63: Audience With Olwë

Ingwion followed his cousin and the steward down several hallways and up a flight of stairs, gazing about with wide-eyed interest. He had never been to Alqualondë and now wondered at that. He knew that both his parents had been here at least once but he himself, along with his twin and Indil, had only traveled as far as the mouth of the Calacirya to see the ancient stars before returning to Tirion. Why hadn’t they gone to Alqualondë? He shook his head, for he had no answer to that. It was something he would have to remember to ask his atar about when he returned to Vanyamar.

Eällindo brought them to a set of pearlescent doors where two ellyn stood on guard. They opened the doors for them and the steward began announcing them almost before he had passed the threshold.

"Their Highnesses Findaráto Arafinwion and Ingwion Ingaranion," the older Elf intoned before stepping aside to let them in.

Ingwion was not sure he appreciated being announced second. He was, after all, the son of the High King and outranked his cousin, but on further reflection, he realized that to the Teleri, young Findaráto was kin and therefore to be accorded a higher status than a mere haryon of some other clan with no blood-ties to it. He almost smiled at that revelation. It seemed a rather provincial view but the Teleri were always a little backward as far as he could tell. Certainly, they were less innovative, even by Vanyarin standards, never mind by Noldorin. Even their speech patterns were more archaic sounding. Well, that was neither here nor there.

He gazed around the small presence-chamber with its walls of nessamelda wood paneling and the blue-veined marble floor covered with a soft blue-green carpet. There was a crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling, its light throwing rainbows around the room. Before them stood, as custom demanded, two Elves whom Ingwion could only assume were Olwë and his queen, Lirillë. They were richly dressed in sea-green velvets, pearls sewn into their clothing and twined into their silver hair.

Findaráto gave them his obeisance, but Ingwion refused to do more than bow his head in greeting. He was Ingwë’s son and heir and therefore ranked higher than all of them, whether they wished to acknowledge that or not. He noticed Olwë raising an eyebrow but otherwise he did not comment. Instead the King of Alqualondë opened his arms in greeting and Findaráto went to them willingly.

"Welcome, my child," Olwë said, giving his grandson a kiss as between close kin, then allowing Lirillë to do the same as he turned to address Ingwion. "And thrice welcome also to you, Prince Ingwion. You lend us grace by your presence."

"Thank you, Uncle," Ingwion replied, using the form of the word that was used as between equals of differing generations.

Olwë nodded, turning to his steward, who had remained beside the door. "Thank you, Eällindo, that will be all. See that we are undisturbed for the next three bells."

Eällindo bowed. "As you command, Majesty," he said and left, the guards closing the doors behind him, leaving them alone.

Olwë gestured to a sideboard. "Please help yourselves. We rarely stand on ceremony among family."

Findaráto went to the sideboard and began pouring wine into goblets, handing one to Ingwion, while their hosts asked after their families. Only when everyone had been served and seated on comfortable chairs around a low table did they get down to the reason for their visit.

"I was surprised to hear that you two were here, dripping seawater on our front porch," Olwë said drolly and the two younger ellyn chuckled.

"Atar sent us, or rather, sent me," Ingwion replied, "to fill you in on what has happened."

"We know about the Trees dying," Lirillë said softly.

"That is only part of it, Anammë," Findaráto said. "You have not heard what came after."

"Then tell us," Olwë ordered.

Ingwion looked at Findaráto who gave him a slight nod and sighed. It was his mission after all. He took a sip of the wine, something fruity and not exactly to his liking but drinkable enough. "My atar and I were at the Máhanaxar where the Valar were in council when they received word from the Maiar that Fëanáro, in defiance of the Valar’s decree, had left Formenos and was heading towards Tirion, leading all who had gone with him into exile...."

It took some time to tell the entire tale, with Findaráto supplying some of the narrative, speaking of the reaction of various members of his family to Fëanáro’s return to Tirion and the events which followed. Olwë stopped them several times, asking for clarification or their opinions. Ingwion vaguely heard bells chime once, then twice, somewhere in the distance before they were finished. The worst part had been describing Fëanáro’s speech, Ingwë’s futile attempts to win over the Noldor and the speaking of the Oath by Fëanáro and his sons. Ingwion found he could not repeat the words of the Oath; they stuck in his throat and he was sure he would be violently ill. Even Findaráto looked white and there was a sheen of sweat on his brow as he struggled to describe the Oath without actually speaking the words aloud. Olwë finally stood and went to a small writing desk where he found a scrap of vellum and a quill and ink, bringing them back to where they were sitting.

