119: The First Round

Glorfindel and Calmacil were assigned to the first list, while Aldundil and Findegil were given the second. These faced the royal gallery. Haldir and Valacar were in the list behind Glorfindel while Ingwion and Cirion were behind Haldir. Ingwë wasn’t too pleased by this arrangement, wishing he had a better view of his son’s first match.

"Which is probably why the heralds placed him where he is, dear," Elindis chided her husband softly, giving him an understanding smile. "He’s going to be nervous enough without your staring at him making things worse."

Ingwë blushed slightly at that, casting a rueful smile at Arafinwë and Olwë, both of whom chuckled. Then the first four pairs of warriors stepped out and there was cheering from the crowd. Heralds and marshals joined the warriors in their respective lists. Eönwë oversaw all the lists from his vantage point next to Lord Manwë. While Ingwë craned his neck for a better glimpse of Ingwion, Arafinwë kept his eyes on Glorfindel. He was fighting against one of the Noldor who had accompanied Arafinwë to Endórë during the War of Wrath. He would be a worthy opponent for the Balrog-slayer and would be unlikely to make it easy for the once-Lord of Gondolin.

Aldundil’s opponent, Findegil, was a Sinda who had survived the fall of Nargothrond and eventually came West after the War of Wrath. He was well versed in warfare and had actually fought beside Aldundil during that war. Arafinwë had listened to them exchanging war stories with great amusement as they had traveled to Vanyamar. The Noldóran was not acquainted with Valacar, but he was well aware of Haldir’s abilities, having watched him train. His respect for the Reborn Noldo had only increased over the months in which he and his wife had lived in Tirion. Arafinwë still was upset over the rift between Haldir and his atar, and hoped that when they returned to Tirion, Pelendur would have had second thoughts about his son’s worth.

"What can you tell me about my son’s opponent?" Ingwë suddenly asked Arafinwë.

The Noldóran reluctantly tore his gaze from the bout between Glorfindel and Calmacil. Glorfindel had just scored a point and the crowd was cheering. Arafinwë glanced at Cirion and Ingwion fighting. Neither had scored any points as yet, but he could see that the two ellyn were equally matched.

"Cirion fought in the War of Wrath," Arafinwë said. "He was one of my captains."

Ingwë gave Arafinwë a surprised look. "He appears to be rather young to have held such a position."

Arafinwë nodded. "Young indeed, yet he was a natural leader and a deadly fighter. Even the older elves respected him and he proved wise beyond his years."

Ingwë nodded, looking thoughtful. "Ingwion wanted to join you when you set off for Endórë," he said softly.

Arafinwë gave his kinsman a sympathetic look. "I know he did, but I understand why you did not grant him permission to come, though many of the Vanyarin warriors thought it would only be natural for their prince to lead them in the War. I know there was great disappointment among them when he did not."

"I don’t think he ever truly forgave me," Ingwë said in a whisper, looking somewhat despondent. There was old pain in his eyes, pain that he usually could hide even from himself, but the conversation was dredging up memories and feelings he had hoped had been laid to rest long ago.

Arafinwë leaned over and placed a comforting hand on Ingwë’s arm. "I do understand why you did not let Ingwion come with me to Endórë, Uncle. More importantly, I approve of your decision and would have refused him had he asked me."

Ingwë gave Arafinwë a surprised look, but seeing the sincerity in the other’s eyes, nodded. "Thank you. I think I needed to hear that."

Arafinwë nodded as well. The two kings’ attention was diverted by loud cheering and they looked up in time to see Haldir disarm his opponent, thereby ending the match. Arafinwë nodded his approval, while Ingwë looked chagrined to see one of his own people losing. Olwë, seeing the look on the High King’s face, leaned over and spoke in sympathetic tones.

"Lord Valacar actually scored more points against Lord Haldir, but that last maneuver was completely unexpected. Valacar has no need to feel shame, nor should you. He held out much longer than I expected, knowing he was facing a proven warrior who survived the Nirnaeth Arnediad."

