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Elf, Interrupted: Book One: Glorfindel Redux  by Fiondil

131: An Afternoon of Shame and Glory

Mithlas and Turindil arrived in good time to prepare for the next round of shooting. When the two met up with Aldarion and Gilvagor, Turindil gave them a shy apology for leaving so abruptly.

"I... I needed to be by myself for a while," he muttered.

Mithlas gave them a wink. "Which is why, when I found him, he was deep in conversation with Lady Vána."

The two ellyn looked at Turindil in surprise. "It seems that the Reborn are always having one or other of the Valar looking after them," Aldarion mused as he ran a hand over his bow to check it. The others were doing the same with their own bows, as well as checking their arrows to assure themselves that none were damaged.

Gilvagor shrugged. "I suppose they find the Reborn... interesting."

"They give us much comfort," Turindil offered softly.

The others stopped and looked at him in surprise. Turindil nodded.

"Sometimes I think they’re the only ones who really care about us, I mean the Reborn," he replied. "They... they listen to us when even our own kin do not want to hear about what we experienced and how we feel." He hesitated for a moment, frowning, as if trying to find the right words for what he was feeling. "They... they love us when no one else can be bothered."

He blushed slightly at that and then turned away to check his arrows. The other elves who had heard the exchange gave each other chagrined glances but no one offered to contradict the Reborn’s words. Silently they resumed their inspections.

Turindil kept to himself after that and would not engage in conversation even with Mithlas, whom he thought of as a friend, indeed his first friend in Aman. Mithlas was wise enough in the ways of the Reborn, having observed them in Lórien, to grant Turindil the space he needed and did not press himself on his fellow Sinda, for which Turindil was grateful.

Now that the number of archers had been reduced to a manageable size, the third round of the archery competition would be somewhat harder and more active. The administrators of the list had devised a series of exercises to test the competitors’ prowess. There were three parts to this. In one area was a scaffold from which a target was hanging. With a push it swung back and forth like a pendulum. The archers were allowed to shoot four arrows at the moving target.

Elsewhere was another scaffold from which a target was suspended. This scaffold was designed in such a way as to allow the target to spin rather than to rock back and forth, thus making the target that much harder to hit. Again four arrows were allowed.

The last area of the list consisted of a target set a fair distance away. Behind it on a pole was a windchime singing softly in the spring afternoon breeze. The archer would be blindfolded and would have to listen for the sound of the chimes to gauge where the target was. To make sure that those awaiting their turn to shoot did not memorize the target’s position, it would be moved along a predetermined line after the archer had been blindfolded. The distance between target and archer would remain the same, just the position would change.

Three groups of four archers were devised, each group starting at one of the exercises and rotating. The six high scorers all around would advance to the finals. The ruby team, consisting of Turindil, Marilla, Gilvagor and Elessairon would commence with the pendulum target. The emerald team, consisting of Ercassë, Hallas, Elemmirë and Mithlas, would start with the spinning target. The sapphire team, consisting of Ninquelótë, Vëantur, Aldarion and Region, would begin with the blindfold exercise.

There was much excitement among the spectators who were busy trying to keep track of everyone. There was also much jesting and ribald humor among the archers themselves about each other’s shooting abilities, though nothing acrimonious. All were excellent archers and they respected one another’s abilities. Mithlas kept his eye on Turindil as he was waiting for his own turn to shoot and noted with approval that, while the Reborn Sinda seemed to prefer to keep apart when not shooting, nonetheless he readily joined in on the fun when one of Aldarion’s arrows went winging towards the royal viewing gallery instead of the target, only missing the High King by a few feet.

As several people made humorous remarks about Aldarion’s listening skills in missing the target completely, Turindil suddenly started singing a song in Sindarin that had every Sindarin-speaker, archer and spectator alike, nearly falling to the ground in laughter. It was an old tune, popular among those from Beleriand, but the words were definitely new and to the point:

     "See how the arrow flies,

     Right towards the High King’s eyes.

     Oh me, oh my.

     Why were you aiming there?

     The target’s over here.

     If that’s how you shoot after just one beer,

     Eru save us all!"

When Mithlas was finally able to translate the words for Aldarion, the Vanya gave a shout of mirth, bounded across the field to where Turindil was standing and, to the delight and amazement of all, grabbed the Sinda and did an impromptu jig before hugging him and giving him a kiss, declaring that if nothing else, Turindil should be given an award as a master bard, to which everyone laughingly agreed. Turindil merely looked shyly down at his feet, but those standing near him thought they detected a look of pleasure on the Sinda’s face at Aldarion’s words.

