14: News from Vanyamar

Cemendil stared up at the city of Tirion on Túna, remembering earlier times when he dwelt there with Séremárië, his beloved wife, before any of their children were born. He thought fondly of her, happily in service to Lord Manwë as a court bard. Her lays were well known among the Vanyar and even among the other Elves of Eldamar. She was one of the most respected teachers at the Academy and well loved by her students. It had been she who had convinced him to leave Ingwë’s service and follow his first love: the study of plant taxonomy. He had worried that Ingwë would be dismissive of his decision and that Lady Yavanna might not accept his wish to become her apprentice, but both worries were unfounded. Ingwë expressed his regret at losing so able a councillor but understood that Cemendil had been unhappy of late and accepted his resignation, welcoming Tamurilon as his replacement.

"I will miss your wise council, my friend," Ingwë had said, "but I welcome your son in your place, for I know you have imbued him with your own wisdom."

Lady Yavanna had been more reserved in her acceptance of him. "You are somewhat late, child," she had told him, "I expected you some time ago." She gave him a sigh that was like the soughing of the wind in the trees, then smiled at the ellon’s obvious confusion. "Well, better late than never, I suppose," she continued somewhat wryly. "Welcome to the fold, Cemendil. Your atar named you well."

That had been some time ago and now he was well settled in Eldamas, studying the plants in the area as well as journeying abroad to other parts of Valinor, places rarely visited by any of the Elves, save perhaps Fëanáro and his sons, for they had been well known for their wanderlust, that is until they were exiled to a single valley far to the north.

Cemendil shook his head, clearing his mind of that last thought. He had attended the trial more out of curiosity than anything, residing as he did in Eldamas, and had been dumbfounded at Fëanáro’s truculence before the Valar. Well, that was neither here nor there at the moment. He sighed and, not for the first time, wondered how he had allowed himself to be talked into coming here. Tam had spent half the time of his visit convincing him to do so. He had been reluctant, for he did not wish to leave his work but in the end he had agreed.

"But I might not be able to leave for a couple of weeks, for I have my own work to attend to," he said. Tam, of course, had urged him to leave earlier, and in the end he had agreed to leave on the same day as his son would leave for Vanyamar.

"I do this for the love I bear for Ingwë," he told Tam as they parted, "but please do not ask me to do this again. Next time, if there is a next time, you will have to find another way."

Tam, to his credit, had simply nodded and left it at that. Now, here he was before the gates of Tirion and he wished he were anywhere else, doing anything else. Giving in to another sigh, he spoke softly to his horse, urging it forward from where he had stopped a few hundred paces from the western entrance of the city. There were few travelers entering Tirion this late in the day, so he did not have to wait long to pass through the gates, giving the guards there a respectful nod. He made his way to an inn where he often stayed whenever he had occasion to visit Tirion. It was situated half-way up the hill upon which the city sat. It was too late to go to the palace, so he had a quiet dinner and retired.

The next day, Valanya, was traditionally a day of rest and celebration. Thus, there were few businesses open and the streets were somewhat deserted as he made his way towards the palace, remembering his former life in the city. He still avoided visiting the street where he and Séremárië had kept house, his feelings about it ambivalent, for he was never sure if he feared to see that it was still deserted even after all this time or that it was not. At any rate, that street lay further to the north and he was making his way almost due east along one of the main arterials that led directly to the palace.

At the entrance he was stopped by a guard asking his business. Cemendil handed him a letter that Tamurilon had given him, a letter signed by Ingwion and Ingalaurë as co-regents of Vanyamar. "I have been asked to deliver a message to the Ingaran from his sons," he said as the guard read the letter of introduction informing all and sundry that the bearer of the letter was acting as an official courier for their Highnesses. The guard returned the letter to Cemendil and nodded.

"I will have you escorted to Lord Axantur," he said, naming the Noldóran’s Chamberlain and Master of Ceremonies. "He will bring you before the High King."

Cemendil gave the guard a brief bow. "Thank you."

The guard beckoned to one of his fellows and gave him his instructions. Soon Cemendil was following the ellon through the hallways of the palace, bringing him to Axantur’s office. The guard knocked on the door frame.

"Yes? What is it?" came a querulous voice on the other side of the half-opened door. The guard pushed the door open wider. Cemendil saw an ellon facing away from them, hunched over a desk that looked out onto an inner courtyard.