"Olwë speaks truly," Manwë said, entering the discussion for the first time. "Valacar did quite well against Haldir and whether he wins or loses, he has earned nothing but our respect."

Ingwë appeared mollified by Manwë’s words and turned his attention back to Ingwion’s match with Cirion, though he also watched the other matches as well, especially Glorfindel’s. The ellon seemed hardly to be fighting, though Calmacil appeared nearly winded with the effort to keep up with the Reborn ellon. Ingwë wondered if Glorfindel was even exerting his full strength against his opponent and hoped the ellon was not merely playing with the other warrior. He heard Manwë chuckle, as if the Vala had divined his thoughts.

"Glorfindel is not ‘playing’ with Calmacil," the Elder King said suddenly. "He is, however, being careful. His last battle was against a Maia, whom he slew, though it cost him his life."

"But he’s sparred before," Ingwë protested.

"Sparred, yes," Eönwë interjected from where he was standing next to Manwë’s seat, his eyes never leaving the lists, "but this is a true battle for him, for all of them. Glorfindel well remembers the last time he was in battle." The Maia spared Ingwë a brief glance and a brilliant smile. "I do not think he wants to have to explain to Lord Námo why there is one elf more in Mandos than there should be."

Ingwë couldn’t help laughing at that and nodded his understanding, turning back to watch how the matches were progressing. His eyes drifted to the left to watch the match between Aldundil and Findegil, and he smiled. Vorondil was standing in front of the healers’ tent practically hopping up and down in agitation as he watched his atar fighting. Ingwë wondered if the ellon was also feeling nervous standing so close to the Valar, even though none of them appeared to be paying him any attention.

****

Vorondil nearly fainted when he realized that Lord Námo and Lord Irmo were seated on either side of the healers’ tent where he was stationed. He had lost his fear (mostly) of the Valar, or at least of some of them, but they still made him nervous and he didn’t want to think about a certain grove in Lórien. His mind tended to skitter from that particular memory and he had to force himself not to be sick in public. He stood outside the tent watching his atar fight and tried not to think about anything else. So focused was he on the fighting that he was unaware of Námo staring at him for a long moment, the Vala’s eyes dark with foreboding.

Vorondil was hopping up and down, wanting to shout at his atar to look out every time Findegil brought his sword down on Aldundil’s shield. He did not really understand what was happening or why his atar just didn’t go in and beat the other elf to pieces. Vorondil kept trying to remember what his master had told him about Aldundil having survived the War of Wrath, but it didn’t help all that much and he wanted to run out onto the field and tackle the Sinda hurting his atar.

Suddenly, and to his utter humiliation, he felt himself being picked up and found himself in Námo’s arms. The Vala held him close to his chest and bending down whispered in the ellon’s ear. "Take a deep breath, child. You are becoming overwrought for no good reason."

Vorondil bit back a sob of embarrassment and tried not to squirm as he did what he was told. He suddenly felt dizzy and Námo held him closer until the spell passed and he was clear-headed again.

"I-I’m sorry," Vorondil stuttered as Námo put him back down, though he did not release his hold on the ellon. "D-don’t let Atto get hurt," he implored the Vala and Námo rocked him gently in his embrace.

"Child, that is beyond my powers to effect," he said quietly. "Remember, this is but a tournament. It isn’t the same thing as fighting in a battle for your life. Your atar will be well, just have faith."

The Lord of Mandos then turned Vorondil around so he could continue to watch the match. For a few moments, not much happened, then, suddenly, Aldundil seemingly stepped into the path of Findegil’s sword as the ellon was completing the arc of his last swing. Aldundil’s shield was knocked away from his body, thereby exposing him to Findegil’s attack. Aldundil suffered a severe body blow before he had time to parry.

