138: The Reborn Archer's Tale

It was Ingwë who suggested that they retire from the field as he and the other royals left the gallery. "There are many who want to greet you, child," he said, nodding towards where a number of spectators were attempting to leave the stands and cross the field. Several Maiar, however, were ranged around the small group by the viewing gallery, blocking their way, and their view. "However, I don’t think you’re ready for them just yet."

Beleg looked across the field and shook his head. "I still don’t remember much about my life... before," he said apologetically. "I fear I’m not very comfortable with people yet."

"Then why don’t we get you away from here, go somewhere quiet?" Ingwë replied.

"We could go to my pavilion," Finrod suggested. "The elflings will be in the city having lunch with Vorondil so we will have the place to ourselves but I’m not sure if I’d be able to keep them away," he nodded towards the crowd still milling about hoping for a glimpse of the famous Beleg Strongbow.

"Don’t worry about that," Oromë said. "My people will guard your compound and make sure you have privacy."

"Thank you, my lord," Finrod said with a short bow. "I appreciate the offer." He turned to Ingwë. "Shall we go?"

The High King nodded. "Yes, let us hence."

They made their way behind the gallery and headed for the encampment with Beleg firmly in the middle of the group flanked by the three high kings of Eldamar, Finrod, Glorfindel and Sador. Mithlas, and Ingwion acted as the vanguard, ensuring they had a clear path to their destination, while Gilvagor and Aldarion held the rearguard. As soon as they reached the compound, several Maiar, all in Oromë’s livery, appeared around the perimeter, effectively keeping everyone else out.

In short order they were all gathering around Finrod’s dining table. The queens and Lady Findis, however, declared that they would see to luncheon, and strolled merrily towards the kitchen tent giggling over something only they found amusing. Seated around the table were Ingwë, Arafinwë, Olwë, Ingwion, Finrod, Beleg, Glorfindel and Sador. Mithlas, Aldarion, Gilvagor and Valandur grabbed camp stools and the others made room for them. It was apparent to all that Beleg was feeling uncomfortable. The ellon would not meet anyone’s eyes. Finrod cast him a sympathetic look and put an arm around his shoulders.

"Be at peace, mellon nîn," he said comfortingly. "You’re among friends and more than friends."

"How long have you been out?" Glorfindel asked.

Beleg looked up and smiled shyly. "Only since the solstice. I think I came to Lórien near the end of summer, but..." he furrowed his brow, trying to remember.

"That’s all right, Beleg," Sador said. "I think we Reborn don’t have the same time sense as the other elves. I can never remember how much time passed while in Lórien myself. Sometimes I think I was there only for a few weeks, other times I’m sure it must have been several years."

Finrod nodded. "So it was with me. I would not concern myself with it. But if you left Lórien at the solstice where have you been living and why has no one recognized you?"

Beleg sighed and his expression was downcast.

"What is it, child?" Arafinwë asked from across the table. "Why are you so sad?"

Beleg didn’t answer immediately but when he did it was in a whisper, and he sounded lost and forlorn. "I left Lórien and there were several others who left with me. I... I walked through the Gate and... I could see the others who had gone ahead of me being greeted by family...."

Beleg was standing next to Lord Irmo, waiting for his turn to go through the Gate. It was a rather strange Gate, for a heavy mist seemed to wreathe it, making it impossible for him to see beyond it, yet all around was bright sunlight.

He looked up at the Vala when Irmo placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Irmo smiled down at him and Beleg nearly wept for the love and concern he felt coming from the Lord of Lórien.

"I want you to remember, my son," Irmo said, "no matter what you find on the other side of that Gate, you are loved. Can you do that for me?"

Beleg nodded. "Yes, Lord," he replied softly, clutching his few possessions to him, wondering why Lord Irmo was telling him this when he had not said anything to the other Reborn save to wish them joy in their reunions with family and friends.

Irmo patted his shoulder. "Good. Now, off you go." He gave the Reborn Sinda a gentle push towards the Gate and Beleg made his way through to find himself in another sun-filled glade.