That was about the most exciting thing that happened during the archery competition that afternoon. At the end of the meet, Turindil proved to be the highest scorer, though Mithlas came a very close second. The other winners were Aldarion (in spite of the wayward arrow), Marilla, Gilvagor and Elemmirë. Even so, the High King took a moment to praise all of the archers who had competed in this particular round.

"Whether you win or not," Ingwë said, "you have our deepest respect." He gave them all a bow, which Arafinwë and Olwë echoed, while their queens all curtsied. To the surprise of all, every Vala and Maia also bowed to the archers as well.

Then Ingwë smiled sardonically at Aldarion, who started to blush. "As for you, Lord Aldarion, I do hope your aim improves somewhat before tomorrow."

There was good-natured laughter all around.

"And my thanks to you, young lord," Ingwë then said to Turindil, who went a bit pale at being singled out. "Your... er... impromptu singing helped to lighten the situation for all concerned. You are to be commended."

Turindil gave a slight bow but did not speak. Mithlas, standing next to him, gave him a squeeze on his arm in silent support and Turindil smiled bashfully at his new friend.

Thus, the next to last round of the archery competition ended. The twelve archers who had competed that afternoon were all invited to sup with the three high kings of Eldamar later that evening. That was an unexpected honor none had looked for. Mithlas noticed that Turindil seemed ill at ease at the idea. He gave his fellow Sinda a sympathetic look.

"It would not do to refuse, you know," he said.

Turindil nodded and sighed. "I know. I... I just find it difficult to be around others for any length of time."

"Would it help if I spoke with the Noldóran?" Mithlas suggested. "He is atar to three Reborn. I think he would understand better than either Ingwë or Olwë about how you feel."

Turindil hesitated but Mithlas took him by the arm and led him to where Arafinwë was speaking with Ingwë. Both kings turned to look with interest upon the two Sindar approaching. The ellyn gave the kings respectful bows.

"Please forgive the intrusion, my lords," Mithlas said. "I am Mithlas, late of Lindon and a friend of your son, my lord," he bowed briefly to Arafinwë who acknowledged Mithlas’ words with a nod of his head. Mithlas then introduced Turindil. "This is Turindil, recently released from Mandos."

Ingwë and Arafinwë both greeted Turindil politely. "You must teach us that song, young Turindil," Arafinwë said with a smile. "I am a recent student of Sindarin and was hard-pressed to translate it for the others. I’m afraid I am not yet proficient enough in the language to do a credible job."

"You are learning Sindarin, lord?" Turindil asked in surprise.

Arafinwë nodded. "With three Reborn ellyn who all speak it, it is a simple matter of survival. I need to know what they’re plotting."

Mithlas gave a snort of amusement at that while Ingwë and Turindil both grinned. "Knowing Lord Findaráto and his otornor as I do, my lord," Mithlas said, "I’m not surprised at your decision to learn the language."

"What may we do for you youngsters?" Ingwë asked with a faint smile.

Mithlas gave the High King another bow. "Turindil, as I said, is recently released from Mandos and is finding it difficult to... be with other people for any length of time, yet, he did not wish to offend you by refusing your kind offer..."

Ingwë held up his hand. "There is no need to speak further. Turindil, this is not a command. I merely wish to get to know some of you better. You are not required to attend, but I will tell you that I would regret not having the pleasure of your company."

"Truly?" Turindil asked in surprise.

"As would I," Arafinwë added. "Yet, we are well aware of how difficult it is for recently Reborn to... shall we say, mingle. I know Findaráto found it most difficult even to eat in the same room with his amillë and me when he first returned to us."

Turindil seemed to think about it for a moment, then nodded. "I... I will come then," he said softly.

Ingwë smiled and took the Sinda in his arms and gave him a light kiss of friendship on his brow. "I am glad, youngling," he said. "But perhaps you would prefer to sit with us now instead, you and Mithlas. There is still an hour before the fighting begins and we are about to enjoy a light collation."

He gestured towards where a table had been set up for the royals and soon Mithlas and Turindil were being introduced to the others as they sat down to enjoy what turned out to be a picnic tea. At Ingwë’s insistence Turindil spent the better part of the hour teaching them all the song he had sung for Aldarion with Mithlas supplying the Quenya translation. Mithlas then sang the original words to the song, which had them all laughing hysterically as they compared one version with the other, congratulating Turindil on the cleverness of his impromptu adaptation.

When it was time to return to the list for the fighting, both Sindar were invited to sit in the viewing gallery to watch, much to their surprise and embarrassment, but Ingwë insisted and they could find no reason to refuse. All the while, Olwë had sat back and watched Turindil interact with the others, a thoughtful look on his face.

