108: Artaquetta Findaráto as Manwë

It took nearly half an hour for them to clean Vorondil up. In the meantime, Arafinwë sent an order to the palace and a message to the encampment. A palace page brought a clean set of clothing for the hapless ellon, garnered from Ingwion’s closet, for the two were nearly the same in height and build. Vorondil, by then, had stopped weeping but he looked so forlorn and embarrassed with his yellow-streaked locks that Arafinwë took him in his arms and gave him a hug.

"Now, hinya," the Noldóran said gently, "it was an accident and no real harm done." They were all gathered in the workshop where the worktable was now laden with food. While Glorfindel had taken care of Vorondil, Míriel had decided she needed a brisk cup of tea to settle her nerves and had ended up serving lunch instead. "The dye will fade in time as your hair grows back," Arafinwë added.

"I... I ruined Mistress Míriel’s... work," Vorondil sniffed. "M-master’s going to have... to punish me all over again."

"I think you’ve been punished enough, child."

Arafinwë turned to see his son standing in the doorway dressed rather formally and looking amused. Laurendil, Manwen and Sador were right behind him. Vorondil hid his face in the crook of Arafinwë’s shoulder. Glorfindel looked a bit uneasy at the sight of his brothers and friends invading the workshop. Finrod ignored the stares of the jewel-smith and his wife as he went to Vorondil. Martandur and Míriel had conveniently forgotten that Glorfindel was a Reborn while he lived with them, but seeing the Noldorin prince, knowing something of how he had met his death, brought home to them the strangeness of having the Reborn in their presence.

Finrod took Vorondil from Arafinwë and gave the ellon a searching look. "You are one impossible elfling, Vorondil," he said with gentle amusement, giving the ellon a brief hug, "and a danger to civilization as we know it. I’m surprised Valinor hasn’t sunk into the ocean by now with you around."

"I... I’m s-sorry, M-master," the ellon started to say but the tears came again in earnest and he couldn’t say much after that. Finrod merely took him in his embrace and rocked him until the tears abated somewhat.

"I know you are and no one is angry," he said. "We’re just relieved that the worst that happened was you spilled dye over you. Now, dry those tears. I think we all need a little holiday from work and punishments and the like." Finrod stepped back and gave Vorondil an encouraging smile, then turned to address Arafinwë. "The Elder King wishes to see me. I was on my way to Taniquetil when I received your message, Atar, which is why I’m here sooner than you probably expected." Arafinwë nodded. "Sador, Laurendil and Manwen are coming along. I think Vorondil will benefit from a visit to Ilmarin as well."

Vorondil’s expression was a mixture of surprise and fear, but Finrod merely gave him a smile. "It’s not what you think, child," he said gently. "The audience will be between me and Lord Manwë. You and the others can visit the gardens while you wait for me. They’re quite beautiful and rather unique." Finrod then turned to Glorfindel. "I know you’d like to join us, gwador..."

Glorfindel shook his head. "I wasn’t invited," he said with equanimity. "Besides, I still have deliveries to make for my master."

Martandur shook his head. "I told you before, the deliveries can wait. You just made your first commission. Why don’t you go celebrate? In fact, I’m declaring a holiday. Off you go now. You can make the deliveries tomorrow." Martandur made shooing motions with his hand.

Glorfindel looked uncertain. Arafinwë clapped him on the shoulder. "Why don’t you come with me, yonya," he said with a smile. "I need to see Ingwë and Olwë and then you can take me to the training salle and show me what you can do."

"What’s this about a commission?" Finrod asked curiously.

"I’ll tell you later," Glorfindel replied, looking suddenly embarrassed. "You shouldn’t keep Lord Manwë waiting."

"Speaking of commissions," Sador said with a wicked grin. "I should warn you both that I made a cornucopia fruit bowl for Amarië’s Begetting Day gift from the three of us." He gave them both a significant look. Finrod muttered an oath and slapped himself on the forehead. Glorfindel just looked confused. "So, when she starts praising you for it," Sador continued with an air of innocence about him, "don’t look like Glorfindel does at this moment or she’ll know you forgot."

"You’ll have to give us the details later," Finrod said, looking chagrined. "I can’t believe I forgot."

"You’ve had a lot on your mind lately," Arafinwë said sympathetically, though his eyes twinkled with amusement at seeing his son looking nonplused.