"My lord," the guard said, "this is Lord Cemendil who wishes to see the Ingaran."

Lord Axantur, or so Cemendil assumed him to be, sighed but did not bother to turn around. "Everyone wants to see the Ingaran, who shouldn’t be here, and the Noldóran, who should be," he muttered in frustration. "Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait your turn. It’s Valanya, after all. Their Majesties are not seeing anyone today. Send him away," the Chamberlain ordered, giving them a dismissive wave of a hand, still too intent on whatever he was doing to have the courtesy to face them.

Cemendil rolled his eyes and waved at the guard, mouthing ‘Thank you’ as he motioned him to return to his post. The guard gave him a short bow, smiling as he mouthed ‘Good luck’ before turning and leaving. Cemendil eyed the Chamberlain’s back with a mixture of amusement and indignation. He remembered having to deal with underlings in Ingwë’s court and was glad he was no longer subjected to their highly overrated opinions of their own worth.

"Excuse me," he said in as forbidding tone as he could muster, "but unfortunately I cannot wait on the pleasure of your office to see Ingwë. I have a personal message for him and...."

Axantur turned in exasperation, holding out a hand in an imperious manner. "Then you had best give it to me and I’ll see it delivered."

Cemendil’s eyes narrowed. "It was delivered into my hands with the explicit orders that I give it to none but the High King."

Axantur huffed, obviously displeased. "Orders or no, nothing gets to their Majesties except through me...."

"Which makes me wonder if anything gets to them," Cemendil could not help retorting, though he instantly regretted that he had allowed his anger to impugn the integrity of the ellon before him. Before he could tender his apologies, another voice joined the discussion.

"I can take him, Axantur."

Axantur actually stood and bowed while Cemendil turned to see an ellon with the golden hair of the Vanyar, though there were hints of silver woven in the tresses. He wondered if the ellon were part of the entourage that had accompanied Ingwë to Tirion. He had been away from court long enough that he did not think he would recognize any of those who entered government service after his departure.

"If you wish, Prince Findaráto," Axantur said with steely politeness.

Cemendil felt his eyebrows leave his forehead. Ah... so this was the eldest son of Prince Arafinwë and the Lady Eärwen. He was rather unassuming in his dull colored tunic of rain-washed grey and if it weren’t for the courtesy that Axantur accorded him, Cemendil would have dismissed the ellon as a lowly servant.

Findaráto gave them both a smile that nearly rivaled the light of the Trees in its artless brilliance. "I wish, Axantur," he said. "I was on my way to pay my respects to Uncle Ñolofinwë anyway. If you would follow me... um...."

"Lord Cemendil, your Highness," the Vanya said with a proper bow.

"Lord Cemendil, welcome to Tirion," Findaráto said with a bow of his head. "Please come with me." He started to walk away and then stopped to glance back at the Chamberlain who was still standing, looking less than pleased. "Oh, and Axantur, next time, let’s see a little more respect. Lord Cemendil has shown remarkable fortitude in the face of your rudeness, but others might not be so... forgiving." His expression made it clear that he was speaking of himself and Cemendil’s estimation of the prince changed remarkably. Here was one it would be wise not to anger. Axantur bowed but said nothing and Findaráto turned back to Cemendil with a smile.

"This way, Lord Cemendil," and the Vanya fell into step with the prince as they made their way down the hall. "So how is Vanyamar these days?" Findaráto asked after a moment or two of silence as they went up a marble staircase.

"Actually, I have no idea," Cemendil said with a smile. "I left Vanyamar some time ago and now make my home in Eldamas."

"And yet, you claim to have a letter for my great-uncle," Findaráto pointed out in a reasonable tone.

"I was given the letter by my son who had received the letter from Prince Ingwion with instructions to give it to me and for me to in turn give it into Ingwë’s hands and to no other."

"How odd," the prince said, then shrugged. "Well, no doubt Ingwion has a reason for all this... intrigue. Ah... here we are." They had come to a door that appeared no different from all the other doors they had passed. Findaráto knocked, and then opened the door without waiting for an answer. "Fair day to you, Uncle," he said cheerfully as he entered the room with Cemendil trailing behind. "I’ve brought someone to see Uncle Ingwë."