****

When Tulkas returned Finrod to the tent city outside Vanyamar, the prince did two things before going to arm: he sent a page to Ingwë with a request to meet with the High King privately after the fighting was over, and then he sought out Glorfindel, who was standing outside the healers’ tent getting some fresh air, to apologize for his behavior earlier. Glorfindel merely hugged him, giving him a light kiss on the brow.

"I’m glad Lord Tulkas was able to talk sense to you," he said to Finrod softly. Then he gave his brother a wry grin. "I hope he didn’t hurt you too much doing so, though."

Finrod laughed merrily at that and hugged Glorfindel back. He refused to enter the healers’ tent where Aldundil and his family were still sleeping. "I will visit them after the meet," he explained to Glorfindel, "and after I’ve had a word with Ingwë. Some decisions will need to be made before we go any further with this tournament." What those decisions were, though, he did not elaborate and Glorfindel did not press.

When Finrod entered the arming tent he found Gilvagor, Ingwion and Aldarion already there along with a couple of older elflings acting as squires.

"Are you well, cousin?" Ingwion asked for all of them and Finrod nodded.

"More or less," he said with a faint smile. "Lord Tulkas has a way of... er... getting one’s attention and making it stick."

The others chuckled.

"I’m sorry I missed the archery meet again," he continued, then turned to Aldarion, his expression neutral. "I’ve been told that you made quite an impression on the spectators with your shooting prowess, even to the point of having a song sung about it."

Aldarion blushed furiously while the others laughed. "It was Lady Findis’ fault," Aldarion protested.

Finrod raised an eyebrow. "Oh?... How so?"

Now Aldarion went even redder with embarrassment. "It was the jingling of her bracelets that distracted me."

Now the other ellyn laughed uproariously. Finrod gave Ingwion a wicked grin. "Will you tell her or shall I?"

Aldarion went white and tried to convince them it wasn’t necessary, but the two princes were adamant about letting Findis know she was instrumental in almost having the High King of All the Elves slain by Aldarion’s arrow because she’d been wearing too many bracelets.

"Valandur will appreciate the joke, even if Findis doesn’t," Ingwion assured the poor elf and Finrod heartily agreed.

"I’m doomed," Aldarion said somewhat dramatically as he sat heavily in a chair, looking very despondent.

"Only if you don’t finish arming yourself," Gilvagor said, throwing a greave at him.

With a sigh, Aldarion picked up the greave. When Finrod asked about the song in particular Gilvagor started softly singing. Before he was halfway through the song, the other three fighters and the two squires were treated to the sight of the former King of Nargothrond falling helplessly to the ground in laughter, rolling about on the carpet.

It was some time before any of them were able to finish arming.

****

When Finrod came out onto the list, Eönwë gave a deep bow to the elf before addressing the crowd. Notably missing from the ranks of the Valar watching the fighting was Lord Námo. Glorfindel was also missing. The elflings along with Sador and Alassiel, however, were there. The elflings were looking suitably subdued and awed at the same time.

Finrod and Gilvagor were fighting in list one while Ingwion and Aldarion were in list two. The battles between the ellyn were fast and furious and lasted longer than anyone actually anticipated. In fact, the sun was slipping towards the west before Aldarion finally conceded defeat. Finrod and Gilvagor fought for another fifteen minutes or so before Finrod was finally able to disarm the other warrior. All four ellyn met in the middle between the two lists and congratulated each other while the spectators continued cheering.

"So cousin," Finrod said to Ingwion with a smile. "It looks as if you and I are going to have the chance to fight one another."

"A chance to finally get my revenge, you mean," Ingwion said with a laugh.

"Revenge!?" Finrod exclaimed.

Ingwion turned to the other two ellyn. "How soon they forget," he smirked. "Don’t you remember the day you hit me with the shovel because I wouldn’t let you have the pail?"

Finrod’s jaw dropped. "I was five!"

"But I really wanted that pail," Ingwion said dead-pan.

"And you’ve waited this long to get your revenge?" Finrod said disbelievingly.

"Well... I was busy plotting my revenge when you left." Ingwion gave a mock sigh. "One of us has lousy timing."

The other two ellyn started laughing hilariously as the two cousins continued their barbs even as they walked off the field. Only Eönwë had heard the exchange, and he silently repeated the conversation to his lord and lady who chuckled though they refused to enlighten the elves around them as to what they found humorous.

****

Glorfindel chafed at the idea of having to "elfling-mind" the still sleeping Vorondil and his parents instead of watching the competitions. Námo continued sitting in his throne, unmoving, a slight smile on his lips as he watched the ellon fidget on the camp stool.

