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Elf, Interrupted: Book One: Glorfindel Redux  by Fiondil

133: Vorondil On Trial

Overnight, the field before the royal viewing gallery became a royal court of justice. Ropes were taken down and a dais was hastily constructed in front of the gallery. Carpeting covered the plain wooden planks and three chairs, the middle one more ornate than the other two, were placed on it, each covered with purple silk and red cushions. Finrod’s personal standard, as well as the standard for the House of Arafinwë, was placed behind the chairs. Finrod would sit in the center seat with Glorfindel on his right and Sador on his left. The High King and his guests would sit behind them in the gallery. Ingwë assured Finrod that this was his court and his alone and none of the others would interfere, though they would offer advice if asked.

Sador was surprised to hear that he was expected to sit beside Finrod and tried to bow out. Finrod refused to hear his excuses. "You are a member of the Noldóran’s household, háno," he said determinedly. "Best to get used to this sort of thing." Then he hesitated, looking less sure of himself. "And... it would help me to have both my brothers by my side in this."

That confession decided Sador and he agreed. Alassiel, as Finrod’s squire, would stand behind his throne in the position of guard.

Meanwhile, Vorondil and his parents were allowed to change their clothes and make themselves presentable to the court. Vorondil had to have help dressing and Aldundil did that. Calalindalë had woken naturally around dawn and, by Lord Námo’s instructions, had been taken to a separate tent to freshen up. Aldundil, who was awake as well, refused to speak to her. Vorondil was still sleeping and when he woke a couple of hours later to find his amillë gone, he asked no questions about her absence, which Námo, still acting as guard, found telling.

News of the trial had spread during the early morning hours when heralds went through the city and the encampment announcing the change in schedule. Even though the trial would not commence until noon, the stands were already packed with spectators an hour before.

Finrod rose early as well and left with Glorfindel, Sador and Alassiel for the city to prepare for the trial. He instructed Laurendil and Manwen, who had returned to their own tents around midnight, to see to the elflings and escort them to the field.

"They may as well see how justice is meted out," Finrod said. "Have them stand to the left of the dais where they will be able to see and hear all that occurs."

The Tol Eressëan warriors acted as an honor guard for Finrod, standing on either side of the dais to form a corridor down which Vorondil would have to walk. Their hauberks of mithril and gold-washed metal links glittered brightly in the sun, their naked swords looked deadly in their gauntleted hands.

Ingwë arrived with the royal entourage and took his seat in the gallery. Ingwion accompanied his parents, sitting between them, looking suitably grave. Then, Finrod appeared with Alassiel leading the way, her sword drawn at the ready. Glorfindel and Sador followed. Finrod was dressed formally in an ankle-length dark blue crushed velvet tunic with wide and flowing sleeves and a high neck. The sides of the tunic were slit to the hips, the sleeves nearly swept the ground. Pearls and silver thread embroidery in an intricate leaf-and-vine design graced the hem and the side slits. Underneath, he wore a light green watered-silk shirt with tight sleeves. Mithril buttons closed the cuffs. The leggings were of soft kid leather dyed a darker green. Around his neck was a mithril chain upon which hung a crystal carved as an eight-pointed star, in the center of which was embedded a single multi-faceted emerald. A mithril-wrought coronet with a single emerald cabochon set between four citrine gems graced his head. His hair was carefully braided, the gems of the warrior braids sparkling in the noonday sun.

Glorfindel wore his formal robes with the flowers of his House embroidered upon them, which he had worn to the Reconciliation with Ingwë only days before. The High King’s gift hung from his neck and he wore the chaplet of niphredil and elanor entwined that had been gifted to him by Ingwion and Findis for his Begetting Day.

