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Elf, Interrupted: Book One: Glorfindel Redux  by Fiondil

125: Slings and Arrows

With all the excitement over Haldir and Aldarion, the match between Gilvagor and Findegil was somewhat anticlimactic. In fact, the two warriors decided it wasn’t worth continuing and both agreed that Gilvagor had scored the most points thus far in their match. By mutual consent they decided that Gilvagor would advance to the tinco-list while Findegil would move down to the parma-list. The decision was amicably made between them and Eönwë approved it, as did the High King. So, the morning’s matches ended much sooner than anyone had anticipated.

The rumors that had run through the city the day before died down only to be replaced by new rumors concerning the Reborn and their proclivity towards violence. Ingwë merely sighed and shook his head when Valandur came to him with the news as he was partaking of the noon meal.

"It will never end, will it?" he asked dispiritedly to no one in particular.

"Only if we allow these rumors purchase," Arafinwë answered. "If only..."

"If only what?" Ingwë asked.

Arafinwë shook his head. "I think much of the trouble would die down if Lord Námo simply released some of the Vanyar from Mandos."

Ingwë frowned, his expression turning bleak. Arafinwë closed his eyes, his look full of regret.

"Forgive me, Uncle. I should never..."

"Nay, my son," Ingwë said, raising a hand to still the Noldóran’s protest. "You are only partly correct. Releasing even one Vanya would solve many of our problems, but might create new ones."

"Not if it were the right Vanya," Olwë said softly, not looking at either of his fellow kings.

They all knew to whom Olwë was referring, but Ingwë refused to acknowledge Olwë’s words. Instead, he turned to Valandur.

"Keep me abreast of any other rumors and see to it that all Reborn now residing in the city or in the encampment are identified. If aught happens to any of them, I want to know about it."

Valandur bowed and left. Ingwë found he no longer had any appetite and excused himself, spending the rest of the time until the afternoon matches wandering through the palace gardens. No one was foolish enough to intrude on his privacy.

****

The morning’s fighting was followed by the first of the archery matches. This would be a single-elimination tournament, meaning that the contestants had only one chance to advance to the next round. With so many more archers competing than fighters, it would have taken too long for them to do a double-elimination tournament. It was why some of the Sindar jokingly referred to the archery competition as the Dagor Bragolwanath. The Amanian elves needed to have the phrase translated. Some smiled when they heard its meaning and a few were seen mouthing the strange sounding words to themselves, testing them out. It was not surprising that after that, even among the Quenya-speaking archers, this one Sindarin phrase was used to refer to the archery contest. When Finrod heard about it later he threw up his hands and laughed, the sound of it ringing joyously through the encampment, lifting the hearts of all who heard it, though they knew not the reason.

A few of the archers did drop out before the first match, deciding their skill wasn’t up to the standards displayed by some of the other archers, but most remained in, each hoping to at least score well enough to advance to the next round. Altogether, there were sixty-nine archers competing.

It was decided that for the initial round there would be nine teams, with one team consisting of only five archers. Sixty-nine different gemstones shaped as small balls were placed in a large copper bowl and the competitors each selected a ball. There were eight balls for each of the following gemstones: ruby, citrine, carnelian, emerald, sapphire, amethyst, pearl, and opal. Five onyx balls were added to the mix. Those holding the same colored ball would comprise a "team".

Of the fighters, Mithlas, Gilvagor, Hallas, Region, Vëantur and Aldarion were competing in the archery contest. Finrod, Glorfindel and Ingwion had all declined to compete, saying that they preferred to concentrate their energies on the fighting. Haldir had meant to compete but he was still recovering from the blood-trance that had gripped him earlier. Finrod elected to sit by him in the healer’s tent, foregoing watching the first round of the archery contest to keep an eye on his fellow Reborn.

"I still need to convince him that he must fight me this afternoon," he told Glorfindel and Ingwion. "It will help, I think, if he knows that I understand what he is going through, having experienced the blood-trance myself once."

Glorfindel nodded. "I never had the experience myself, though I saw it happen twice. Call if you need us. We’ll be close at hand."