"Atto!" Vorondil screamed as he watched Aldundil stagger, receiving a second body blow that drove him to his knees. The elfling struggled in Námo’s embrace to no avail. The Vala held onto him, sending calming thoughts until the ellon finally collapsed in his arms weeping.

"Now, child," Námo said, rocking Vorondil and humming a soft melody. "Your atar is well. If you are going to be a Lóriennildo, you have to learn to be calm or you will be no use to your charges."

"My brother is correct, Little One," Irmo said, suddenly standing next to him. He gave the ellon a piercing stare which brought a whimper from Vorondil. "If you wish to remain in my service you must learn to control yourself. You do no one any good if you are acting hysterically. Your atar is not seriously injured, but if he had been your behavior would not have helped him."

Vorondil turned pale under the Vala’s regard and murmured an apology, forcing himself to stay calm. The two Valar traded looks and Irmo’s expression softened as Námo released the ellon into his brother’s embrace. "Now why don’t you go out and make sure your atar is well," Irmo said gently and gave the ellon a little push of encouragement. "And no attacking Findegil," the Vala said loudly, ensuring that those nearby would hear, and he and Námo laughed at Vorondil’s look of embarrassment as the ellon ran towards the opening that gave access to the list.

****

Ingwë watched with interest as first Lord Námo and then Lord Irmo took charge of young Vorondil when Aldundil lost his match. The Valar seemed genuinely to care for the child and he was glad. It had gone against his nature to have to put an elfling on trial, however guilty he may have been of the crimes for which he’d been accused. The Valar’s solution to that conundrum had been startling and Findaráto’s response had been totally unexpected, but now he realized it had been for the best, for all of them, himself not the least. He felt someone watching him and turning saw Manwë eyeing him.

"We usually know what we are doing," the Elder King said with a small smile. Ingwë had no choice but to agree. He bowed his head in acknowledgment, then turned his attention back to the list. He watched with approval as the two warriors left the list together speaking amiably to one another with Vorondil between them. Both Aldundil and Findegil each had a hand on the ellon’s shoulders and Vorondil seemed honestly relieved. Ingwë gave a small sigh of relief, glad that that situation had been resolved. With the match decided that left only Glorfindel and Ingwion still fighting their respective opponents.

****

Ingwion took a quick deep breath as he brought his shield forward to block the blow that was coming. Cirion had proved a most worthy warrior and Ingwion had been pleased that they seemed equally matched, though he was initially surprised at the strength of the younger ellon’s parries. He had feared that he would either be paired with a warrior of lesser skill than he, or even worse, of greater skill. Cirion, however, was neither and Ingwion had settled in for a challenging bout. He had stopped trying to keep score some time before and so had no idea who might be winning. He was confident as he parried Cirion’s blow and then delivered one of his own that he could eventually win, but it would not be easy. Cirion was just that good.

The two warriors circled one another, each looking for an advantage. Ingwion made a conscious effort not to look only at Cirion’s eyes to gauge what the other ellon might do, but kept his eyes on Cirion’s chest. It was a dangerous mistake to make, he knew, to rely only on your opponent’s eyes to tell you what was going to happen next. His shield was taking a battering as he used it to intercept most of Cirion’s oncoming attacks and his ears were ringing with the clash of their swords and the noise of the crowd. Ingwion vaguely wondered how Glorfindel was doing in his match, and though he resisted the temptation to take a quick glance, he was momentarily distracted by the thought. There came a sudden blur of movement as his opponent unexpectedly shifted his position. The brilliant sunlight on Cirion’s hauberk reflected brightly in Ingwion’s eyes. Momentarily blinded, he never saw Cirion’s sword come crashing down upon his shield, splintering it and driving him to his knees.