Sador, meanwhile, was noticing Vorondil standing back even though everyone else was making for the door to leave. "What’s the matter, Vorondil?"

Everyone stopped to stare at the elfling who stood there with an uneasy expression on his face, refusing to look anyone in the eye. "Everyone’s going to laugh," he muttered.

"Yes, they will," Finrod said, deciding not to soften the blow with false words of comfort. Vorondil cringed.

"I think I should just stay here, Master," the ellon suggested hesitantly.

"No you won’t." It was Sador who spoke, sounding very definite. He put an arm around the ellon’s shoulders. "You will come with us and if anyone so much as snickers, you look them in the eye and tell them you’re starting a new fashion trend." He grabbed his single braid and waggled it in Vorondil’s face, his eyes full of merriment. "Race you to the north gate," he said challengingly, then gave a hard yank on Vorondil’s hair before rushing out of the workshop and down the street.

"Hey!" Vorondil yelled in protest and ran after the Sinda, quite forgetting to seek Finrod’s permission to leave his Master’s presence first. Finrod merely grinned when he heard Vorondil’s laughter after he and Sador disappeared around a corner.

"Well, I need to get back to dyeing wool," Míriel said and bade everyone a farewell. Martandur offered to escort her before going to visit with his cousin, Sorondilmë. Arafinwë and Glorfindel made their own farewells and headed towards the palace with a promise from Finrod to join them at the training salle after his meeting with Lord Manwë.

With a wave, Finrod, Laurendil and Manwen continued along at a sedate pace towards the north gate where Sador and Vorondil waited impatiently for their elders to catch up with them.

****

Finrod entered the central courtyard of Ilmarin with Sador and Vorondil flanking him. Laurendil and Manwen walked behind. Vorondil eyed the two stone eagles that guarded the entrance with some trepidation, slowing his steps, sure that they somehow knew he was there and found him wanting. Finrod took his arm and gently led him into the courtyard where they all stood in awe before the statue of Varda and the living star that pulsed between her outstretched arms.

"Impressive, isn’t it?" Finrod whispered.

Vorondil could only nod. The others were equally disinclined to speak. As they stood there, two Maiar approached. One wore the white robe and indigo surcoat with an eight-rayed star embroidered on it that indicated one in the service of Varda. Her locks were the pale white of the full-moon, her eyes a dark blue, almost purple. The other wore a mithril hauberk. A broadsword graced his hips and a white-furred cloak trailed behind him. His hair was whiter than snow and braided with diamonds; his eyes were the grey of a summer storm. He wore a diadem of silver on his head in which was set a heart-shaped laurelaiquamírë, shining dully green in the sun.

Finrod, Vorondil and Sador looked upon the Maiar with interest, but Laurendil and Manwen both gasped and fell to their knees. The two Maiar merely smiled. "Nay, my children," the one bearing the sword said, "kneel not to me." He stooped and offered a hand each to Laurendil and Manwen, and helped them to rise. Finrod raised an eyebrow and gave his vassals enquiring looks. Both Laurendil and Manwen looked suitably embarrassed. The Maia turned to Finrod, his eyes bright with amusement.

"You must forgive your vassals, Findaráto," the Maia said. "When last they saw me it was at the head of the Host of Valinor during the War of Wrath." He then turned to Sador and Vorondil and gave them a smile. "I am Eönwë, Herald of Manwë, and this is my sister, Ilmarë of the People of Varda." He gestured toward the other Maia, who smiled and gave them all a brief nod in acknowledgment. "I will lead you to Lord Manwë while Ilmarë sees to your friends."

Finrod gave Eönwë a bow. "Thank you," he said and then, turning to Vorondil, gave the ellon a gentle squeeze on the arm as he leaned over and whispered in the ellon’s ear. "Keep out of trouble."

Vorondil blushed and nodded, watching wistfully as his Master followed the Herald of Manwë through one of the porticos and disappeared. Ilmarë smiled at them and gestured. "Would you like to see the rose garden?"

Laurendil bowed. "It would be our pleasure, my lady."

He and Manwen walked with Ilmarë as they passed through a different portico while Sador took Vorondil by the arm and made him follow.