"Write it down," he ordered his grandson, placing the writing paraphernalia on the table between them, "and then we will burn it afterwards."

Findaráto nodded, leaning over to take up the quill, his hand trembling slightly. He dipped the quill into the ink and scrawled the words on the sheet. Even that seemed almost too much for the ellon, for as soon as the last word was written he hastily rose and went to the embrasure that looked out onto a canal and took deep shuddering breaths, as if to cleanse his lungs of filth. Lirillë stood and went to him, pulling out a linen handkerchief and wiping the sweat from her grandson’s brow, speaking in soft tones. Olwë picked up the sheet and read the words.

"By Ulmo’s Beard!" he shouted, jumping to his feet in shock, his expression turning towards outrage. "He dared? Has he gone insane? And you say his sons took this same vile oath?" He was staring at Ingwion who nodded mutely.

Lirillë came back, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "What was the oath, husband?"

But Olwë refused to let her see. "It is vile, my love. I would not taint your fëa with it." He went to stand under the chandelier and reached up to catch one of the flames on the vellum. Then, even as it burned, he went over to the sideboard, tipping over a small copper bowl of fruit and placing the burning piece of paper inside it, staring at it with intense anger until there was nothing but ashes lying in the bowl. Even that did not seem to satisfy him, for he reached for the carafe of wine and poured it into the bowl until there was nothing but a soupy, ashen mess.

"I’ll have someone pour this down the privy," he finally said, turning to face the others. Findaráto had regained his composure and had returned to his seat, taking a large gulp of his wine, while Lirillë sat beside him, gently rubbing his back to calm him. Ingwion just sat there in mute agony, not for the first time wondering what possible use his being here was. Why had his atar sent him here? What did he expect Olwë to do that he could not? There seemed to be no answers forthcoming as he watched Olwë take the bowl and open the doors, giving his orders to one of the guards, before returning to them.

He stared gravely at the two princes, his eyes dark with a barely contained fury and perhaps even despair. "You are both exhausted from your trip and your tale. Go, both of you and rest. Nothing will be decided in this hour. If you wish, we will have a simple family dinner. I know Lindarion, Falmaron and Olwen will be happy to see you, Findaráto, as will Salmar and Faniel."

Findaráto rose and gave his anatar a brief bow. "Thank you," he said. "I think I do need to lie down for a while."

"Then go, child," Lirillë said gently, giving her grandson a hug, "and you, too, Ingwion. You are almost as pale as Findaráto. We will dine at the eighth bell. I’ll send someone to escort you."

Olwë embraced Findaráto and kissed him and then, to Ingwion’s surprise, he did the same to him. "Thank you," he said to the prince as he released him from his embrace. "I know how difficult it was to tell us this."

"I didn’t want to come," Ingwion said with unexpected honesty. "I didn’t want to leave Atar...."

"I know," Olwë replied, giving him a gentle smile. "You are a credit to your kin and clan, Ingwion. Now, go, both of you and rest. You have done your duty to the High King. Your mission is over and you can now relax."

Findaráto gave them a wan smile. "It was a secret mission, though Ingwion insists that it wasn’t."

"You always make everything more dramatic than it needs to be, Cousin," Ingwion insisted with a snort.

"It’s more fun that way," Findaráto retorted mildly as the two made for the door.

Olwë and Lirillë laughed at the banter and Lirillë promised again to send someone at the proper time to see that they had all that they needed to ready themselves for dinner. Findaráto insisted that they needed no escort back to his suite and in a short time they were crawling into Findaráto’s oversized bed and promptly falling asleep.

****

Dinner with the family was a lively affair, though Ingwion could not help feeling subdued. There was a pall in the air, a sort of disquiet that he could not shake from his heart. Still, the royal family took pains to welcome him and treat him as one of their own, asking about his siblings and his life in Vanyamar, comparing his upbringing with their own. Findaráto regaled them with his adventures in Vanyamar when Intarion and Lirulin were betrothed and there was much laughter over it. By mutual consent, there was no mention of Fëanáro or the events leading up to the death of the Trees or even what their purpose in being there was. Ingwion thought that Olwë would probably confide in his heir but he was not sure.

