"

"My brother, Erunáro," the Maia answered and Námo nodded.

"I want two of you with him at all times. Ingwë in his anger may not have thought out all of the ramifications. There may be some who will see Glorfindel’s fall from grace as a license to take advantage of the situation and do the ellon an injury."

"You will not take Ingwë to task over this?" Nienna asked curiously. She knew how protective her brother was toward any of the Reborn.

Námo shook his head. "This is an internal matter between the High King and one of his subjects. Ingwë is free to discipline Glorfindel as he sees fit, though I admit I’m somewhat disturbed by his actions. The punishment seems to be out of proportion to the crime."

"Nevertheless, we will abide by the High King’s decision in this."

They all looked up to see Manwë there. Manveru gave him a deep bow while Nienna and Námo merely nodded their heads in greeting.

"It sounds as if there’s more to this..." Námo began but Manwë raised a hand to interrupt him and when he spoke his expression was solemn.

"Whether there is or not is not your concern, my son." The Elder King gave the Lord of Mandos a penetrating stare. "If memory serves, you have a new apprentice. I suggest you concentrate on him for the time being."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment and then Námo nodded. "It will be as you say, my lord," he said softly, acknowledging Manwë's suzerainty over him.

"Glorfindel is fine where he is and does not need rescuing," Manwë continued, "but I agree that Ingwë may not have thought things out as fully as he should have." He glanced at Manveru. "Do as Lord Námo says: two Maiar at all times." The Maia bowed and faded to join his brother in watching over their sword-brother. Manwë also started to leave then turned to Námo. "Ingwion is not to know of this from you, my son," he admonished his fellow Vala. "He will learn soon enough from others what has transpired in Vanyamar. We will see how this little drama plays itself out."

Nienna gave the Elder King a shrewd look. "Glorfindel’s still the bait, isn’t he?"

Manwë gave them a brilliant smile. "He has always been the bait, my dear." Then brother and sister were left alone in the cloister to ponder the Elder King’s words.

****

When Glorfindel awoke it was just barely light. He suffered a momentary panic when he couldn’t remember where he was or why, but then memory of the previous day came rushing back and he grimaced even as he stepped out of bed in search of the privy. He quickly dressed and made his way to the kitchen. His Master and Mistress still slept, so he stoked the fire and put the kettle on the boil, setting the table for two. When Míriel came in a while later, she was surprised to see him up and about.

"Why have you only set the table for two?" she asked after he greeted her with a short bow.

"I will eat later, Mistress," Glorfindel answered.

Míriel shook her head. "Thrall you may be, but you are my husband’s thrall, not mine. While you are under my roof you will eat your meals with us. Now set another plate, then you may go to the bakery and pick up some fresh rolls. I’ll tell you where to go. It’s not far."

Glorfindel hesitated for a brief moment then bowed again. "Yes, Mistress," he said quietly and went about carrying out her orders. The bakery was indeed not far and Glorfindel had no trouble getting what was needed, paying for it with money his Mistress had given him.

"You’re new here, aren’t you?" asked the baker’s assistant.

"I am staying with the jewel-smith, Master Martandur, and his wife," he answered, not inclined to explain the real relationship. No doubt, the news about what had happened was already flying and it wouldn’t be long before the entire city knew about him.

The assistant merely nodded as she handed him his package and bade him a good day. He found himself feeling somewhat strange after that and by the time he returned to the smith’s house, he was becoming disassociated with his surroundings. Martandur, who was helping his wife with breakfast, took one look at him and ordered him to sit down on a bench, which he did, though reluctantly.

"What is wrong?" Míriel asked, looking concerned. "Has something happened? Is there bad news?"

Glorfindel shook himself, trying to gather his thoughts, but found it difficult to focus. Both Martandur and Míriel noticed him fiddling with the peridot ring that was his only jewelry, except for the sword pendant around his neck. Martandur, especially, noticed the fine craftsmanship of the ring and knew instinctively that no elf had fashioned it. He felt a frisson of wonder at that, but forced himself to concentrate on the ring’s owner, who apparently was in shock for no reason that he could fathom.

"Glorfindel?" he said quietly, not wanting to alarm the ellon.

The Noldo glanced up and the look he gave them was so heart wrenching that Míriel felt tears coming. "I... I’m a... a thrall... I’m a... thrall," was all he could say and then he was crying and both Martandur and Míriel found themselves sitting on either side of him, taking turns holding him in their arms and trying to comfort him. Míriel gave her husband an angry look.