****

Ingwë was taking a few moments to watch the bout between Glorfindel and Calmacil when he heard a gasp from Elindis followed almost immediately by groans from the crowd. He turned in time to see Ingwion’s sword go spinning out of his hand and at the same time fall to his knees, his shield lying in pieces. Cirion, meanwhile, had doffed his helmet and was kneeling before the prince. A part of Ingwë hoped he was asking his son’s pardon, but he realized that the warrior was merely checking to see if Ingwion was badly injured. He forced himself to remain seated as he watched the marshal of the list approach the two warriors and the three of them hold a conversation which none could hear. Then Cirion extended his hand and Ingwion clasped it and allowed the ellon to help him to his feet. Cheers broke out as the two warriors, after giving each other a salute, walked off the list arm in arm.

Ingwë sighed in relief, glad that his son did not seem unduly injured but sorry he had not won his first match. Elindis put a hand on his arm and gave him a fond look. "He did very well," she said softly. "I’m very proud of him."

"As am I," Ingwë acknowledged, bending over to give her a brief but loving kiss.

Now only Glorfindel and Calmacil were left fighting and that bout did not last much longer, for Calmacil inadvertently gave Glorfindel an opening that allowed him to slip his sword under the other ellon’s shield. He knocked Calmacil to the ground, his sword at the ellon’s throat, thereby ending the match to much cheering from the spectators. Ingwë and the others in the royal gallery clapped in approval and soon the field was cleared and the next set of fighters appeared.

****

Finrod, Arafinwë noted, had been assigned to the first list, much to the Noldóran’s amusement when he saw Ingwë scowl and heard him muttering something about favoritism. The second list had been assigned to Gilvagor and Region. Aldarion and Hallas were behind Finrod while Vëantur and Mithlas were behind Gilvagor.

Finrod’s opponent was a Vanya named Ardamírë. He was one of the oldest elves to be fighting, for he well remembered the Light of the Two Trees. Arafinwë could not recall if the ellon had participated in the War of Wrath, but upon asking Eönwë, the Maia shook his head.

"Nay. Lord Ardamírë remained behind in Aman, but he has trained in the sword ever since our return from Endórë. He lost both his sons in the war and his wife faded soon after upon hearing the news."

Arafinwë frowned. "He feels guilty for not having accompanied his sons to Endórë then and perhaps protecting them from harm."

Manwë nodded. "Guilt and anger. Both emotions drive him," the Vala said with a sigh. "I only hope they do not drive him into Mandos."

"Is he a danger to others, then?" Ingwë asked as he watched the match between his great-nephew and the Vanya commenced.

"Nay," Manwë answered. "But he may be a danger to himself."

"Why did he not fade, along with his wife?" Olwë asked.

It was Ingwë who answered, his expression somewhat cold. "Because I forbade it. I told him that if he faded I would follow him to Mandos and haul him back to Life and then condemn him to two ages on bread and water for defying my orders."

Several of the elves chuckled at that. "And you would have, too," Arafinwë said with a smile. "I’ve never known you to make idle threats, Uncle. I’m sure Ardamírë knew that, too."

Ingwë nodded. "He is a good ellon and one of my most trusted advisors. I know how difficult it has been, but I’d already lost...." he shook his head before continuing, his expression darkening to something near to despair. "I needed him alive. I needed his strength for myself."

No one said anything after that, though Manwë and Varda exchanged glances and there was a look of sympathy on the faces of the four Maiar, Olórin’s especially. The others in the gallery studiously watched the matches begin, softly commenting on the various fighting styles and techniques, giving their High King a moment of privacy. Soon, Ingwë’s own expression cleared and he visibly relaxed, turning to Arafinwë.

"Findaráto seems to be doing well against Ardamírë," he said.

Arafinwë nodded. "He was telling me on the way here that he was not sure he was going to be able to compete with any confidence as he has not had an opportunity to do much training, spending much of his time working with Alassiel."

Ingwë scowled. "I was not pleased to learn that he had begun training her in the use of the sword. I asked him why he had done so and do you know what his answer was?"

Arafinwë shook his head, intrigued by his son’s motives. He had been as surprised as any to see Alassiel in Findaráto’s company but had not questioned either of them as to the situation, trusting in his son’s integrity. Ingwë continued to scowl.