All around were strange elves greeting the Reborn. He looked, hoping to see a familiar face, or at least hoping that someone would come and claim him, but no one did. One by one the other elves left, barely registering the fact that there was one lone elf standing by the Gate, looking lost and bereft. Finally, someone did come, but not an elf.

"Beleg."

The Sinda turned and gasped. Before him stood a Maia wearing the black surcoat with the Sun-in-Eclipse insignia of the Lord of Mandos. It was Calimo, one of the attendant Maiar in the Halls of Waiting. Beleg had to stop himself from stepping back. Calimo held out his hand.

"Come, child."

Beleg stared at the Maia with something akin to despair and shook his head. "I... I’m suppose to wait for m-my family," he whispered.

Calimo gave him a pitying look. "There will be none who will come, Beleg. Those who would greet you and welcome you are not in a position to do so yet, though they will be soon. In the meantime, you must come with me."

"Bu-but why?" he asked fearfully, clutching his bag of possessions even more tightly than before as if it could be a shield against what was to come. "I... I’ve done nothing wrong. Wh-why are you... s-sending me back?" Now he was weeping and the Maia made a tsking sound and wrapped him in his arms, gently rocking him.

"You’re not being sent back, child," Calimo said. "Why would you think that? I’m merely taking you to a place where you can stay until your friends can claim you, that’s all. Now, dry those tears and let us be away from here." The Maia gently wiped the tear streaks from Beleg’s face and gave him an encouraging smile. "I found someone who is willing to take you in. You’ll like him. His name is Vánandur and he’s a woodcarver."

Calimo continued to talk to him in dulcet tones, calming him, as he brought him away from the Gate towards a road that led northeast. Before Beleg understood what was happening, he found himself on a horse while Calimo continued to walk beside him telling him about some place called Eldamas that was near the city of the Powers. Beleg decided he was happy that he wasn’t going to be sent back to Mandos after all, but he wasn’t sure about the rest....

"I cannot believe that Lord Irmo would release any Reborn without there being someone to take them in," Ingwë said, shaking his head as Beleg finished his tale. "I find the thought of having anyone put in that position disturbing."

"What happened next, gwador?" Glorfindel asked, casting a glance at Sador, who was sitting white-lipped, remembering how he had had no one to greet him when he had left Lórien. Arafinwë reached over and placed a comforting hand on the ellon’s arm, patting it. Sador gave him a weak smile but otherwise did not speak.

"We came to Eldamas and Calimo took me to the home of Vánandur where I’ve been living ever since," Beleg answered. "He was very nice to me and let me help him around his workshop."

"And that’s where you’ve been all this time, in Eldamas?" Olwë asked.

Beleg nodded. "That’s where I learned about the tournament. Vánandur helped me find the right kind of wood and everything so I could make my own bow and arrows."

"Whose idea was it for you to enter the tournament and who thought for you to use the name Turindil?" Ingwë asked.

Beleg blushed slightly. "Lord Oromë."

"Ah...."

"He said it would be better if I left the name of Beleg behind," the Sinda added, then he looked down at his hands. "I... I thought because I couldn’t remember much of my life from before and no one was there to greet me, that perhaps I’d done something... bad." He looked up then at Mithlas. "That’s why Lady Vána was speaking to me when you found me. She was assuring me that that was not the case."

"How much of your former life do you remember?" Finrod asked gently.

For a moment Beleg did not answer. "I remember Túrin," he whispered.

Sador and Mithlas both closed their eyes at that and sighed, their expressions sad.

"Is that why you gave yourself that name?" Glorfindel asked.

Beleg nodded but otherwise did not elaborate.

In the ensuing silence Olwë leaned forward, gazing intently at the former marchwarden of Doriath. "Beleg, who are your parents?" he asked softly.

Beleg looked up at the Telerin King. "My father’s name is... Denweg," he replied hesitantly, as if unsure of the answer, "and my mother’s name is...is Olwen."

Olwë leaned back with a gasp, his face registering shock. Ingwë and Arafinwë also looked nonplused.