The Vanya found himself in a sitting room, comfortably appointed and fully occupied. He recognized Ingwë and Elindis sitting together on a settee, but had to assume the others gathered in a semi-circle of chairs around the royal couple were members of the Noldorin royal family. He noticed, though, that Lady Indis was not among them. Cemendil started to bow to the assembly but was forestalled by Ingwë rising from his seat and coming to him.

"Cemendil?" he asked in disbelief, taking the ellon by the shoulders. "What brings you here?"

Cemendil smiled. "I was in the neighborhood and...."

He got no further as Ingwë threw back his head and laughed all the while hugging his former councillor. He still had a grin on his face as he calmed down. "A likely story," he said, then led him further into the room, quickly introducing them: Ñolofinwë, Anairë, their three sons, Findecáno, Turucáno and Aracáno, and their daughter, Írissë, along with Arafinwë, Eärwen and their daughter, Artanis. The ladies were sitting quietly in the embrasure overlooking the garden below, working diligently on some embroidery, though Elindis sat with her husband. Ingwë explained to Cemendil that Arafinwë’s other two sons were visiting friends elsewhere in Tirion. "This is Lord Cemendil who once served me faithfully and well as one of my councillors," Ingwë said at the last.

"And now?" Arafinwë asked in an amused voice.

"Now he serves Lady Yavanna with the same unswerving loyalty," Ingwë answered and they all looked upon Cemendil with grave respect.

Cemendil turned to Ingwë, his expression sober. "I hope that I still serve you, aranya, as faithfully as ever. I was asked to seek you out and to give this into your hands." He pulled a piece of vellum from the leather pouch he had slung over his shoulder. It was heavily sealed.

Ingwë stared at it for a moment, not taking it. Finally, he looked up into Cemendil’s eyes. "Do you know what is written here?"

Cemendil shook his head. "I am merely the messenger, sire, nothing more."

"Why, though?" Elindis asked from where she was sitting. She, too, was working on a piece of embroidery. "The regular courier was here only yesterday."

Cemendil shrugged. "I’m sorry. I truly know nothing about it save that my son came to me and gave me this, asking that I come here and give it to you personally."

Now Ingwë took the letter, staring pensively at it before walking over to a desk and picking up a thin knife, carefully breaking the seals. He slowly unfolded it and began reading. Findaráto, meanwhile, offered Cemendil a seat and a glass of yellow wine, mellow and pleasing to the palate.

"Nothing bad, I hope," Ñolofinwë said, giving his uncle a concerned look.

"Depends on how you define the term," Ingwë said absently, still reading. Then, he looked up and his expression was one of almost pure fury, and Cemendil felt himself grow weak at the sight. He vaguely noticed that some of the others in the room looked equally unnerved.

"Perhaps I should leave...." he said as he started to rise, but Findaráto, sitting next to him, laid a hand on his arm, forestalling him.

"Sit, my lord," the prince said. "Whether you are aware of it or not, the moment you accepted the letter from your son you became embroiled in this... affair."

Cemendil shook his head in denial, pulling away from the prince. "I am here as a favor to my son, nothing more," he insisted. "I want no part of any of this." He glared at Ingwë. "I resigned from your government, Ingwë. I have no intention of taking back my office." He gave them all a stiff bow and moved towards the door.

Ingwë’s expression mutated from fury to confusion and it was obvious to the others that he had not been paying attention to the conversation between Findaráto and Cemendil. "Wait!" he cried, going to Cemendil and taking him by the shoulders, turning him around. "Forgive me, my friend," he said softly. "Please stay. You were ever one of my wisest councillors and I would welcome your insight now."

Cemendil hesitated. "I left all that behind, Ingwë," he said in a tone that held a measure of regret, regret that he may have caused his king and dear friend much grief in leaving. "I... I really do not wish to return to that."

"I know," Ingwë said in a tone that held an equal amount of sorrow and resignation in it. "Only, please stay... for me, for the sake of the friendship we once had."

"You have never lost my friendship, Sire, nor my love," Cemendil said softly yet with much emotion. "I regret causing you any pain at my leaving but...."

Ingwë held up a hand to forestall his apology. "I never blamed you, Cemendil. You were right to leave when you did. But come now and join us. While your loyalties have changed somewhat I hope your love for our people has not."