"I think we need to see the High King."

Glorfindel was shaking his head, trying to stop the tears. "No. No, please. It’s all right. I... I just need to get used to..." and then he felt an overpowering need to flee and almost made it to the door before he was stopped.

Míriel screamed at the sight of two sword-bearing Maiar suddenly appearing in her kitchen and grabbing a now yelling Glorfindel. Then a third Maia showed up. This one was not wearing a sword, but a frown.

"Glorfindel!" the Maia shouted over the ellon’s yells. "It’s all right, child. Calm down. That’s it. Let me see you now." The Maia took Glorfindel into his embrace and sat down on the bench. Martandur and Míriel were standing against the wall, both of them white-faced at the presence of the Maiar. Glorfindel had finally calmed down to the point where he was merely weeping, clutching at the Maia as if to a lifeline. The Maia looked up at the two elves, compassion in his eyes.

"Greetings Martandur, Míriel. I am Olórin of the People of Manwë. Fear not, my children. All is well now. Come. Sit and we will talk."

The elves gave the two other Maiar nervous glances and Olórin chuckled. "Do not be concerned, children. Manveru and Erunáro are here by Lord Manwë’s orders." The Maia turned to Manveru, his tone deepening to one of authority. "Inform the Elder King and Lord Námo. Erunáro, stay here, just in case." Both Maiar bowed and Manveru left. Erunáro took up a guard position by the door.

Martandur gave Olórin a bemused look. "What’s happening, lord?"

By now, Glorfindel had quieted completely and they could see that he was nearly asleep. Olórin chuckled. "None of that, my elfling," he said gently, giving the ellon a slight shake. "Wake up, now. Míriel, perhaps you can get us some tea."

Míriel looked almost relieved to have something ordinary to do. Meanwhile, Glorfindel’s eyes began to focus again and he looked about him with a bemused expression.

"Olórin? What are you doing here?"

The Maia smiled. "Inviting myself to breakfast, it would seem."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at that and then noticed Erunáro by the door. The warrior Maia nodded at him. "Sword-brother."

Glorfindel turned an anxious look at Olórin. "Did I..."

"Not quite, but it was a near thing."

The Noldo grimaced and uttered something in Sindarin that had both Maiar laughing. "Now that’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time," Olórin said. "Not since you were first re-embodied." He gave Glorfindel a wink and the ellon blushed.

Míriel came over then with the tea and Glorfindel gratefully accepted a mug of the hot beverage.

"Now listen to me carefully, child," Olórin said as Glorfindel sipped his drink. "You are not a thrall, except in your own mind... and Ingwë’s."

"The High King thinks of me as a thrall?" Glorfindel asked in dismay.

Olórin shook his head. "Ingwë loves you, Glorfindel, but at the moment he is furious, and rightly so, I might add." Glorfindel paled at the reprimand and Olórin nodded. "Unfortunately, he does not realize that in many ways you are still very much the elfling and your actions of the other night should not be interpreted as a deliberate flouting of his authority, which is how he sees it."

Glorfindel looked chagrined. Olórin gave him a hug. "In the meantime, I suggest you think of yourself as Martandur’s temporary apprentice and not as his thrall. I’m sure he would much rather treat you that way himself."

Glorfindel looked at Martandur and Míriel and found them both nodding. Míriel gave the Maia a meaningful look. "I still intend to tell the High King just what I think of all this at the earliest opportunity," she said with a slight huff.

"You may have to get in line, Míriel Artamiriel."

They looked up to see Manveru there grinning at them, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Right behind the Elder King and Lord Námo," he added dryly.

Míriel looked a bit nonplused at those words. Glorfindel, seeing her expression, actually snickered. "Well, at least you’ll be in good company, Mistress."

Everyone laughed. Míriel stood up and gave the Maiar a long-suffering look and sighed. "Well, as long as you’re all here, you might as well stay for breakfast. Glorfindel, set three more places."

"Yes, Mistress," the ellon said as he stood, giving Olórin a shy smile. The Maia nodded encouragingly and then turned to Martandur and began asking the smith about his work, while Manveru and Erunáro took up positions by the door and watched as their sword-brother set the table.

****

Mallessë Míretanoron: On the Street of the Jewel-smiths.