130: Turindil

The shock of seeing Lord Tulkas haul Prince Findaráto off like an errant elfling unnerved the archers enough that most of them did not shoot as well as they would have liked. The targets had been set at twice the distance of the previous round. With twenty-seven competitors there were now three teams with seven archers each — ruby, emerald, and sapphire — and one of six — pearl. Each archer would be given four arrows and the top three from each team would advance to the semi-finals. These would be held directly after lunch, before the next round of fighting.

Aldarion, Hallas, and Gilvagor all found themselves on the ruby team, while Mithlas, Region and Vëantur were on the emerald team. Ninquelótë and Elemmirë were both on the sapphire team, while the latter’s twin brother, Elessairon, was on the pearl team along with Ercassë. The rules for the archery contest allowed those who were technically elflings to compete as long as they had celebrated their forty-fifth Begetting Day before the Winter Solstice. With regards to the fighting competition Ingwë had decreed that any who participated had to be at least seventy-five years old at the Winter Solstice. As it was, none of the fighters were younger than a yén and many had passed their first millennium long ago. The situation with the Reborn was somewhat different and for the sake of the contest (and to allow Findaráto, Glorfindel and Haldir to compete), the time spent in Mandos was ignored.

Mithlas noted with interest that the archer who had caught his attention during the first round had picked a sapphire stone this time. He thought to introduce himself to the ellon but then the first team was called forward and he forgot about it as he readied himself for his turn.

Aldarion, Hallas and Gilvagor won their matches. Region was the high scorer for the emerald team with Vëantur following. Mithlas had to shoot a second time because he tied with a Nando named Denethor. The Nando lost to Mithlas by only one point.

The winners of the pearl team were Elessairon, Ercassë and a Vanyarin elleth surprisingly named Marilla.

"Perhaps it’s a sign," she commented shyly and everyone laughed.

It was the sapphire team that interested Mithlas the most, though.

"Who is the elllon with the silver-grey hair?" he asked Aldarion. "He is perhaps the best of us all."

Aldarion shrugged. "He calls himself Turindil. That’s all I know about him, as he seems to keep to himself and does not mingle with the others."

"Turindil!" Mithlas exclaimed. "Rather an odd name for one who is obviously a Sinda."

Aldarion shrugged again, not really caring.

"Did he come with the Tol Eressëans?" Mithlas asked Gilvagor who was standing near by.

Gilvagor shook his head. "No. I do not recognize him."

Mithlas sighed. "I wish Prince Findaráto and Glorfindel were here. They both were interested in seeing the archery competition but they’ve missed the first two rounds already and I don’t think they will be watching the third round this afternoon either."

"I’m sure they’ll see the final rounds," Gilvagor said, "as long as nothing... untoward happens."

Aldarion and Mithlas both snorted in grim amusement. "You mean as long as neither Findaráto nor Glorfindel give the Valar any more grief," Aldarion rejoined with a wry grin and the other two ellyn laughed.

The elf who called himself Turindil was the high scorer for the sapphire team, with Elemmirë coming a distant second followed by Ninquelótë. Thus was the second round of the archery competition decided. Of the twelve winners, a third were Vanyarin, another third were Noldorin and the last third were either Sindarin or Nandorin.

"A rather interesting mixture," Ingwë commented from the viewing gallery as he and the others there were leaving to return to the city for luncheon. "It will be interesting to see how it all falls out in the end."

"The ellon from the sapphire team who won," Olwë said, "he seemed... familiar."

Ingwë stopped and stared at the Telerin king in surprise. "How so? He is not one of your people, surely?"

"Nay," Olwë said with a shake of his head. "None of my people chose to compete in the tourney, though I hope they will do so next time."

"If there is a next time," Arafinwë retorted. "The way this one is going..."

"Yes," Ingwë said shortly, continuing to where the horses for the royal party were stabled, "but we will discuss that at a later time. I’m more interested in hearing about this archer. Why does he seem familiar to you, Olwë?"

Olwë shrugged. "It’s not something I can pin down. Obviously he is one of the Sindar and therefore related to my people, though I suspect that there may be Nandorin blood in this one as well."

The others nodded. Olwë frowned as he climbed upon his horse. "I cannot tell you," he continued. "Perhaps it’s the color of his hair, so like Elmo’s, though he looks nothing like my brother."

"Well, he is an excellent archer," Ingwë acknowledged. "I suspect that he may well win the championship, though one or two of the others might make him work for it." He cast them a wry grin as they headed for the city and they all laughed.

****

Mithlas sought Turindil out after the competition and introduced himself. "I was once of Doriath," he said, "but that was a long time ago and I was most recently from Lindon." He then introduced Gilvagor and Aldarion when those two followed him.