Finrod gave him a warm smile. "Thank you. Both of you. Now, go and enjoy the archery competition. You must take note of all the details and tell me about it during lunch."

The two ellyn smiled in agreement and soon left Finrod alone with a still sleeping Haldir. Vorondil was there as well, doing inventory on the medical supplies, absently humming a wordless tune as he worked. Finrod smiled at the ellon as he watched him moving around the tent.

"How are you faring, Vorondil?" Finrod finally asked, speaking low so as not to disturb Haldir.

Vorondil turned to his master in surprise, but recovered quickly enough. "Well enough, Master," he said with a grin. "Manwen says I’m very good at following orders... when I don’t get too excited." He said the last while ducking his head, reddening with embarrassment.

Finrod merely smiled. "You seemed to have kept your head just now when Haldir..."

Vorondil gave him a frown as he moved over to look at the somnolent ellon. "What was he seeing, Master? What nightmare had him so in its grip that he could not tell friend from foe?"

Finrod sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It is known as the blood-trance and it is very rare but it does occur among warriors sometimes. I do not know what brings it about, I only know what it does and how to bring the person out of it."

Vorondil gave Finrod a shrewd look. "You’ve... suffered this as well, haven’t you, Master?"

"Yes," Finrod said with a curt nod. "A long time ago, shortly after reaching the shores of Beleriand. Luckily I was with some Sindar when it happened and they knew just what to do. After that I made sure all my people were aware of it and how to stop it."

"It was frightening," Vorondil said simply and Finrod ached to see such pain in the elfling’s eyes. "How... how did the elflings handle it?" he asked.

Finrod hid a smile. Vorondil was as much an elfling, in the legal sense, as the other children, but he obviously did not equate himself with them in that respect. "They did not seem to suffer too much trauma. Even Veryandur appeared more excited than scared according to my atar and the High King."

Vorondil gave Finrod a ghost of a smile. "I hope we don’t have to deal with any nightmares tonight though."

"Násië!" Finrod said fervently in agreement and the two shared a quiet laugh before Vorondil resumed his inventory and Finrod continued watching over Haldir.

****

The selection of teams took up most of the time as the archery list was being made ready. Eönwë again acted as chief herald. The archers seemed to be equally divided between Vanyar and Sindar with a few Noldor, all of them Exilic, thrown in for good measure. Because of the difference in bow structure between the two cultures, it had been determined months before that all competitors would make new bows under certain specifications so as to level the playing field. Arrows, however, were to be fletched in the manner which each elf was used to making them, though certain features that might create too much advantage were disallowed. Thus, before the teams were determined, everyone suffered their bows and arrows to be examined by the marshals, including Eönwë.

By chance, or perhaps design, none of the fighters ended up in the same team with each other, so they all had the chance to advance to the next round. Two Vanyarin archers were welcomed by all the competitors: Elessoron, who had won the archery competition at the Winter Solstice tournament, and Ninquelótë, who had won the fighting competition. Many had wondered why she was not competing in this tournament as a fighter, but one look at her and they all knew: she was with child.

Glorfindel, when he figured it out, offered her his congratulations. The elleth blushed and stammered her thanks, saying that she and her husband had already decided the little elleth would be named Laurefindilmë after him.

"Poor elfling," Ingwion said with a laugh when he heard. Glorfindel and Ninquelótë joined him in laughter but secretly Glorfindel was pleased and gave the elleth a wink.

Each archer would be allowed three shots. The three highest scorers in each team would advance to the next round. If there were multiple ties, these would then shoot three more arrows to determine the high scorer. Thus, out of the sixty-nine hopefuls, only twenty-seven would make it to the next round. Round two would consist of four teams, three with seven shooters, and one with six. From them the next round of twelve archers would be decided. These twelve would be divided into two teams of six and the winners of this round would then compete against each other for the top prizes. There would thus be four rounds altogether, with the second and third rounds on the third day of the tournament and the final round on the fourth. No one was anticipating any real surprises with the archery contest, just an enjoyable meet.