****

Finrod looked about with interest as Eönwë led him towards a door made of beaten gold. He did not remember being here before and had to assume that in fact he had never made the trip to Taniquetil before the Darkening. As the son of the youngest son of Finwë, neither he nor his atar had had much to do with the Noldóran’s court. He remembered attending court functions, but more as a witness to Finwë’s dealings rather than as a participant in the day-to-day running of Tirion. Now, however, his atar was Noldóran and he himself had once been a king, albeit a rebel one. Times and circumstances had changed and on reflection he realized with a start that had anyone told him as he trudged across the Helcaraxë beside his Uncle Ñolofinwë, that he would be walking through the halls of Ilmarin on his way to an audience with the Elder King, he would have thought them mad or worse.

Yet, here he was. Eönwë paused before the door, allowing Finrod time to steady himself. Finrod found himself studying the portal and suddenly realized that the panels on it depicted scenes from the time before the coming of the Elves to Valinor. He felt a frisson of awe run through him. Eönwë gave him an encouraging smile. "Times and circumstances do indeed change, Arafinwion, but our oaths do not."

Finrod gave the Maia a startled and uncomprehending look. "Wh-what do you mean, my lord?"

Eönwë only shook his head as he opened the door. "If you do not remember, child, perhaps Lord Manwë will remind you." Then he entered and announced Finrod’s presence to the one waiting within. "Findaráto, erstwhile King of Nargothrond, and presently haryon to the Noldóran, my Lord Manwë." The Maia bowed briefly, then stepped to one side to allow Finrod entrance.

Finrod squared his shoulders and entered to find himself in a small chamber, perhaps twenty-five or thirty paces across. The walls were paneled in a light-colored wood — nessamelda wood, Finrod thought. The paneling was carved in low-relief, depicting scenes of the Valar and the Maiar at work and at play. The floor was tiled with black marble inset with white which created eight-pointed star patterns within each square. Comfortable chairs padded in dark blue velvet were placed near the center of the room facing a balcony that gave a stunning view of the Pelóri mountain range. It was there that Finrod saw Manwë standing. The Elder King looked around and with a smile gestured for Finrod to join him on the balcony.

"Thank you, Eönwë," he said to the Maia as Finrod stepped out onto the balcony after giving the Elder King his obeisance. "I will let you know if we need anything." Eönwë gave Manwë another bow and closed the door behind him, leaving Finrod alone with the Elder King.

"Impressive view, isn’t it?" Manwë asked. Finrod merely nodded.

It was indeed impressive, with the sweep of the mountain range before him and surrounding him, the cragged peaks wreathed in eternal white. Finrod noticed that the balcony was high enough that the clouds actually were below them. The sky above was a deep blue shading to purple. From his vantage point, Finrod could see a tarn nestled in the valley between two peaks, its waters dark and reflecting the mountains like a mirror. Finrod thought he even saw stars in the reflection, but decided that was not possible for they were not visible with Arien riding high in the heavens. Eagles glided through the lower reaches of the range, dipping in and out of the cloud cover, and Finrod realized that he could see at least two eyries on high ledges. One eagle flew close to the balcony and Finrod marveled at the span of its wings and the grace with which it flew.

"They are ever about, between here and Endórë," Manwë said, giving a nod to the eagle as it flew past. "They are my eyes and ears in the Outer World and sometimes they act as my voice." The Elder King moved back inside and Finrod reluctantly followed. "Come, let us sit and speak." Manwë gestured towards the chairs and the two sat. A low table was between them with a decanter of wine and two cut-crystal goblets. Manwë poured the wine and offered a goblet to Finrod.

"I am glad you brought Sador and Vorondil with you," Manwë said without preamble. "It saves me the trouble of summoning them later."

Finrod gave the Elder King a surprised look. "Why do you want to see Sador and Vorondil?"

Manwë gave the elf an amused look. "That is, as they say, privileged information, Arafinwion. Suffice to say that I needs would have speech with them." He raised a hand to still Finrod’s next words. "Now, let us speak of the reason you are here." Finrod blushed slightly at the implied reprimand and nodded, waiting for Manwë to continue. "How are you adjusting to your new status as a full-fledged Fëanturnildo?"

Finrod swallowed nervously before answering. "I thought my apprenticeship would last a lot longer. I certainly didn’t expect to be... er... promoted so quickly."