"Where are you from?" Gilvagor asked in Sindarin when he noticed that the other was having difficulty following the Quenya. Mithlas translated for Aldarion.

Turindil gave them a shy look. "I... I guess you can say Lórien. Before that...." He stopped and there was something in his eyes that alerted Mithlas who instinctively took the ellon into his arms and hugged him, much to Turindil’s surprise.

"Welcome back," Mithlas whispered into the ellon’s ear. "Welcome back to Life."

He released Turindil, who muttered an embarrassed "le hannon", then stared at the ground, not sure what else was expected of him. Mithlas had witnessed that same hesitant attitude among other recently Reborn while he was healing in Lórien himself. Gilvagor and Aldarion gave Turindil sympathetic looks which he did not see, still keeping his eyes on the ground.

"Would you like to join us for the noon meal?" Mithlas asked solicitously. "Aldarion here has been trying to convince us that we should try the venison stew at the Cabor Gabel," naming a popular eating place within the tent city.

Turindil looked up with a grin. "Somehow the idea of eating at an establishment with a name like that does not inspire confidence that anything they serve won’t be leaping off the table."

Gilvagor and Mithlas laughed and when the latter translated for Aldarion, the Vanya chuckled and gave Turindil a wide grin. "Only way to find out is to come and see," he said.

Turindil hesitated for a moment, but seeing the genuine friendliness in the eyes of the other ellyn, he shyly nodded and soon the four were walking back to the encampment to find some lunch.

****

"So from where do you originally hail?" Gilvagor asked Turindil once they were all settled at the tavern, which consisted of two large adjoining pavilions, with a makeshift bar at one end and a kitchen on the other. They had given their orders and were presently sipping ale from tankards as they waited for the stew to be brought out.

Turindil did not speak immediately, seemingly reluctant. The others noticed that he kept his face hidden somewhat by the hood of his cloak, sitting so his back was to the rest of the patrons too busy eating to take any notice.

"Beleriand," he finally said.

Gilvagor raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "Beleriand is, or rather, was a large place. Would you care to be more specific?"

When Turindil still hesitated, Mithlas stepped in. "It’s all right, mellon nîn," he said solicitously. "You do not have to answer any questions that make you uncomfortable. I know sometimes the memories are too vague yet for you to give any real answers."

Turindil gave the other Sinda a surprised look that turned into one of gratitude for the understanding he saw in Mithlas’ eyes and nodded. "Sometimes... I think I remember, but then it slips away again."

Mithlas nodded. The other two looked on with unfeigned interest. Gilvagor gave Mithlas a considering look. "It seems your time spent in Lórien was not wasted, young one."

Turindil started at that. "You were in Lórien?" he asked Mithlas. "But... but you’re not...."

Mithlas shook his head. "No, I’m not Reborn. I survived the War of Wrath but my fëa was... damaged. Aran Gil-galad finally convinced me to sail and find healing in the West."

"I heard Ereinion practically had to throw you aboard the ship with Círdan’s help," Gilvagor said teasingly.

Mithlas laughed along with Gilvagor and Aldarion, though Turindil only smiled, not familiar with the names. "Lies, all lies," he said in jesting protest. "It was Lord Elrond who threw me aboard, then ordered the sailors to tie me up for good measure."

Now even Turindil was laughing and as the server came with their stew and new bread, they turned their attention to enjoying their meal. The topic of conversation drifted towards other areas of interest, for which Turindil was grateful. They were all speaking Quenya, though very slowly to allow Turindil to keep up.

"You had best learn to speak it," Mithlas advised him, "it saves no end of trouble."

"Should they not learn our language?" Turindil asked, clearly puzzled.

Aldarion nodded. "Some of us are but it isn’t easy and it’s not something learnt overnight. Give us time, my friend. The idea of any Amaneldi learning the language of the Mor... I mean, those who lived in Beleriand has only just become acceptable and not in all circles."

Turindil grimaced and looked down at his stew, which was actually quite good, but then everything tasted good to him now, even mushrooms, which he vaguely recalled had not been one of his favorite foods before. "I had hoped that that hated word had been dropped from people’s vocabulary a long time ago."

Gilvagor placed a hand on the ellon’s arm and gave him an apologetic look. "I very much regret our arrogance in that regard, Turindil. I hope you will forgive us for not understanding."

Turindil nodded but did not speak after that, choosing instead to continue with his meal. The others accepted his reticence and the conversation turned to the morning’s fighting and what followed afterwards.

"I do hope the Valar will allow Findaráto to compete this afternoon," Aldarion said at one point as he reached for some more bread.

"That’s assuming our fearless leader even wants to compete after this morning’s disaster," Gilvagor opined.

"I’m sure Glorfindel will have something to say about that," Mithlas replied with a sardonic smile.