The teams would shoot in the order of the colors of the rainbow from ruby to amethyst, then pearl, opal and onyx would follow. The order of shooting in each team would be completely random, each competitor pulling out a number from a small copper bowl. There were four targets set up, so the first four of each team would shoot their arrows followed by the next four. For the onyx team a fifth target was put up so that all five would shoot at the same time.

Gilvagor found himself on the ruby team. Elessoron was on the citrine team, while Ninquelótë joined the carnelian team. Region shot with the emerald team, while Hallas shot with the sapphire team. Vëantur was on the amethyst team, and Mithlas, the pearl team. Aldarion found himself on the onyx team. All of them advanced to the next round along with nineteen other competitors, twelve of whom were Vanyarin, much to Ingwë’s pleasure.

"We may yet beat out these Tol Eressëans," he said half jokingly as they watched the last team compete. Arafinwë gave him a cool stare and Olwë chuckled. Elindis leaned over and pulled on his hair, forcing a surprised yelp from him that had many curious eyes from the stands turned towards the royal gallery.

"Be nice," she admonished him softly. "Whoever wins will be an elf, whatever his or her origins. That should be all that matters."

Everyone in the royal gallery stared at the High Queen who had turned her attention back to the competition, ignoring them all. Elindis rarely put herself forward in so public a setting. Her response to her husband’s jest had startled them all. Ingwë gave his wife a wide smile, even as he looked chagrined. He leaned over and planted a loving kiss on her cheek.

"Thank you, my love," he whispered for her ears only. "You are the reason I am able to continue this farce of being High King."

She turned briefly to him with her own smile, a private one shared only with her beloved, before turning back to the competition. Arafinwë, Olwë and their own spouses exchanged knowing glances and smiles between themselves, but none ventured to make any comment.

****

The afternoon fighting was of interest to many because of what had happened that morning. Many were concerned about the effect of the tournament on the Reborn, the Valar not the least.

"How many are going to be affected as the intensity of the competition increases?" Varda asked as the Valar remained where they had watched the archery competition while the elves went to their noon meals.

"There is no way to predict that," Námo said with a frown. "First Glorfindel and then Sador, then Haldir. Do you see a pattern?"

Ulmo spoke. "Glorfindel and Sador are fairly close in their emotional maturity, though I would say Sador is the more mature. Haldir has been released only a few months and is more emotionally vulnerable."

"So, do you think it’s only those most recently released who are susceptible to these memory triggers?" Estë asked, looking at Námo.

The Lord of Mandos shrugged. "It’s a possibility, but these Children have a way of surprising us with the unexpected. I only know that the fëar of the Reborn exist on a slightly different level of reality than the Once-born and I don’t think we know all the ramifications of that. Speculation, at this point, is useless. All we can do is keep our eyes open and respond as quickly as possible to prevent anyone from getting hurt."

Manwë nodded. "So be it," he intoned. "We will watch and wait... and hope for the best."

"A slim hope considering some of the players," Aulë said with a wry grin.

"But better than no hope," Manwë rejoined with a wry grin of his own.

****

Haldir woke to find Finrod sitting by the bed, reading. The former King of Nargothrond looked up from his book and smiled at the ellon lying there looking back at him with confusion clouding his eyes.

"How are you feeling, Haldir?" he asked the ellon in Sindarin.

The use of the tongue of the elves of Beleriand rather than the expected Quenya helped Haldir to focus more clearly on Finrod. He raised himself up on his elbows and looked around.

"I think I’ve been better," he answered in the same tongue and Finrod chuckled, laying the book aside and pouring some water into a goblet before handing it to the other elf who took it gratefully and drank thirstily. Replacing the goblet on the table beside his cot, Haldir lay back down, staring at the cloth ceiling of the tent. "I never thought I would suffer the blood-trance here in Dor Rodyn. Ennorath, yes, but not in the land of the Belain." He sighed and closed his eyes.

Finrod shook his head. "I don’t think it really matters, especially for those of us who are Reborn."