Sador, though more plainly dressed, was no less impressive. This was not the unassuming potter and royal Ward, but an Elf-lord in his own right. He wore a knee-length tunic of white brocade with hints of rose, purple and mauve in a diapered pattern of stars and diamonds. Over this he wore a velvet robe with shifting colors that matched those in the brocade. Looking upon the robe, one was reminded of the colors of a winter’s sunset. There was silver thread embroidery along the open front and the hem which did not quite sweep the ground. His leggings were of white wool and he wore bleached deer-skin calf-high boots. His single piece of jewelry was a laurelaiquamírë pendant on a mithril chain. His dark silver hair was wreathed with pale niphredil entwined with golden mallorn leaves. He still wore only a single warrior braid and had told Finrod and Glorfindel as they were dressing for the trial that even when the other side had grown back to an acceptable length he would not braid it.

"Let my one braid be a visual reminder to others of the cost of sacrifice," he had told them. "It was only a braid of hair; it could have been something else entirely."

Neither Finrod nor Glorfindel had disputed him. Indeed, Finrod had taken him into his embrace. "You are more a warrior than you know, my brother," he had whispered. "The right kind of warrior, the kind that, alas, was all too often lacking among my own people."

When Sador had given Finrod a quizzical look, the prince had replied with a wistful smile. "We became warriors, not out of necessity, but out of arrogance. We became warriors for all the wrong reasons, though sometimes we were lucky enough to find the right reasons for remaining warriors."

"And dying as ones," Glorfindel had added softly and Finrod had nodded in agreement.

Sador had given his brothers a thoughtful look as they continued to dress.

Now the three ellyn sat in regal splendour and many onlookers gazed at them in wonder. Findaráto, of course, was every inch a prince and all knew that, but now Glorfindel was seen, for the first time by many, for who he truly was: an Elf-lord, puissant and wise beyond the understanding of those who had never experienced Death. Yet, it was Sador who amazed them the most. He had so remained in the background over the last few days that many among the Vanyar had erroneously assumed that he was simply a servant in the Noldóran’s household. Now they saw him in a different light and many were naturally confused. Unfortunately, no one who understood was willing to enlighten them.

Notably absent from the proceedings were the Valar... except for one.

At a soft word from Finrod, Aldarion, acting as Master-of-Arms, summoned Vorondil and his parents to the court. There was an audible gasp from the crowd at their appearance, for Vorondil, with Aldundil at his side, was flanked by two warrior Maiar in the livery of the Elder King. Lady Calalindalë walked a few paces behind them, while Lord Námo brought up the rear. The Vala’s appearance was most remarkable for what he was not wearing. So used were the elves to seeing the Lord of Mandos wearing rich dark brocades, silks and velvets that they scarcely recognized him in the plain dark grey wool ankle-length tunic with no embroidery on it. Over this was a black wool sideless surcoat on which was embroidered his own insignia of the Sun-in-Eclipse, cinched at the waist with a plain black leather belt. The buckle was of silver and repeated the Vala’s personal insignia. He wore no diadem, merely a simple circlet of mithril. All looked upon the Vala in amazement, wondering what the significance of his attire might mean.

When Vorondil saw the court, his courage failed him and many watching expected the ellon to either faint or bolt. Aldundil, however, took his son’s arm and spoke to him, giving him a kiss on the forehead. It did not go unnoticed by many, including Finrod, that Calalindalë had a slight sneer on her face as she watched her husband comfort their son. The two Maiar and Lord Námo stood by patiently, willing to allow the youngling time to compose himself before they continued down the avenue of warriors. When they came to the dais, Aldundil and Vorondil bowed, though the latter was somewhat clumsy with fear and the splint on his arm. Calalindalë gave Finrod a curtsey that just bordered on the insolent in its brevity. Vorondil refused to look up. Aldundil gazed upon his lord with an air of serenity at which many of the onlookers marveled.

Finrod’s own expression was carefully neutral and his tone, when he spoke, was devoid of emotion. "Lord Glorfindel, if you would read the charges against the prisoner."

Glorfindel stood and gave Finrod a brief bow before turning his attention upon Vorondil who still refused to look up. "Vorondil Aldundilion, you stand accused of willfully attacking your lawful master with the intent to do bodily harm upon the person of Prince Findaráto. Do you deny these charges?"