"A consequence of confronting Irmo and Námo the way you did," Manwë acknowledged with a wry grin at Finrod’s obvious unease. "With the Fëanturnildi there is no set period of apprenticeship, unlike the Lóriennildi or the Estenduri who apprentice with Irmo and Estë for twenty-four years before they are considered eligible for journeyman status and then it may be decades before they become competent enough to be considered master healers. Each Fëanturnildo’s situation and relationship with the Fëanturi is unique. But do not think that just because you have been accorded ‘Master’ status within the fellowship of the Fëanturnildi, that your apprenticeship is at an end. I fear that in many ways, you will always be an apprentice, for there will always be something for you to learn from your masters. That is true for every Fëanturnildo."

Finrod nodded in understanding. "I’m still at a loss as to what I am supposed to do. Lord Irmo and Lord Námo, whenever I ask them, merely shrug and tell me that they’re sure I’ll think of something. It’s so frustrating sometimes." There was a note of exasperation in the elf’s voice.

Manwë nodded in understanding. "Which brings us to the reason for my summoning you." The Elder King took a sip of wine before continuing, casting a shrewd glance at the elf sitting before him. "You still resent what we did to Vorondil."

Finrod gave the Vala a cool stare. "You wanted me to kill him. I do not appreciate being manipulated into doing your dirty work for you."

Manwë raised an eyebrow at that. "We wanted you to save him. There’s a difference. And as for manipulation... do you know how many different scenarios Lord Námo gave us with regards to how that trial would go and what would happen to Vorondil in the end?"

Finrod stared at the Elder King in confusion. "Wh-what do you mean... different scenarios?"

"Of all the Valar," Manwë explained, "the Lord of Mandos sees the furthest into the history of Arda. You are familiar with his emblem." It was not a question but Finrod nodded anyway. "Well, when we Valar decided to create emblems for ourselves and our Maiar servants, Námo chose the Sun-in-Eclipse." He paused and gave Finrod a significant look. "We chose our emblems shortly after we founded Valinor and the Two Trees had yet to be created."

Finrod blinked and felt his jaw drop. Manwë merely sat there with a small smile on his lips as he took another sip of wine, giving the elf as much time as he needed to come to terms with what the Elder King had just said. Finrod did some mental arithmetic and felt the blood rush from his head as the immensity of time that stretched back into the mists of history impinged on his consciousness. Fifteen hundred Valian years before Isil and Anar were even created Lord Námo had designed his emblem. The thought was too staggering for him to accept and he shook his head, as much in denial as anything. He took a sip of wine to steady himself. Manwë gave him a sympathetic look.

"Námo’s prescience allows him a glimpse of what is to come, but there’s a catch," Manwë said.

"Wh-what catch?" Finrod asked faintly.

"You."

"Huh? I mean..."

Lord Manwë chuckled. "‘Huh’ just about covers it. The catch, yonya, is you and every other Child of Ilúvatar, including Mortals. Eru endowed you, as he did us and the Maiar, with free will and that makes it tricky to predict which way any of you will go. Námo knows much of the future of Arda but even he does not know all and none of us were given a glimpse of how the Eldar or the Atani will act. Fëanáro’s rebellion, for instance, took us as much by surprise as it did you, but once it happened, Námo could see what the consequences would be. Hence, the Doom of Mandos and all that followed therefrom."

He paused for a moment to let Finrod absorb his words before continuing. "With the trial, Námo saw Vorondil coming to Mandos and to be honest, he may yet."

Finrod started at that and stood up in shock. "What do you mean? Is he to die after all?"

Manwë shook his head. "We do not know, child. That’s the problem. Once you accepted Aldundil’s oath all predictions went by the wayside. Námo saw six possible ways that trial could have ended. In none of them did Aldundil offer himself in place of his son. That one incident took us all by surprise and we are still trying to determine what the ramifications of his actions and yours has on the future of Aman and Arda itself and more specifically what that means for Vorondil."

Finrod sat down slowly as Manwë’s words sank in. He gave the Elder King a shrewd look. "So what do you plan for him?"

Manwë shook his head. "At the moment, nothing. He is your responsibility for the next thirty years, but we reserve the right to monitor his progress and modify the conditions of his servitude if the situation warrants. We will, of course, seek your permission before doing so."

"How magnanimous of you," Finrod muttered sardonically and Manwë actually laughed.

"Oh, child, you little realize just how magnanimous we truly are. But have no fear. We are pleased with how you have handled Vorondil to date and have every hope that with your loving guidance, the ellon will mature into as responsible and giving an elf as you are."

Finrod gave Manwë a wry look. "I just hope we all survive the ordeal. Vorondil tends to be overly enthusiastic at times."