"Olwen!" Ingwë exclaimed as he looked between his fellow ruler and the Sinda, suddenly understanding. "No wonder he seemed familiar to you, my brother. Olwen!"

"Who’s Olwen?" Ingwion asked, looking as confused as the rest of them.

"My sister," Olwë answered, sounding distant, his face pale with shock. He jumped up suddenly from his chair and came around the table to stand behind Beleg, pulling him into his embrace. "My sister," he repeated. "She’s my sister."

The others could only stare at the King of Alqualondë standing there with Beleg in his arms, Beleg who was now revealed to be the king’s own nephew. The Sinda’s expression held more confusion than shock as he tried to assimilate what was being said around him. Just then, Elindis and the other ladies entered the pavilion with trays of food in their hands. The High Queen of Eldamar took in the tableau at a glance and gave her husband a considering look. "Did we miss something?" she asked somewhat archly and Ingwë began to laugh.

****

"Where are you staying during the tournament?" Olwë asked at one point during the luncheon. The mood had brightened somewhat when Ingwë explained to the ladies what had been learned about Beleg and Eärwen was introduced to her cousin. Now they were seated around the table still, enjoying some afters of fruit and cheese.

Beleg shrugged. "Master Vánandur gave me a small tent for my use but in truth I spend most nights in one tree or another." He blushed a bit as several eyebrows among the Amaneldi were raised. "The Nandorin guards don’t seem to mind," he said apologetically.

"Well, I don’t think that would be practical after today," Finrod said with a sympathetic smile. "Why don’t we have your tent brought here inside the compound and you can stay here with us? Even if you don’t wish to sleep inside you can sleep by the fire and no one will disturb you."

"I’ll ask one of the Maiar to bring your things here if you’d like," Glorfindel said, then gave them all a wink. "Might as well put them to use as long as they’re just hanging about."

The elves were rewarded by the sound of laughter coming from outside. Then Glorfindel found the empty fruit bowl upside down on his head, which set the other elves laughing. Beleg turned to Finrod with an easy smile. "I see Glorfy’s as cheeky as ever. Lord Námo’s punishments don’t seem to have made an impression on him."

"What sort of punishments?" Arafinwë asked with a frown and looked surprised when all four Reborn ellyn started laughing. He turned to Ingwë. "Did I say something funny?" Finrod answered before the High King could speak.

"Nay, Atar," he said, "not funny, just that we’ve all been there. Lord Námo’s... punishments are rather unique, to say the least."

"But what..." began Mithlas, but all four Reborn shook their heads.

"Not for us to say," Finrod answered, then turned to Beleg with a wicked grin. "But you are mistaken, brother. Glorfy’s learned many lessons, he just chooses to ignore them."

Glorfindel put on a disdainful air without bothering to remove the bowl from his head. "Boring things, lessons. They just get in the way of having fun."

Now they were all laughing. On that note, Finrod stood. "Well, as enjoyable as this is, some of us are fighting this afternoon and must needs go and prepare." He gave Mithlas, Gilvagor and Aldarion each a meaningful glance and the ellyn stood, though Mithlas did so reluctantly.

"I don’t know why I’m even bothering to get myself killed," he said with a scowl. "We all know who’s going to win."

Finrod frowned as well. "We know no such thing. I lost one match, I can easily lose another. Do not sell yourself short, Mithlas."

Beleg looked up from where he was sitting at his first friend among the tournament players. "It’s not a question of being beaten, mellon nîn," he said in all seriousness. "It’s making sure Finrod earns the right to fight against Glorfindel. Your fighting him assures that Finrod’s victory over Glorfindel, if it occurs, will come honestly rather than by default. Your fighting Finrod assures his self-respect before others and himself."

Mithlas stared at the silver-grey-haired Sinda for a moment and then smiled, bending down to plant a kiss of friendship upon Beleg’s cheek. "I am very glad we are friends," he said.

"And more than friends," Beleg replied with a smile of his own.