"Glorfindel, stop fidgeting," the Vala finally said. "You don’t need to see the competition. You know Finrod will win his match. You two are, as you say, destined to fight one another. Indeed, you two competing against each other is the only justification for this entire farce, as far as I’m concerned."

Glorfindel gave the Vala a surprised look. "What do you mean?"

Námo shook his head. "The attempt at reconciliation between the various factions among the Eldar that Ingwë had hoped for has failed... miserably, I might add. The attempts to discredit the Reborn are especially... disturbing." Námo sighed, shifting slightly in his chair, though Glorfindel had the distinct feeling it was for effect only.

"You’re saying that the tournament is a... a sham... a waste of time?"

Námo gave the ellon a considering look, noticing the tone of disbelief in Glorfindel’s voice. "A waste of time?" he repeated. "No. No endeavor at reconciliation is a waste, but I’m afraid that the ultimate goal for this particular endeavor will not be reached. Ingwë will need to find another way to..."

"It’s my fault, isn’t it?" Glorfindel interrupted, looking both upset and angry.

Námo raised an eyebrow at the ellon’s words. "Your fault? Why would you think it was your fault?"

"If I hadn’t had that stupid flashback..."

Námo threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, child, child, you are so full of yourself, aren’t you?"

Now Glorfindel looked mulish and Námo relented, gesturing for the ellon to come to him, which the elf did, though somewhat reluctantly, refusing to be mollified. Námo leaned over and pulled the ellon closer so he was standing between the Vala’s knees.

"None of this is your fault, best beloved," he said softly, holding Glorfindel in place. "It’s just the circumstances. None of us imagined that some of the Reborn would suffer such flashbacks. The fact that you were the first victim of a flashback doesn’t make the rest of it your fault. Understand?" He shook Glorfindel a little to get his attention and the ellon finally nodded, though he still didn’t look happy. Námo hid a smile. "Well, that’s good. Now, Vorondil is about to awaken. Let’s see what his reaction..."

"ATTO!!"

Vorondil came awake screaming for Aldundil and Glorfindel rushed to the ellon’s side and held him down while Námo stood behind him, looking on.

"It’s all right, Vorondil," Glorfindel said soothingly. "Your atar is alive. See you, he sleeps even now beside you." He pointed to the cot next to Vorondil’s and the ellon cast a fearful glance, unwilling initially to believe Glorfindel’s words.

"He... he’s alive?" he whispered, looking up at Námo for confirmation. "He’s not... not dead?"

"Nay, child," Námo said gently. "Your atar lives, as do you."

"For now," Glorfindel whispered, but Vorondil did not hear him, too busy trying to reach Aldundil. Only when Glorfindel released him did the ellon even notice his amillë lying on the other side of his atar. He gave a startled gasp.

"Ammë! What’s wrong with Ammë?"

Glorfindel wasn’t sure what to say but Námo stepped in. "She became somewhat excited and we thought it best if she slept for a time," he said smoothly and Glorfindel secretly marveled at how easily the Vala spoke the truth without speaking the entire truth. Námo gave him a knowing smile and the ellon returned it with one of his own. Vorondil, however, was busy examining his atar, assuring himself that Aldundil was indeed alive. It was only when he tried to put both arms around his atar that he seemed to realize that one arm was in a splint. He stared at it stupidly for a moment.

"Wh-what happened to my arm?" he asked confusedly.

Glorfindel’s eyes narrowed. "You don’t remember?"

Vorondil gave him a fearful look. "Remember what?" he whispered.

"You attacked Finrod with a knife," Glorfindel stated baldly. "He had to break your arm to save himself."

Vorondil simply stared at him in shock and then glanced at Námo who nodded solemnly. For a long moment no one moved and then something inside Vorondil broke and he stood up.

"Noooo!" he screamed in denial and then started to run, but not towards the tent’s entrance, which Glorfindel had half-expected. Rather, he ran straight to Námo who gathered him in his arms. "Noooo!" he screamed again and then collapsed completely into misery, weeping uncontrollably even as the Vala swooped him up and returned to his chair. He murmured something in Vorondil’s ear too softly for Glorfindel to hear. The Balrog-slayer sat on Vorondil’s cot looking on helplessly.

It was then that Finrod walked into the tent.

****

Turindil’s Song: The original words are as follows (sung, more or less, to the tune of God Save the Queen/King):

     See how the eagles fly,

     Above the earth so high.

     Lords of the sky.

     Our enemies flee and hide

     Whene’er the eagles cry.

     Lord Manwë’s joy and pride.

     Eru saves us all.





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