Manwë chuckled and then a companionable silence fell between them as they each drank some wine. Finally, Finrod spoke again, his expression pensive. "Eönwë said something strange just before he announced me." He looked up at the Elder King who merely nodded encouragingly. "He said that times and circumstances change, but our oaths do not." He gave the Vala a puzzled look. "What did he mean by that?"

Manwë gave the ellon a sympathetic look even as he sighed. "Eönwë," he said softly, and suddenly the Maia was there, standing on Manwë’s right, looking grim, a large leather-bound book in his hand. Finrod found himself standing and had to force himself not to back away, a sudden sense of disquiet invading his fëa. Manwë’s expression became grave and then Lord Námo was suddenly there, standing behind Finrod.

"Be still," Námo said quietly as he placed his hands on Finrod’s shoulders. "There is nothing to fear here, but it must be done."

"Wh-what must be done?" Finrod whispered, never taking his eyes off the Elder King who sat before him in majesty, though he wore no crown and this was not the Valar’s throne room.

"What do you remember of the Crossing?" Manwë asked him without preamble.

Finrod started but then shook his head. "White," he said blankly. "I remember white."

"What else?" Manwë asked gently, but Finrod merely continued shaking his head, a feeling of dread stealing over him. In spite of the fact that the Lord of Mandos was standing directly behind him, he kept trying to back away. He had to force himself not to whimper. Finrod felt himself beginning to panic without understanding why, which only made the panic worse. Námo tightened his grip on the elf and Manwë’s grave expression changed to one of concern. He stood up.

"Come here, child," he said gently, gesturing to the ellon. Finrod felt Námo’s grip loosen and with a sob he found himself in Manwë’s embrace. The Elder King rocked him quietly for a few minutes, speaking softly.

"You have nothing to fear, child. All judgments have been rendered. This is just... old business you might say... something that needs to be cleared up before you can move on. I’m not surprised you have no real memory of the Crossing. It was a brutal experience made even more so because of the treachery that was visited upon you by your own uncle."

"Wh-what am I supposed to be remembering?" Finrod asked with something close to despair in his voice. He thought it was all behind him now — the treachery, the terror, the pain. Why did everyone insist on dredging up what could never be changed, however much they might wish it otherwise? Wasn’t it enough that he had died in agony as payment for his sins against the Valar?

"That’s not how it works, yonya," Námo said, moving to take Finrod by the shoulders and turning the ellon around to face him. "Your death was just that... your death, nothing more. It was not a punishment for whatever sins you think you committed against us. Death and punishment are not the same, neither is judgment and punishment. You died, plain and simple."

"Then what is this all about?" Finrod asked in confusion.

"It is about oaths, the giving and keeping of them," Manwë answered. "You know about that from both sides now." The Elder King looked at Eönwë, who had remained silent during all this, waiting patiently for his lord to acknowledge him, and nodded. The Maia stepped forward, opening the book to a particular page.

"All oaths wherein the Valar or Eru are called upon as witnesses are recorded, Findaráto," Eönwë said gravely, though there was a look of sympathy and compassion in his grey eyes. "All of them." He extended the book towards the elf, turning it so he could see what was written therein.

Finrod looked upon a page where, somehow, every oath he had ever spoken was recorded, even the simple oath of an elfling prince to be obedient to his lord as he took up the duties of a page in his anatar’s court. And there was the oath of promise to Amarië that they would be wed. He blushed slightly at that, for he realized that he had been neglectful of his betrothed in these last weeks. He resolved to pay closer attention to her when she arrived for the tournament. Further down the page other oaths appeared and disappeared from his view until one oath stood out from all the others.

He read the words and felt his mouth go dry and his knees begin to tremble. No! his mind shouted and he felt both Manwë and Námo take him by his arms to steady him.

"Do you remember now, child?" Manwë whispered as Finrod continued staring in blank horror at the words that were recorded for all eternity in the Book of Oaths.

Finrod nodded mutely. He remembered....

The eldest child of Arafinwë lost count of the days and weeks and months they had spent trudging north, ever north. The land had ceased to be anything but a frozen wasteland long before and now they were attempting the crossing of the Helcaraxë. All about him was white — eternal, implacable and deadly. How many they had lost so far, none could say. They only knew that horror and despair were leaching away their strength by slow degrees, along with the ever present cold. Above them curtains of lights, mostly red but sometimes other shades, shimmered all around, their silence nearly deafening and many quailed at their sight, believing them to be Maiar making sure none of them turned back.