Ingwë nodded in approval. "We will see you in the lists, then," he said and the four fighters gave him and the others deep bows before setting off.

As Finrod and the others were leaving, Olwë turned to Beleg. "Tell me about my sister," he asked almost pleadingly and for the next half hour before they needed to leave for the tournament Beleg told them all he could remember about his parents and his life in Doriath.

****

Everyone, or at least all the Tol Eressëans, wanted a look at the famous Beleg Cúthalion. They were lined up on either side of the avenue of tents that led towards the lists hoping for a glimpse. Beleg went pale at the sight of them as they were leaving Finrod’s compound. Sador and Glorfindel took him by the arms and kept him steady.

"Easy now, Beleg," Glorfindel whispered in Sindarin, "they’re not going to hurt you. They just want a look at you."

"But why?" came the confused question.

"You’re famous," Sador explained. "Your exploits are known far and wide among those of Beleriand. I don’t think too many people were expecting to see you released from Mandos so soon."

"Has it been soon?" Beleg asked. "I don’t know why I was released when I was, only that Lord Námo said it was time."

"If he said so, then it must be true, whether you feel you are ready or not," Glorfindel said. "I know I was reluctant to resume a hröa again. I’d forgotten what it meant to have one."

All this time they continued walking past the crowd of people who did not attempt to reach for Beleg, but merely bowed or curtsied as the former marchwarden walked by. There were soft whispers of "Beleg" and "Strongbow" among the crowd but no one tried to start up a conversation with the Reborn archer. When they finally reached the viewing gallery, Beleg almost sighed with relief, for no one would be able to importune him there and he was left alone to enjoy the afternoon’s fighting.

Finrod, Mithlas, Gilvagor and Aldarion stepped out onto the field amidst cheers and shortly thereafter they were fighting. Whoever lost the match between Finrod and Mithlas would take third place. Gilvagor and Aldarion were fighting to see who would take fifth.

It was obvious, though, that most of the crowd were not there to see the fighting but to get a glimpse of Beleg and there were more people craning their necks to see inside the viewing gallery than there were trying to see the matches over their neighbors’ heads. That knowledge made Beleg nervous. Both Glorfindel and Sador had to reassure him that their fascination would ebb soon enough.

"They will latch onto any new thing, so long as it’s new," Sador said with sage contempt, "then forget about it for something else that is newer, or more interesting. Do not concern yourself overmuch by their actions."

"A rather cynical view, my young ellon," Ingwë said with a hint of disapproval in his voice.

"But true, nonetheless," Arafinwë retorted, coming to his Ward’s defense.

"I just wish I could remember why they think I’m famous," Beleg replied, sounding and looking frustrated.

"The memories will come, mellon nîn," Sador said sympathetically. "Take it from one who knows."

Beleg gave his fellow Doriathrin a considering look and then nodded. "Thank you," he said softly. "Your words restore my hope."

The two ellyn turned their attention to the fighting in time to see Mithlas give a stunning blow on Finrod’s shield that drove the prince to his knees. There was an audible gasp from the stands and then a sigh of relief when Finrod managed to regain his feet. Then the two of them went at each other with deliberate fury and it was almost impossible to follow their moves as they danced a deadly duet. Suddenly, all heard Finrod laugh and the sound of it was both wonderful and terrible in the joy it conveyed: joy of battle, joy of holding steel in his hands, joy of having a worthy opponent with whom he could test his skills. No one who heard that laughter was unmoved. One or two of the Amaneldi even fled from the stands, too overcome by the emotions that laughter, both darkly dangerous and gloriously lighthearted, evoked within them. Even Sador found himself on his feet unconsciously reaching for a sword that was not there. Arafinwë had to pull him down and hold him tightly as all watched the match between Noldo and Sinda continue.

It did not continue for very much longer. Suddenly the match was over with Mithlas lying on his back, his shield shattered, his sword flying towards the stands. Finrod stood there, calmly removing his helm and gazing at the stunned elf with almost a blank dispassionate look. Mithlas finally stirred and sat up and Finrod’s expression became gladsome as he reached down to help his friend up.