For a long moment Vorondil did not answer, then he gave a sigh and shook his head. Aldundil leaned over and whispered something to him and he raised his head slightly and whispered, "No, my lord."

Glorfindel cast a quick look at Finrod who merely nodded. He turned back to the prisoner. "As you are not yet of age," he continued, "you are entitled to the counsel of one who will speak for you and enter your plea before the Court. Is there one who will act as your advocate?"

Aldundil took a step forward, ready to advance himself as his son’s advocate, when Erunáro placed a hand gently on his shoulder and held him in place, shaking his head slightly when the elf turned to give him a quizzical look. Then, to the shock of all, including the three judges on the dais, Lord Námo spoke. "I speak for the accused."

Glorfindel had the indecent thought, quickly suppressed, that if Morgoth himself had suddenly appeared before them all wearing Lady Varda’s favorite gown, the onlookers would have exhibited less shock than they presently were showing at the Lord of Mandos’ announcement. Unfortunately the looks of amusement the two Maiar and the Vala in question shot him at that moment told him he hadn’t suppressed the image quickly enough and he found himself blushing.

Finrod was the first to recover, speaking to Vorondil. "Is this acceptable to you, child?" he asked gently. "Will you allow Lord Námo to speak on your behalf?"

Vorondil nodded. "Y-yes, m-my lord," he stammered, refusing to look up.

Finrod sighed and turned to Glorfindel. "Continue, brother."

Glorfindel nodded and took a deep breath before speaking again. "What plea do you enter with this Court?" he asked formally.

"If it pleases His Majesty," Lord Námo intoned gravely, "the accused pleads not guilty."

There was a stir among the spectators with outcries of disbelief and even anger. It took a few minutes for the spectators to calm down. Finrod motioned for Glorfindel to take his seat and then he stood, but he did not address Vorondil. Instead he looked out over the field to the spectators, his mien grave and august. "I have purposely held this court in a public venue given the nature of the incident for which the prisoner stands accused," he announced, his voice ringing across the field so all could hear. "That does not give any of you license to voice your opinions either aye or nay to the proceedings. Any more disturbance of like nature as you just now displayed and I will ask Manveru and Erunáro to clear this field of all but those in the royal gallery." He paused as he gauged the sense of the crowd at his words and gave them a mirthless smile. "And if you think that two Maiar warriors are incapable of doing just that, you are only deluding yourselves." He stood for a moment longer before retaking his seat.

Sador gave him a brief smile and leaned over to speak to him. "You are very scary when you want to be, hanar nîn," he whispered in Sindarin.

Glorfindel leaned closer as well. "That’s why Lord Námo kicked him out of Mandos when he did," he replied in the same language, giving them a wicked grin. "Finrod was beginning to make the Maiar attendants nervous, afraid that he might try to take over."

Sador snorted softly and Finrod rolled his eyes. "This is neither the time nor the place, you two," he insisted through gritted teeth. "Shall we get on with this?"

Glorfindel patted Finrod’s knee. "Easy, hanar nîn," he admonished his brother with less levity. "We just want to make sure you don’t take yourself too seriously. Remember, this is not Nargothrond."

Finrod gave Glorfindel a searching look and then nodded briefly. "Thank you for the reminder, brother." Then he turned his gaze back upon the prisoner, his expression carefully neutral once again. "Let us hear from the witnesses."

There was no lack of witnesses, since half the population of Eldamar had been on hand to attest to the attack, however, in the end, only three were called forward — the Marshal of the Lists and the Herald, both of whom had been overseeing the bout between Finrod and Aldundil, as well as Laurendil. The two List officials gave brief, unvarnished accounts of the events as they had witnessed them, beginning with the accident that had sliced Aldundil open. There was no doubt that Vorondil had attacked the prince and that he had been holding a knife in his hand when he did. Laurendil explained why Vorondil was holding a knife in the first place. The question still remained: Was the knife an intentional weapon or not?