Findaráto wasn’t so sure, but it didn’t really matter. There was no turning back, for any of them. Their own arrogance had brought them to this folly, that and Fëanáro’s Oath. Findaráto grimaced as he turned his thoughts away from his hated uncle to help his sister across one of the floes making up the ice field. They were stepping carefully towards where the scouts claimed was solid ground. So far, Findaráto estimated, they had traveled nearly two leagues across the ice. Their Uncle Ñolofinwë urged them forward. Findaráto gave Artanis a wintry smile which she returned with surprising equanimity. There was a core of adamant in his sister that he had always suspected was there, but until this venture, it had never really materialized. As he gave her a hand Findaráto reflected that if anyone could survive the hell they were in it would be she.

They had nearly reached solid ground when disaster struck.

There was a loud crack followed by a grinding noise as some of the ice suddenly broke apart just as Turucáno’s wife and daughter were crossing the gap between floes. Elenwë’s scream alerted Findaráto and he rushed back towards where Turucáno’s people were, only to watch in horror as his cousin’s wife threw her young daughter into her husband’s arms before sinking beneath the grey waves along with three others.

"NOOOO!" Findaráto screamed, falling to his knees in horror. It was the final insult and the final assault on his sanity in this never-ending frozen hell. A wave of despair mingled with an unreasonable hatred towards the Valar at the cruel waste of it all swept over him and with merciless finality he uttered an oath, an oath he was barely aware of making.

"I swear, Elenwë, I will make the Valar pay for this day, ánye resta Eru," he whispered. It was some time before he allowed Artanis to help him to his feet and lead him to where their uncle and Turucáno waited for them on solid ground....

****

Finrod forced himself away from the memory and stared in bleak horror at Manwë and Eönwë standing silently before him. Námo still stood at his back, lending him support, or perhaps cutting off his escape, he wasn’t sure which.

*Perhaps a little of both,* he heard Námo’ voice within him, sounding somewhat amused and wanted to shut his mind against the Vala’s intrusion but did not think it would be possible, given the circumstances.

"You can always close yourself to us, child," Námo said aloud, stroking the ellon’s hair in an attempt to offer him some comfort. "We will not intrude upon you in that way."

"So what now?" Finrod asked, his eyes still on the book in Eönwë’s hands.

"What now, indeed," Manwë said sympathetically and gestured for Finrod to sit down again. Finrod saw that two additional chairs had appeared in the meantime and soon they were all seated. Námo poured more wine into Finrod’s goblet and bade him to drink, which the ellon did. He found his sense of confusion fading and his mind becoming clearer with every sip. Soon his equilibrium returned and he was able to look at the Valar and the Maia with something close to calm once again. Eönwë, Finrod saw, still had the Book open and shuddered slightly at the sight. The Maia smiled grimly.

"It gives me no great joy to record many of the oaths that people utter," he said as he closed the Book. "but it is a necessary part of my duties as Herald. As oaths go, this one is less offensive than most, but no less grave."

Finrod nodded. "I regret I ever uttered such an oath, but I will not apologize for it. I do not think I was even in my right mind at the time, though I know that is not an excuse."

"It excuses much, Arafinwion," Manwë said with some gravity, "though it does not excuse all. The oath cannot be rescinded, nor can it be safely ignored. Your future relationship with us depends on resolving this issue here and now."

"How..."

"That is for you to decide, child," Námo said not unkindly. Then his expression darkened somewhat. "Understand, though, that you will not leave this room until it is resolved." The implacability of the Vala’s tone sent a frisson of fear through the ellon and he felt the blood rush from his head. Neither Vala moved to offer him any comfort, but sat waiting for him to make the next move.

For long moments Finrod merely sat there, thinking. He replayed the scene of Elenwë’s death and his reaction to it over and over, wondering why that death above all others that he had been forced to witness during the Crossing had affected him the way it did. He could only conclude that he considered Elenwë as ‘family’ and saw in her death what the future held for all his loved ones. Such revelation had been too much for him to endure under the circumstances and he had begun at that moment to dimly understand the dregs of bitterness he and the Noldor would be forced to drink as a consequence of the Doom of Mandos. They had not been making their way towards glory, he now realized, but towards death.