"How long can you stay?" Olwen asked during a lull in the conversation.

Ingwion had to tear himself away from his own thoughts to answer, giving the elleth a shrug. "I do not know," he said, glancing at Findaráto. "It all depends."

"Depends on what?" the elleth insisted.

"It depends on whether you run out of food before you run out of patience," Ingwion replied, nodding towards Findaráto. He was not sure where the words had come from, but it seemed to be the right thing to say because everyone started laughing.

"Findaráto’s appetite is legendary," Faniel said with a grin at her nephew, who had the grace to blush.

"I think though that you will want to return home sooner rather than later," Olwë said with a knowing look at Ingwion.

"Yes, I would," the Vanya answered. "I find I don’t care for adventure as much as my cousin seems to. I miss my home, my family. They need me."

There were sober nods all around.

"Well, there’s no need to leave immediately, is there?" Olwen asked. "I had hoped you could stay for my begetting day celebration. It’s only a week away."

Ingwion smiled. "I would enjoy that, thank you."

"Good. Then in the meantime, we can show you our city," Olwen said.

"I would like that as well," Ingwion replied. "I was wondering as we were coming here why I never visited Alqualondë with my parents. I’ve only been as far as the mouth of the Calacirya to see the stars."

"Well, you’re here now," Lirillë said with a smile, "and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?"

Ingwion nodded in agreement and the rest of the evening was taken up with a discussion of what he should see and how he should see it. Some hours later, as they were about to retire, Olwë took the two cousins aside and spoke with them quietly.

"I am glad you have agreed to stay for the next week," he said. "It will give me time to formulate a reply to Ingwë and Ñolofinwë."

"Ñolofinwë!" Ingwion exclaimed. "But Ñolofinwë doesn’t even know we’re here. None of the Noldor do, do they?" He asked the question of Findaráto who shook his head.

"I told no one our actual plans," he insisted. "As far as everyone in Tirion is concerned, you and I are hunting in the royal reserve."

"That may be as it may be," Olwë said, "but the fact remains that your uncle needs to know where I stand on all this no less than Ingwë."

"But Uncle Ñolofinwë is no longer regent," Findaráto protested.

Olwë shrugged. "It matters not. I do not recognize Fëanáro’s claims. You will speak to Ñolofinwë and your atar about my views but to none other. Is that clear, indyo?"

"Yes, Anatar," Findaráto said meekly.

"Good. But there is time enough for all this later. Go to your rest. Tomorrow and the next day and the day after that will be rather busy ones for you both if Olwen has her way. I’d be surprised if by the time you leave here you haven’t seen every back alley in the city with her as your guide."

The two ellyn chuckled at that and made their farewells to the family before retiring. Ingwion wanted to discuss what Olwë had said to them as they readied themselves for bed, but he could not stop yawning and gave it up as a lost cause. There would be time later on to discuss these things with Findaráto, who did not seem inclined to chat anyway. Soon they were fast asleep.

****

True to Olwë’s prediction, the next few days were a whirlwind of activity as Olwen, along with her three brothers and Faniel, showed Ingwion all around the city. Findaráto followed along, content to let his aunts and uncles lead them. Ingwion was fascinated by the city and its people, its canals and bridges linking one part to another. They spent some time in the harbor district and even took a picnic lunch on the royal barge as it wended its way along the canals, giving them a different perspective on the city. Everywhere there was singing, mostly sea chanties and hymns to Ulmo, and the smell of salt permeated everything. The Teleri offered to teach Ingwion how to swim when they discovered he knew not a single stroke but he politely declined, insisting that he would have nowhere to practice once he returned to Vanyamar.

"And I do not think I will be returning here any time soon," he told them, "as much as I would like to."

"You must come back someday," Lindarion insisted. "And you don’t even need to bring Findaráto with you either." He winked at them and Findaráto said something just barely heard that was quite rude and everyone else laughed.

So the week went on. Lindarion, Falmaron, Salmar and Faniel excused themselves from the tours after a time, leaving Olwen to continue on alone. Ingwion found himself looking forward to his time with Olwen, for the longer he knew her the more interesting she became to him. He even began badgering Findaráto as to why his aunt had not yet married.