Finrod finally addressed Vorondil, who all this time had remained still, though those close enough could see him growing paler with each account given. "Why did you try to kill me, Vorondil?"

For the longest time, Vorondil did not speak, but simply stood there, his head down. Námo stepped forward and placed a hand on the ellon’s shoulder, bending down to whisper in his ear. Aldundil stood beside his son, his expression one of deep pain and sorrow. Calalindalë had moved to the other side of Vorondil but stood some distance away, perhaps in an attempt to emotionally remove herself from the entire affair as far as possible by maintaining physical distance from her son, not to mention her husband.

Everyone saw Vorondil nod at whatever Námo had said to him and then take a deep breath before raising his head to face Finrod. His expression was bleak and a sense of hopelessness emanated from his entire being. "I didn’t..." he started to say, then stopped and looked back at Námo, as if for comfort or confirmation. The Vala gave him a grave nod and Vorondil turned back to face Finrod. "I didn’t try to kill you, Master," he said a little louder, "I... I was hoping you would kill me instead." He ducked his head and leaned against his atar, who took him in his arms. All could see the ellon was now quietly weeping.

Finrod visibly clutched the arms of the chair at those words and all saw the look of horror that flitted briefly across his mien before he clamped down on his emotions and his expression became neutral again. Glorfindel and Sador looked equally shocked and took longer to get themselves under control. Aldundil’s expression was simply one of great loss; Calalindalë stared at Vorondil for a moment before shaking her head, an expression of disgust marring her face.

"Why did you want me to kill you, child?" Finrod finally asked, his voice strained with emotions that were running too deep and swiftly to remain hidden behind the façade of officialdom.

Vorondil pulled himself together enough to answer Finrod’s question but the tears did not cease to come. "Be-because if my atar was... was dead, I didn’t want to live anymore. I... I wanted you to... to send me to Mandos where I belong."

In the stillness that spread across the field with that revelation, only Vorondil’s weeping could be heard. Ingwë, sitting behind the court, gazed sorrowfully at the ellon, who had collapsed into his atar’s arms again. He saw Lord Námo gaze up at him and whatever passed between them was too intimate even for him to comprehend fully at the moment. It was only then that he heard someone else weeping and turned to see Ingwion in tears. He stared at his son and then glanced briefly into his wife’s eyes before gathering Ingwion into his arms and rocking him. "I’m so sorry, yonya," he whispered. "Please forgive me... I never really understood."

But Ingwion was not listening nor did he allow his atar to comfort him. Instead, he wrenched himself away from Ingwë’s embrace and ran down the steps of the gallery. Ingwë started to rise to go after him, but Elindis grabbed his arm, shaking her head, and he reluctantly retook his seat. Arafinwë leaned over and placed a hand on the High King’s arm. Ingwë looked into Arafinwë’s eyes and found only grave sympathy and understanding there. It was all he could do not to break down himself.

Meanwhile, Ingwion ran, not away, but towards the dais where his cousin held court. Finrod saw him and started to call to him, but Ingwion ignored him, his attention focused completely on Námo, who stood there as if he had expected the prince to come to him all this time. Ingwion stopped just before the Vala, his expression set.

"Release him," he said. "You have to release him."

Námo stared at the ellon with such compassion that it nearly destroyed Ingwion’s resolve. The Vala shook his head. "No, child. I will not."

Ingwion’s face crumpled and he became hysterical. "You have to... you have to. I cannot go on without him...please, you don’t know...."

Námo reached out and took Ingwion into his embrace and rocked him as the prince collapsed utterly. "But I do, child," he said compassionately. "More than you can ever fully comprehend."

All stared in dismay and some even with confusion, not understanding. Even Vorondil was staring at Ingwion with undisguised shock. Finrod cast a worried glance behind him and his eyes locked on Ingwë’s but the High King merely shook his head and looked away, whether in shame or sorrow, Finrod could not say.