"He told me that the elleth was very arrogant and he meant to beat it out of her if it was the last thing either of them did."

Several eyebrows went up at that announcement and Arafinwë noticed Manwë and Varda exchanging amused looks.

"I’m sure he didn’t mean that literally," Arafinwë said, keeping his tone and expression neutral and had the pleasure of hearing Ingwë’s snort of laughter, his humor restored.

For several minutes those in the royal gallery watched the matches, with only a few whispered observations about the fighters being made. Arafinwë kept his focus on his son, noting the economical manner of the ellon’s technique. He suddenly thought how much he would have enjoyed fighting alongside his son had Findaráto survived to meet him on the shores of Beleriand. He felt an old grief at the memory of one of Lord Námo’s Maiar informing him that his firstborn had entered Mandos. The pain of it had been more terrible than learning that his other two sons had also died sometime earlier. He was surprised that that particular memory still held so much pain now that he had Findaráto back. He felt someone touch his arm and looking down was surprised not to see a hand, yet the sensation was still there. Then he heard the Elder King in his mind.

*Some griefs are never fully assuaged, child. Do not be surprised that that particular memory still has the power to give you pain.*

Arafinwë stole a glance at Manwë who was not even looking at him, but nodded anyway. *Thank you,* he thought simply and felt an invisible pat on his arm before the sensation disappeared. He returned his attention to the matches, noticing that Gilvagor and Region were going at each other with great enthusiasm. He did not know the lady personally, but he could see that she handled her sword competently enough. Gilvagor appeared to respect her and treated her as he would have any other warrior. The crowd cheered when Region scored the first point.

The match between Vëantur and Mithlas was the first to end, and sooner than any had expected. All watched as Mithlas came unexpectedly underneath Vëantur’s guard and brought him down in a swift motion of his sword. The blade struck Vëantur in the solar plexus so that the mail links of his hauberk were driven sharply inward, forcing the ellon’s breath from his lungs. He buckled from the pain and in seconds he was falling to the ground, unconscious. Mithlas knelt beside him and attempted to remove the fallen ellon’s helmet. The list marshal ran over to see how Vëantur fared and Eönwë was suddenly not there in the gallery but was standing over Mithlas who seemed somewhat agitated. Eönwë placed a hand on the ellon’s shoulder and the Sinda seemed to relax somewhat as the marshal gave Vëantur a cursory examination. Arafinwë then saw Laurendil with Vorondil run out onto the field with a stretcher. They deftly placed the still stunned ellon on it, taking him away.

Mithlas stood up then, his head bare, looking concerned, but Eönwë bent down and spoke to him. Whatever the Maia said seemed to help for the Sinda’s expression cleared somewhat and he did not look quite as distraught. Arafinwë noticed Ingwë whispering something in a page’s ear before sending the elleth off. No doubt the High King would be getting a report on Vëantur’s condition soon.

"I hope it isn’t too serious," Olwë said. "He will need to fight this afternoon."

"If he isn’t able to," Arafinwë said, "then Ingwion will not be able to compete either, since according to the rules of the list, he and Vëantur will compete in the first round of the parma-list fighters."

Ingwë nodded and sighed. "It would grieve me if Ingwion is unable to compete, for I know how much he has been looking forward to this tournament. I would hate to have him done with the tournament before he’s even begun."

"I’m sure that will not be the case," Manwë said, giving them all a serene smile. "Vëantur is not seriously hurt, merely stunned. He will recover in time for his next match. If necessary, we can even delay the afternoon matches for an hour or so to give him more time to recover."

These words seemed to mollify everyone and they settled back to watch the other three matches. Arafinwë was pleased to see that Findaráto was still holding his own, and was even winning, having scored more points against Ardamírë. He was about to make a comment to Eärwen about their son’s prowess with the sword when Ardamírë did the most unexpected thing. He went to one knee just as Findaráto was about to bring his sword down on the ellon’s shield. The sudden change in Ardamírë’s position threw Findaráto off-balance and with a swift upward thrust of his sword, Ardamírë dislodged the prince’s own shield, causing Findaráto to lean back in compensation, trying to retain his balance. Unfortunately, the ellon overcompensated and ended up on his back. Ardamírë was quickly on his feet, his sword at Findaráto’s throat.