At the mention of Glorfindel’s name, Turindil started, dropping his spoon. The others gave him quizzical looks.

"Are you well, Turindil?" Mithlas asked with some concern, "Are you remembering something?"

Turindil shook his head. "Glorfindel?" he asked quietly, not looking up.

Mithlas nodded. "Findaráto’s otorno. Many of us are betting those two will end up fighting each other in the end. In fact, we’re all looking forward to it."

Turindil looked troubled, or as if he were searching his mind for an elusive memory. "And this... Findaráto is...."

"Ah," Gilvagor said with a knowing smile, "You might know him better by his Sindarin name, Finrod. He’s...

But Turindil was no longer listening. In fact, he was no longer there. Upon hearing Gilvagor say ‘Finrod’ he gasped and turned white. Then, with a barely heard apology he fled the pavilion before any of the others could respond.

"Well, that was odd," Aldarion commented.

Mithlas and Gilvagor exchanged looks which the Vanya could not interpret. Gilvagor gave Mithlas an almost imperceptible nod and Mithlas stood up. "I’d best see if he is well. I’ll see you at the list later."

The other two ellyn murmured their assent and then Mithlas was striding after Turindil, hoping to catch up with the other Sinda. When he reached the entrance, however, there was no sign of him.

****

Turindil was not sure where he was heading, only knowing he had to get away. He had not been sure who Findaráto was but when the Noldo had given the Sindarin form of the name, memories came rushing back, nearly overwhelming him. He could not handle the onslaught as images flooded his mind like a river in torrent. He needed to get away, to think.

It took a few minutes for his brain to realize that he had fled, not only out the tavern, but out of the entire encampment and he was now staring at a grove of trees, mostly alder and beech with a maple or two. They were only just beginning to bud, so that the grove appeared to be covered with a yellow-green haze of new leaves. The trees called to him as only trees could and without taking time to think, he ran towards the grove and was soon in their midst, touching the trees as he passed them, silently greeting them even as they gave their own greetings, welcoming the Firstborn.

Turindil felt better almost at once but he was still troubled. He had seen both Finrod and Glorfindel fight over the last few days without recognizing them. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t and that disturbed him the most. He settled himself against the trunk of a wide-spreading maple, gazing up into its branches to where a redwing was busy preparing a nest and smiled.

When he’d first been re-embodied, he’d been reluctant to accept his new environment. The memories, when they came, came slowly and hesitantly and he had been unsure that he even wanted them all back. The few memories he had were not always pleasant. He sometimes despaired of ever having happy ones.

"There were plenty of those, Child. Give them time to resurface."

Turindil looked up in surprise and started to scramble to his feet when he saw Lady Vána standing before him. She smiled at him and motioned for him to sit back down. She then surprised him by joining him on the ground, though not before spreading a blanket under her. She gave him a mischievous smile as she settled her gown about her, demurely covering her feet.

"My lord hates it when I come home with dirt on my gown," she confided to him with a wink and the absurdity of the statement elicited a short laugh from the ellon. She gave him a sympathetic look. "How fare you, Child?" she asked.

Turindil shrugged. "Well enough, Lady," he murmured, casting his eyes to his knees which were drawn up before him with his arms around them. He suddenly realized he was rocking back and forth and forced himself to stop, reddening in embarrassment.

Vána smiled fondly at him and brushed a hand gently through his silvery hair. "Are you sure, best beloved?" she asked gently.

The use of Lord Námo’s term for him broke his resolve and he found himself crying, much as he remembered doing when in Mandos. Hot tears stained his face and he tried to stop, but couldn’t. Shame took him and he started to rise, wishing to flee, but Vána took him into her embrace and held him until the storm of emotions ebbed and he became still.

"Tell me," Vána whispered once he had recovered somewhat. "Tell me what’s wrong."

For a moment the Sinda did not speak, merely enjoying the feel of the Valië’s arms around him, giving him comfort. Finally, he asked the one question that had haunted him since leaving Lórien. "Lady, why was there no one to greet me when I passed through the Gates?" His tone was so forlorn and his expression was one of deep pain. "Was there no one who knew me from... from before who would welcome me?" He started weeping quietly again, resting his head on the Valië’s shoulder as she gently rocked him.

"Hush now, Child," she murmured. "Sometimes people are released who have none to welcome them. It’s very rare, but it happens. In your case, those who would greet you are not in a position to do so just yet, but they will be. They will see you and welcome you joyfully. You must be patient."

"Sometimes...sometimes I think I must have done something... terrible, something I can’t remember... and that’s... that’s why...."

"Ah, no, Child," Vána exclaimed. "Fear not for that. Thou hast done nothing wrong, I promise thee. All will be as Eru wills and it shall be only for thy good. Dost thou believe me?"