Finrod shook his head to clear it of such dark thoughts, took another sip of wine, then set the goblet on the table, coming to a decision. He looked at Manwë and nodded. "Summon them."

In the space between one eye blink and the next, the other twelve Valar were there. Varda stood next to Manwë and Vairë joined her spouse, placing a hand on his shoulder. The others were ranged around the chairs, waiting in silence. Manwë and Námo both stood and their chairs faded away. Eönwë stood as well, the Book of Oaths no longer in his hands. The Maia went to the door, and took up a guard position. Finrod swallowed nervously, gathering his courage, then, he stood before the Elder King.

"I forgive thee," he said simply yet with absolute sincerity and offered Manwë the kiss of peace, which the Vala accepted.

He then turned to Varda. "I forgive thee," he repeated and gave her the kiss of peace as well. One after another he went to each Vala, repeating his words and offering the kiss of peace until he stood at the last before Lord Námo. For a moment, Vala and Elda stared into each other’s eyes, then Finrod found himself going to his knees and weeping.

"Ávatyara nillo, Heru... ávatyara nillo."

Námo stooped down and raised Finrod to his feet. "Entassë úmaurë avatyarien, yonya. Nai haryuvam imbë met sérë." The elf allowed Námo to give him the kiss of peace which he returned. Námo, sensing Finrod’s need, kept him in his embrace until the ellon was able to collect himself.

After a few minutes Manwë reached over and took Finrod by the shoulders, turning him around. "Thank you," he said with all sincerity. "Thank you from all of us. I know how difficult it was for you to do this, child. Do not think we do not appreciate your sincere offer of reconciliation. It is what we have hoped for all these long centuries since that oath was uttered."

Finrod nodded and was about to reply when there was a commotion at the door and he turned in time to see Eönwë step back with his sword before him as the door opened revealing a very wet and weeping Vorondil with Laurendil, Manwen and Ilmarë standing behind him trying desperately not to laugh. Sador, Finrod noticed, was hanging back a bit and looking rueful.

Finrod looked at the elfling in disbelief, glanced at Manwë to see the amused look on the Elder King’s face, then rolled his eyes, muttering fervently, "Ánye restar iValar!"

Eönwë raised an amused eyebrow at the exasperated ellon and sheathed his sword. With a gesture the Book of Oaths appeared in his left hand while a quill appeared in his right. The Book opened of its own accord to a certain page and the Maia began writing in it. All the Valar started laughing at Finrod’s expression of disgust and disbelief. Laurendil, Manwen, Sador and Ilmarë gave up and joined them. Vorondil simply stood there dripping water and continued to weep.

****

Artaquetta Findaráto as Manwë: Finrod’s Debate/Conversation with Manwë, cf. the Sindarin, Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth.

Laurelaiquamírë: What we would call chrysoprase, an apple-green form of chalcedony. It helps to make conscious what was unconscious. It encourages hope and joy and helps clarify problems. It is also used as a shield or protector against negative energy and has more power when carved in the shape of a heart [chrysoprase, from chryso "gold" + prase "leek"; laurë "gold" + laiqua "green" + mírë "jewel"].

Anatar: Grandfather.

Ánye resta Eru: "God help me".

Ávatyara nillo, Heru: In this context: "Forgive me, Master."

Entassë úmaurë avatyarien, yonya. Nai haryuvam imbë met sérë: "There is no need for forgiveness, my son. May we have peace between us (dual)".

Ánye restar iValar!: "The Valar help me!"

Historical Notes: The Valar created the continent of Valinor and founded Aman in the Valian Year 3500. The Two Trees were created shortly thereafter. Finrod and Manwë hold their conversation in Second Age 503, about the time Sauron is beginning to stir again in Middle-earth. Therefore, 15,463 years of the Sun have passed since the founding of Aman (a Valian Year is equal to 9.58 solar years).

As Finrod realizes, fifteen hundred Valian years separate Námo’s designing his emblem of the Sun-in-Eclipse from the actual creation of the Moon and Sun from the last flower and fruit of Telperion and Laurelin, respectively, or 14,370 years of the Sun.

Eleven hundred years of the Sun pass between Finrod’s uttering his oath and the reconciliation between him and the Valar as described in this chapter.

Geological note: An ice field is an extensive area of ice floating on the ocean consisting of multiple ice floes and covering an area that is greater than ten kilometers (6.2 miles) across. A league is three miles.