There was no cheering, merely a stunned silence. By mutual consent the other two matches came to a halt to see what was happening. Then off to the side where he had been observing the fighting, Glorfindel started laughing and the sound of it brought everyone out of their state of shock. Arafinwë found himself rising and felt both Olwë and Eärwen pushing him back down. Glorfindel continued to laugh, practically dancing onto the field with glee to stand over Finrod, clapping Ardamírë on the shoulder and looking terribly smug.

"It’s about time someone brought you down a peg or two, brother," he said loud enough for all to hear. "I’ve been teaching Ardamírë that trick for weeks now but this is the first time he actually got it right." He nodded to Ardamírë who stepped back with a bow. Glorfindel extended a hand and after a brief second Finrod reached out but instead of allowing himself to be pulled up he tugged on Glorfindel’s arm and forced the ellon to the ground so that now Finrod was looming over him. The prince removed his helmet and all could see him smiling, a glint of mischief in his eyes. Glorfindel’s own expression was priceless, a mixture of surprise and chagrin.

"Tricks, is it?" Finrod exclaimed loudly. Then, he quickly removed his gauntlets and before Glorfindel could move Finrod straddled his chest and began tickling him. Glorfindel started shrieking, trying to dislodge his brother, but Finrod in full mail was unmovable. Glorfindel continued shrieking in laughter and the effect was to set everyone else laughing as well. Eventually Finrod relented and stood up. He glanced at Ardamírë who was standing to one side with an uncertain expression on his face. For a moment the two warriors faced each other and then Finrod extended his hand.

"Good match," he said. "You’ll have to show me that trick sometime."

Ardamírë took the prince’s hand and smiled. The spectators began cheering and the other two matches resumed while Finrod and Ardamírë walked off the field, leaving Glorfindel still lying on the ground with a stupid grin on his face.

Arafinwë found himself shaking his head and gave Ingwë a wry look. "It appears that both our sons have been outdone."

Before Ingwë could reply, Eönwë spoke up, a smile on his face. "Outdone, perhaps, but not outclassed. Neither of you have any need to feel anything but pride in your firstborn sons. They are a credit to their sires and their race."

Manwë nodded. "Indeed. A very interesting turn of events, the last bit with Glorfindel not the least."

This caused everyone to laugh and they settled back to watch the two remaining matches. Neither lasted much longer. Hallas eventually yielded to Aldarion, who had scored several points more than the Sinda. Gilvagor’s match against Region went a little longer, for the elleth was deadly with the sword and Gilvagor was equally competent. Finally, though, Gilvagor was able to disarm the elleth with a maneuver that Ingwë remembered seeing Glorfindel using on Aldarion one time, and the match was over.

There was general cheering from the crowd which began to break up now that the first round of fighting was over. The people in the royal gallery began to stir and the Elder King and his spouse rose.

"An excellent beginning of the tournament," Varda said with a smile. "I look forward to seeing how it all plays out."

"As do I," Manwë said. "This afternoon’s round should prove most interesting. Until then." He and Varda gave the royals a brief nod of their heads and then they were gone, as were all the other Valar and Maiar.

Ingwë glanced around and shrugged. "It is almost time for the noon meal. I suggest we return to the city."

Everyone nodded and soon the royal viewing gallery was empty.

****

Historical Note: Finrod’s brothers, Aegnor and Angrod, were both lost during the Dagor Bragollach in I 455. Finrod would die thirteen years later, in I 468, three years before the Dagor Nirnaeth Arnediad.

My thanks to Rhyselle for the technical information concerning body blows and fighting techniques.