Cemendil could only shake his head as he reluctantly allowed Ingwë to lead him back to his seat. Ingwë resumed his own next to Elindis, sighing heavily as he stared down at the missive still in his hand. "I am sorry for... frightening any of you," he said, looking at each of them and capturing everyone’s eyes with his own. "I fear that the news, if not bad, is certainly disturbing and I understand why my sons chose to bring me this news through you, Cemendil."

"What is it, Ingwë?" Elindis asked, her expression one of deep concern. "Has something happened to the children?"

"Nay, nothing like that," Ingwë was quick to reassure her. "Indil and our sons are well, if troubled." He turned his attention to the rest of them. "It appears that Ingoldo has sought to overthrow the regency I set up before leaving. He is trying to convince my Privy Council to either force Ingwion and Ingalaurë to abdicate in his favor or to forcibly remove them from office."

There was a collective gasp in the room. Cemendil shuddered at the images those words evoked within him. One of the reasons he had gladly left Vanyamar to enter into Lady Yavanna’s service was so as to remove himself from Ingoldo’s influence. He did not delude himself into thinking he was untouchable. Everyone had their price, though for most the price was so high it did not matter. He was not sure if his price was truly high enough and feared that Ingoldo or one of his followers would offer him something he could not refuse. He’d hope that by removing himself from his position, the temptation would never arise. His only consolation was knowing that Tamurilon’s integrity was even greater than his own and beyond any price, which is why he had had no qualms in suggesting his son take his place on the council. Still, he could not help a twinge of regret at his own cowardice in virtually running away.

"What do you mean to do about it?" Ñolofinwë asked. "Will you be returning to Vanyamar now?"

"No," came Ingwë’s surprising answer and they all looked at him with various degrees of disbelief and confusion. He waved the letter before him. "This is but a progress report," he said, "one that my sons felt I should have so that I would be aware of what was happening, but they ask that I take no action at this time."

"Then why the subterfuge?" Arafinwë asked, looking pointedly at Cemendil, who sat there at a loss as to how to respond. Tamurilon had told him little, only asking that he deliver the letter. He had not asked for any details; the less he knew, the less he could inadvertently reveal.

Ingwë shook his head. "Cemendil is not at fault, Arafinwë. I believe him when he tells me that he knows little of what is happening in Vanyamar."

"I left that life," Cemendil insisted, looking almost pleadingly at Ingwë. "I do not want to return to it."

"I know," the High King said, giving him a sympathetic look, "and I regret that you have been dragged into it again. My apologies on behalf of my sons. They should never...."

"I doubt they were the ones to come up with the idea of sending me," Cemendil interrupted. "I suspect that Tam suggested this route. Ingoldo still heads the courier service, does he not?" Ingwë nodded. "That’s what I thought," Cemendil continued. "Obviously your sons feared the possibility that Ingoldo would not respect the seals on any missive sent by them to you."

Now there was another sharp intake of breath from the listeners at the implications of the Vanyarin lord’s words. Ingwë’s expression darkened again towards wrath.

"So are you truly not going to do anything?" Ñolofinwë asked again.

For a long moment Ingwë did not speak. He stared down at the letter and then back up at Cemendil, who sat there feeling furious at what he feared would be asked of him next. He had left his former life in good faith, embracing his present life as a servant to the Earth-Queen with enthusiasm and gratitude and now he was being sucked back into the morass of conflicting loyalties and agendas from which he had fled. He resented it and wished now he had never agreed to his son’s request. Only his friendship with Ingwë had convinced him to do so and now he could see in the High King’s eyes that very friendship being betrayed.

As if reading his thoughts, Ingwë said, "I will understand if you refuse, Cemendil, but for friendship’s sake I ask that you carry one more letter."

"To Vanyamar?" Cemendil asked, feeling a sick twisty feeling in the pit of his stomach as he saw his life spiraling out of control. He wondered briefly if he could simply call on Lady Yavanna to rescue him, then dismissed the thought from his mind. The Earth-Queen allowed the Elves who were in her service to live their own lives, to make their own choices and would not interfere unless those choices directly impacted her demesne.

Ingwë shook his head. "No. To Alqualondë."

There was dead silence. Cemendil stared at Ingwë in absolute shock, not sure he had heard correctly. "Alqualondë? Why to Alqualondë?"