Turindil nodded, feeling comforted though he had not received the answer he had been looking for. "Yea, Lady, I do."

Vána kissed him gently on the top of his head. "That is well. I know you’re feeling frustrated and confused, but I promise you those feelings will pass eventually. For now, you are due at the archery list shortly. Best get going. My lord and I are counting on you winning the competition."

He smiled shyly at her. "I will do my best, Lady, not to disappoint you or your lord."

She laughed. "All we ever ask is that you do your best, and if you do, you will never disappoint us, win or lose. Now see, here is Mithlas looking for you."

Turindil looked up to see the Sinda coming towards them. If Mithlas was surprised to see Turindil with Lady Vána, he gave no indication, merely giving her his obeisance as she gracefully stood up along with Turindil.

"How did you know where to find me?" Turindil asked him.

Mithlas gave his fellow Sinda a wry look. "I tracked the minions of Morgoth across the wastelands of Beleriand. Think you I am incapable of tracking one wayward elf across an open field?"

Turindil blushed as Vána gave a merry laugh. "Forgive me. I... I forget sometimes that you’re not... not Amanian."

Mithlas nodded and gave them a cheeky grin. "Which we may thank Eru is not the case, otherwise I would still be standing at the entrance of the Cabor Gabel scratching my head."

Turindil snickered and Vána gave them a mock frown. "They’re not that bad," she said, then smiled wickedly when the two elves gave her innocent looks. "Well... maybe they are, but don’t tell them I said so."

At that they all started laughing. Mithlas clapped Turindil on the shoulder. "Come. The afternoon meet will be starting soon."

Turindil nodded and the two elves gave the Valië respectful bows. Turindil brushed a hand on the trunk of the maple and silently thanked it for its company. The tree swayed in the still air in answer as the two elves walked away.

****

Vána watched the ellyn slip silently through the grove back to the tournament list, smiling faintly. Then, strong arms enveloped her and her smile broadened.

"He’s not doing very well, is he?" Oromë said, giving her a brief kiss on the neck.

"No, not as well as we had hoped," she said, reaching behind her and brushing her left hand through his dark locks, "but better I think than we could expect under the circumstances. He was most upset that there was no one at the Gates to welcome him back to Life. He thinks it’s because of something he did."

Oromë shook his head. "I told Námo I wasn’t best pleased with his decision to release this one from Mandos so soon."

"What did he say?" she asked, looking back.

Oromë gave her a wry grin. "What he always says: ‘It is as Atar wills’."

"And that’s true enough," she replied, "but not, I think, the entire answer."

"You know our brother," Oromë said with a knowing grin. "He likes to be mysterious."

She laughed softly at that. "I’m so glad Vairë finally convinced him to wear something other than black."

Oromë chuckled. "I’m waiting for the day she gets him to wear bright yellow."

Vána suddenly laughed at the image her spouse sent her. "I fear that day will never come."

"Ah well," he allowed, "one can only hope."

She smiled warmly at her beloved. "What will we do about Turindil?" she asked returning to the original subject of their conversation.

Oromë sighed as he helped her down upon the blanket and they both sat. "What we can, of course. I do not know why Námo thought it important for this one to be released when he was, though I suspect this tournament may have something to do with it."

"And Irmo is obviously in agreement with Námo over this," Vána contemplated. Wine goblets had appeared in Oromë’s hands and she accepted one from him.

The Lord of the Hunt nodded. "I think though that... Turindil will do well enough. He is not suffering any flashbacks, is he?"

Vána shook her head. "No, not yet. Perhaps it’s too soon for him. He barely remembers who he was in Beleriand yet and wonders if he will ever have any good memories of that time. I’ve assured him they will come eventually."

"That is well, then," Oromë said. "I will have Roimendil keep an eye on him," naming one of his Maiar. Vána nodded her consent.

"Come, then," she said, taking a final sip of the wine. "We do not wish to miss the next round of shooting."

"Not to mention the fighting afterwards," Oromë said as they both stood up. Wine goblets and blanket disappeared as the two Valar walked hand in hand through the grove towards the list. "I am most curious to see how all this plays out."

Vána gave her beloved a sly look. "Perhaps you should make a bet with Námo. If he loses, he has to wear yellow."

Oromë threw back his head and laughed. "Now that would be something, wouldn’t it?"

They were both still giggling over that as they joined the other Valar for the third round of the archery competition.

****

Yén: (Quenya): a period of time equal to 144 solar years.

Marilla: (Quenya) Pearl.

Cabor Gabel: (Sindarin) Leaping Frog. The Quenya form would be Haloitë Quácë.

Aran: (Sindarin and Quenya) King.