Haldir opened his eyes and gave Finrod a skeptical glance. Finrod nodded. "Our memories are precarious and uncertain and we claim them in a rather haphazard manner." He gave the other ellon a rueful look. "I’ve been Reborn for over a century and only now can I truly claim that all my memories are intact. You’ve only been released from Lórien for less than a year. I’m afraid you have a long road ahead of you."

Haldir sighed and closed his eyes again. "I was winning, too."

"Yes, you were," Finrod said in agreement.

"I’ve been disqualified, haven’t I?" Haldir asked bleakly.

"No, you haven’t."

Haldir sat up in surprise. "What do you mean? Surely they would not allow me to continue to compete in the tinco-list?"

Finrod shook his head. "Not the tinco-list, no. You will be fighting me this afternoon in the parma-list."

Now Haldir stood up in shock. "WHAT!?"

The ellon’s shout brought Vorondil running from outside where he had been watching the archery contest. "Master! What..."

"All is well, Vorondil," Finrod told the apprentice healer. "Go back outside. Everything is under control."

Vorondil hesitated for a moment, gauging the range of emotions on both Haldir and Finrod’s faces, then he bowed reluctantly and without another word exited the tent. Finrod turned back to Haldir, his expression sober.

"You will be fighting me, Haldir," Finrod repeated, his voice soft, but there was a hint of steel behind his words to which Haldir unconsciously responded, straightening and then giving Finrod his obeisance.

"Aran nîn," he said, still looking doubtful.

Finrod stood up then, shaking his head. "No king am I, only another displaced Edledhron, and a fellow swordsman... and I hope, your friend."

The two ellyn stared at one another across the space of the cot, then Haldir smiled and held out his hand. Finrod smiled in turn and clasped Haldir’s arm in a warrior's grasp.

****

The afternoon’s line-up was as follows: Finrod and Haldir, Aldundil and Cirion, Hallas and Ardamírë, Ingwion and Findegil. Even though these were all parma-list fighters, the spectators had learned the hard way not to take anything about these warriors for granted and there was a great deal of speculation and anticipation among the crowd. There was some murmuring in the stands when they saw Haldir step out beside Finrod. Arafinwë frowned as he read the tenor of the disturbance.

"They’re surprised," he said.

"They’re upset, more like," Olwë snorted derisively.

Ingwë shook his head. "It matters not. I have agreed with the heralds and marshals in this."

"More importantly," Arafinwë retorted, "you agree with Findaráto’s reasoning for why Haldir must fight."

"Do you think any of the other warriors would have agreed to fight Haldir in this instance?" Eärwen asked in curiosity.

"I have no doubt that none of the Tol Eressëan elves would have hesitated to accept Haldir as an opponent... and maybe Ingwion," Ingwë said, "but I do not know about the others."

"Just as well that the rules of the list specify that either Haldir or Aldarion would have fought against Findaráto in this round," Elindis said serenely. "I have great respect for our great-nephew. He shows an unusual degree of honor that I don’t think I’ve seen in any other elf. It’s an amazing thing to see."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow at this unexpected praise coming from the High Queen and bowed his head in acknowledgment. Eärwen’s smile was very broad.

"My beloved speaks truly," Ingwë said gravely. "Findaráto shows himself more and more the king he became in Endórë every day. I see how people respond to that kingliness, but more importantly, I see how they respond to his humility, for he is indeed humble. That humility does not detract from his kingship, rather it enhances it. Were I any but the High King of All the Elves, I would gladly give him my allegiance."

This last was met with stunned disbelief all around. Ingwë smiled at their expressions. "Why look you so surprised?" he asked with a glint of humor in his eyes. "Even a High King can indulge in fantasy every once in a while."

The others chuckled at that. Elindis leaned over and gave her husband a kiss. "When you do give up the High Kingship in favor of our great-nephew," she whispered to him, "I will gladly follow you, for I too would give him my allegiance, as well as my love."

Ingwë merely nodded, turning back to the competition with a slight smile on his face.

****

All eyes were on the match between Finrod and Haldir. It was decided among the other six warriors fighting in this round to ignore protocol and allow Finrod and Haldir to fight alone. The other three matches would go first, though.