Now, for the first time since reading the letter, Ingwë smiled. "Why, to inform King Olwë of the upcoming nuptials between my nephew Intarion with the Lady Lirulin, of course."

"What!?" Elindis nearly screamed, grabbing the missive out of her husband’s hand and reading furiously.

"You mean, Intarion and Lirulin are finally betrothed?" Findaráto asked with a wide grin of delight.

Ingwë nodded. "Or rather, they will be by now. They planned to make the announcement on Aldúya."

"So, Cousin Intarion finally grew a backbone, did he?" Artanis spoke up with a dismissive sniff. "About time, though I feel sorry for Lirulin marrying someone who is usually afraid of his own shadow."

"That’s quite enough from you, Daughter," Arafinwë said sternly. "You do both Intarion and Lirulin a disservice with your disparaging remarks."

"Thine atar is correct, child," Ingwë said with a slight frown, speaking more as High King than as the eldest member of their family. The use of the word ‘child’ did more to chasten the elleth than her atar’s disapproval. "Intarion is far braver than thou canst imagine, for he hath endured his parents’ disapproval of Lirulin for yéni upon yéni and hath refused to consider any other candidate for marriage that they have foisted upon him. Beyond that, he hath Our deepest respect and love, for he hath ever been loyal to Us."

Artanis stood up and gave them a curtsey in apology, before returning to her seat, keeping her eyes on her lap, knowing that she had disappointed her family with her thoughtless words. Cemendil had noticed Findaráto rolling his eyes and shaking his head when Lady Artanis had spoken. Obviously, he felt differently about Lord Intarion than his sister.

"Perhaps I should travel to Vanyamar and give Intarion some moral support," the eldest child of Arafinwë said, confirming Cemendil’s good opinion of him, "and I can pass on any personal messages you may have for Ingwion and Ingalaurë, Uncle, messages that Ingoldo will never read." He tapped the side of his head and the meaning was clear: any messages would be completely verbal.

"And what of your studies, yonya?" Arafinwë asked. "Will you abandon them at this critical time? You are very near to achieving your mastership."

Findaráto shrugged. "It isn’t as if I plan to stay there indefinitely, Atto," he said, "just until the wedding. By then, you’ll all be there, won’t you?" He gave them a sly look and Ingwë laughed.

"Indeed," he said. "Well, if you are willing to go, Nephew, it will give me more peace of mind, knowing that you are there to lend whatever aid you can to my sons. And if you wish, I will write a letter to Valandur. As my chief loremaster, he knows the heads of all the guilds and academies. I see no reason why you cannot continue your studies there in the meantime. I’m sure your tutors will not object."

Findaráto bowed his head. "Thank you, Uncle, I appreciate it."

Ingwë then turned to Cemendil. "Will you go, meldonya?" he asked softly. "Will you go to Alqualondë?"

"Why me though?" Cemendil could not help asking. He turned to Ñolofinwë. "Surely you have your own courier service. Should they not be the ones to take such a message to King Olwë?"

It was Ingwë who answered. "Normally, yes, but the betrothal announcement is not the only message you will be carrying. That is merely an excuse."

For a moment, Cemendil stared at Ingwë in dismay. "I left that life," was all he could think to say. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go; he had been meaning to journey to that region of Eldamar for some time now to begin the cataloguing of the olvar there, but not like this, not as Ingwë’s lackey.

"I know," Ingwë said sorrowfully, rising to stand before Cemendil and pulling him up to face him, "but will you go, otornya?"

Cemendil sighed, and nodded. Ingwë calling him his otorno was the determining factor in his decision. "Only for you, otornya," he said softly, his eyes down, "only for the love I bear for you will I do this." Then he looked up at the High King and his eyes were full of anguish. "But please, do not ask me again, ever. I left that life. I belong to Lady Yavanna now, not to you."

Ingwë embraced him, kissing him on the cheeks as a liege to his vassal. "But just this last time you are mine," he whispered into the ellon’s ear and to his utter horror Cemendil found himself bursting into tears as Ingwë held him. He never noticed when the others, led by Elindis, left the room.

****

Otornya: My (sworn) brother; contracted from otornonya [otorno ‘brother’ + -nya ‘first person singular possessive suffix’], cf. yonya ‘my son’, contracted from yondonya.

Note: Írissë is better known from the Silmarillion as Aredhel. She will marry Eöl and be the mother of Maeglin.