No one seemed willing to intervene, except Sador, who stood up and came down from the dais to stand before Ingwion and the Lord of Mandos. Námo relinquished his hold on the Vanyarin prince when Sador silently indicated that he would take Ingwion into his own embrace. "Hush now, Ingwion," all heard him say. "Lord Námo will not release those in his charge because we demand it. Whoever you wish released will be, but in due time. You must keep that hope within you as best you may."

Ingwion shook his head. "There is no hope left," he muttered. "I lost it long ago."

"Then it’s about time you found it again, meldonya," Sador said decisively. "My brothers and I will help you there if you will allow it."

For a moment Ingwion did not answer, then, slowly, reluctantly, he pulled himself out of Sador’s embrace and nodded. Sador gave him an encouraging smile. "Good. Now return you to the gallery and take comfort that we all love you and will do what we can to help."

Now Ingwion blushed, as if suddenly realizing where he was and the scene he’d been causing. He followed Sador towards the dais and gave Finrod a profound bow. "Forgive me, Cousin, for disturbing your court."

"There is nothing to forgive, Cousin," Finrod replied with a brief nod. "Thy sorrow is ours and we will bear it together."

With another bow, Ingwion returned to the gallery but refused to sit with his parents again, indeed, he refused to even look at them. Instead he took one of the empty seats near Arafinwë and Eärwen, who each gave him a hug and a kiss. Ingwion never saw the expression of regret and sorrow that etched Ingwë’s fair face or the deep pain of loss that marred Elindis’ features. No one offered them comfort, for there was none to give, nor would they have accepted it. It was an old grief, not to be assuaged by false cheer or platitudes. Everyone sitting in the gallery knew that. Everyone respected it.

Sador, meanwhile, was apparently not finished, for he did not return to his seat. Instead he rounded on Vorondil, his expression stern enough to make the ellon take a step back in fear. "Listen to me, Vorondil," he said coldly, looking and sounding more the Elf-lord than the potter at that moment. "You do not belong in Mandos, no more than the rest of us. If it is your destiny to pass through its doors, as it was mine, as it was your Master’s or Lord Glorfindel’s, then pass through them you will. Until such time, however, you will accept that you are alive and alive for a reason. You will never seek to take your own life or force another to take it from you again. Is that understood?"

Vorondil merely stared at the Sinda Reborn in amazed shock, barely able to nod in acknowledgment of Sador’s words. Námo gave the Sinda an approving look and both Finrod and Glorfindel gave him brief smiles when he resumed his seat.

"Now who’s scary?" Finrod whispered to his brother, speaking Sindarin.

Sador, instead of blushing, merely gave Finrod a fierce grin.

Finrod then turned to Vorondil, his demeanor more grave. "While your explanation accounts for your motive in attacking me, it does not explain everything." He paused, giving Glorfindel and Sador a quick glance of confirmation before proceeding. His brothers both nodded briefly and he continued. "I think we need to hear from one more witness before we pass judgment."

Glorfindel then stood, and it appeared to many that this part of the trial had been rehearsed, or at least anticipated. The ellon took a moment to stare at Vorondil and Aldundil before shifting his gaze to lock eyes with Lord Námo. Whatever passed between elf and Vala was too swift for most to even register the fact that Glorfindel had even looked at Lord Námo, for now the warrior was fixing his gaze upon Vorondil’s amillë.

"Lady Calalindalë," he said solemnly, "we would like to ask you some questions."

****

Emerald: Brings wisdom, growth, and patience and is considered symbolic of love and fidelity, as well as a symbol of faith and hope. A tranquilizer for a troubled mind.

Citrine: A yellow gemstone and a symbol of hope and strength. Ideal for helping anyone to get through the tough times in life! Dissipates negative energy. Warmth, joy, and optimism.

Laurelaiquamírë: Chrysophrase. An apple-green gemstone, it helps to make conscious what was unconscious. It strengthens the workings of insight and the higher consciousness, encourages hope and joy and helps clarify problems.





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