"It’ll give you more time to sweat," Ingwion jested, acting as spokesman for the others when he told Finrod and Haldir of their decision.

"You’re too kind," Finrod said with a derisive grin and Ingwion merely laughed. Haldir, on the other hand, sighed and looked glum.

"I just want to get this over with," he muttered. "It’s not as if we don’t know how it’s going to end, anyway. Why can I not simply declare myself forfeit and save you the bother of beating me into a pulp?" he asked Finrod.

The prince gave Haldir a swat to the back of his head. "Because I need the exercise," he retorted. "End of discussion."

Ingwion snorted and gave his cousin a wink, which Finrod returned. Haldir still didn’t look convinced, but he wisely remained silent, letting one of the pages help him don his hauberk.

The three other matches were exciting to watch in their own right and there were as many people rooting for the one warrior as for the other, yet when a match was decided there was as much applause for the loser as for the winner. In this wise, Aldundil, Ardamírë and Ingwion advanced to the next round. Then it was Finrod and Haldir’s turn.

Eönwë stepped forward to speak to the two ellyn.

"I have messages from the Elder King for you both," the Maia said softly, "and one from Lord Námo for Haldir."

"What are they?" Finrod asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. Haldir merely looked uncomfortable and not a little shocked.

Eönwë turned first to Finrod. "To you, King of Nargothrond that was, the Elder King says this: Your greatest deed was in honoring your oath to Barahir, though it led to your death. You have nothing else to prove."

Finrod gave the Maia a measured look and a single nod of his head but otherwise did not speak. Eönwë then turned to Haldir, giving him a grave look. "To you, child, the Elder King says this: Your pain is grievous to us and we hope that you will some day find healing. In the meantime, trust Findaráto in all things. Let him guide you, for he is wise and worthy of your trust."

Haldir nodded and whispered a heartfelt "thank you" which the Maia acknowledged with a bow of his head.

"And Lord Námo’s message?" Finrod asked softly, curious to hear what the Lord of Mandos had to say to his friend.

Eönwë’s expression became more grave yet at the same time more compassionate and Finrod and Haldir both had the uneasy feeling that it was not the Maia speaking but Another speaking through him. "‘Remember, best beloved, all judgments have been rendered, all debts paid. It is only a memory, nothing more. Fight well.'"

Haldir looked both stricken and relieved and Finrod placed a comforting arm around his shoulders and gave him a hug and a light kiss on his brow.

"Lord Námo is correct, mellon nîn," he said to Haldir. "Fight well."

Haldir nodded, then bowed to the Maia. "Thank you, my lord, for both messages. They comfort me and give me hope."

"As were their intent, child," Eönwë said with a slight smile. "If you are both ready..."

The match lasted longer than anyone anticipated, for Haldir proved a worthy opponent and Finrod did indeed get his work-out. By the time Finrod finally scored a "mortal" blow on Haldir’s torso, they were both dripping with sweat and breathing hard. The applause that greeted them when the bout ended was deafening and Ingwë called them over to the royal gallery.

He stood and smiled down at them both. "You both fought well. I am well pleased." Then he gave a brief glance to where Glorfindel was sitting nearby and then turned to Finrod with a sly grin. "Now if you can just convince Glorfindel to fight, I’ll be very happy indeed."

Glorfindel, having heard the High King’s words, reddened as everyone in the royal gallery chuckled good-naturedly. Finrod looked at his brother and smiled, then turned to Ingwë. "I’ll do my best, Sire, but I make no promises. My brother is apt to whine if I press him too hard."

"I never whine!" Glorfindel protested, standing up in mock dismay. "Why doesn’t anyone believe me?"

Everyone then started laughing, including Glorfindel, and thus the tournament was ended for the day.

****

Dagor Bragolwanath: (Sindarin) Battle of Sudden Death. "Sudden Death" is another term for a single-elimination tournament.

Násië: (Quenya) Amen.

Dor Rodyn: (Sindarin) Valinor.

Ennorath: (Sindarin) Middle-earth.

Belain: (Sindarin): Plural of Balan: Vala.

Edledhron: (Sindarin) Exiled (one).





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