"Your Glassiel would be very proud of you, gwador nîn," Finrod whispered to Mithlas as he gave him a hug. "As am I."

Mithlas was too winded yet to answer, merely nodding and attempting to hold back unshed tears at Finrod’s words. The prince gave him another hug. "Come, let us retrieve your sword and see you to the healers. I want them to check your shield arm and make sure you did not suffer serious hurt."

Mithlas nodded again and the two of them walked arm-in-arm from the field, stopping only long enough to retrieve Mithlas’ sword before going towards the nearest healers’ tent where Laurendil and Manwen were already waiting for them.

Assured that the Sinda was well, the spectators’ attention was drawn to the other match still going on. Neither Gilvagor nor Aldarion could equal the level of skill and finesse evidenced in the fighting between Finrod and Mithlas, yet all could see that these two were evenly pitted against each other. If Gilvagor had perhaps a greater range of experience in fighting, Aldarion had learned much from Glorfindel in the weeks they had sparred together and that small knowledge was enough to tip the balance at the last minute when it looked as if Gilvagor would best the Vanya. Quicker than thought, Aldarion twisted his body away from Gilvagor’s well-considered thrust and at the same time was able to come underneath the Exilic Noldo’s guard, striking him with a "killing" blow.

There were cheers all about, especially from the Vanyar, glad that two of their own had won places in the tournament. Gilvagor and Aldarion hugged each other and all could see the two ellyn laughing over some jest or other as they walked off the field.

Manwë turned to the elves in the viewing gallery, his expression benevolent. "In spite of certain incidents," he said, "this has proved a most enjoyable event. We look forward to its conclusion tomorrow." He gave Glorfindel a brief, private smile, and then he, Varda and their Maiar attendants were not there.

Ingwë stood up then and smiled on them all. "I think this calls for a celebration, considering that our brother ruler has been reunited with kin he never knew he had." Both Olwë and Beleg blushed at that. Eärwen, sitting next to Beleg, reached over and gave him a heartfelt hug, which he returned. "Therefore, let us all adjourn to the city where we will have an impromptu feast."

Everyone cheered at that and Glorfindel volunteered to bring Finrod and the other three fighters to the city. Ingwë agreed. "Let us have Alassiel and those five elflings come as well. I fear my great-niece has been relegated to the status of nanny of late. I’m sure she would appreciate joining us."

In the end, Laurendil and Manwen were encouraged to come along as well when Glorfindel found them tending to Mithlas, whose shield arm had sustained some heavy bruising but nothing worse. Alassiel, when she learned what had been planned was thrilled and rushed to find a fitting gown to wear. The elflings were also excited, but Veryandur then balked at going when he realized that his friend Vorondil would not be there. Eventually, Finrod sent word by way of one of the Maiar to Aldundil’s tent instructing him and his son to don their best tunics and meet Finrod at the southern gate of the city. Father and son were naturally nervous but when they learned what the summons was about, Aldundil tried to bow out for them both, insisting that, under the circumstances, it would be inappropriate for them to attend the feast. Finrod demurred. Veryandur, refusing to take ‘no’ as an answer, grabbed Vorondil’s hand and physically began pulling him through the gate with the other elflings in tow. The adults gave each other amused looks, Aldundil shrugged resignedly and with much laughter they set off for the palace led by the six children.

If Ingwë was surprised to find the number of dinner guests increased by four, he gave no sign, merely ordering additional trenchers to be brought. Thus, on the penultimate evening of the tournament, the High King of Eldamar held a minor feast in honor of Olwë and Beleg. The night was merry with song and laughter.

Unseen, Námo and Irmo stood in the shadows of the hall, smiles wreathing their faces as they saw the one known as Beleg Cúthalion, former marchwarden of Doriath, late of Mandos and Lórien, be welcomed into the household of his uncle, the King of Alqualondë.

****

Note: Beleg’s parentage is purely noncanonical, as is the idea that Olwë, Elwë, and Elmo have a sister.