"For I find it passing strange that she has found none to whom to give her heart," he said.

Findaráto gave him a jaundiced look. "You’re not considering asking her for her hand in marriage, are you?"

"Well, no," Ingwion said hastily, then gave a sniff. "And yet, why not? She is fair to look upon and intelligent and she has a lovely smile and...."

"But do you love her?" his cousin asked gently.

Now Ingwion blushed. "I don’t know," he admitted. "I... I think I would like to."

To that rather interesting statement, Findaráto made no reply, merely giving his older cousin a knowing grin. "Well, when you know for sure, let me know." And the matter was dropped.

Ingwion and Findaráto rarely saw Olwë except at dinner when the family gathered together and their conversation centered around all that Ingwion had seen and done that day as well as plans for what they would do the next day. Plans for Olwen’s begetting day celebration went apace. At one point, Ingwion took Findaráto aside to get his opinion on what gift he, a virtual stranger, might give to Olwen. Findaráto thought for a moment or two and then made arrangements for them to leave the palace alone. He took Ingwion to a particular shop not far from the palace where, with Findaráto’s help, he purchased a piece of amber wrapped in a spiral of silver and suspended from a linked silver chain so delicate Ingwion feared it would break apart at a touch. The skeleton of some creature unknown to him was embedded within the amber. He was assured that such a gift would be appropriate and highly prized.

"It is considered good fortune to wear one of these pendants," the shopkeeper told him. "Sailors often wear them for protection."

When Ingwion presented his gift to Olwen she exclaimed over it with delight, thanking him profusely, giving him a kiss that he thought was a little warmer than propriety permitted but he did not mind. He was not sure if she was just being polite, but decided it didn’t matter. His own feelings were still ambivalent, and he was unsure how to address them. Findaráto’s own gift was a slim volume of poetry, beautifully illuminated, which he had discovered in a bookseller’s shop during one of their forays into the city. They were apparently poems by a well-known and respected Telerin bard, presently Olwë’s chief bard, though Ingwion had never heard of him. Olwen, apparently, was well acquainted with Master Elennáro’s works and was quite pleased to have this particular volume in her collection.

The day after the celebration, Olwë called Ingwion and Findaráto into his study. "I imagine you both are ready to leave," he said without preamble and the two ellyn nodded. "And I am ready to give you my answer. I thank you both for coming here to tell me about what Fëanáro is planning. It is apparent that he will bring the Noldor this way. Certainly, they will pass by us on their way north."

"Do you think they will trek all the way to Endórë by way of the land bridge that we’ve been told exists?" Ingwion asked doubtfully.

"Oh, it exists, I assure you," Olwë said. "It is their only route back."

"What about ships?" Findaráto asked. "Do you think Fëanáro will ask for them from you?"

Olwë frowned. "If so, he will be disappointed. I will not countenance any of my people aiding him in this folly, for folly I deem it to be." He cast a considering look upon his grandson. "Glad I am to know that you and your parents have no intention of joining Fëanáro in his madness, though it troubles me that your brothers and sister are eager to be off."

Findaráto shrugged. "They are young and actually I would like to go and see the wider world and perhaps found my own kingdom, but I will not do it under Fëanáro’s banner. If my atar were going, that might be a different matter."

"Well, that aside, here are my thoughts," Olwë replied. "The Noldor have always been restless and I think too eager to listen to Melkor’s counsel. The forging of swords and other weapons is pure foolishness, though no doubt Fëanáro will claim it foresight against this day. Whatever. Tell Ingwë and Ñolofinwë that I will not aid Fëanáro in his mad schemes nor permit any of my people to do so. Frankly, I would as lief have the Valar forbid Fëanáro’s going and hie him back to Formenos where he belongs. That he wilfully defies the Valar’s edict disturbs me. It can lead to no good. And that Oath!" He visibly shuddered. "That Oath will be the ruination of us all, I fear, and not just those who uttered it."

"Let us hope you are wrong, Anatto," Findaráto said soberly.

"Me, too," Olwë replied with a sigh. "At any rate, it is time for you to leave. I’ve made arrangements for your transport back to the Calacirya. I assume you will take the path to the highlands and reclaim your poor steeds, who no doubt have given up hope of ever seeing you again."

Ingwion and Findaráto smiled at that. "Yes, I have a feeling we’ll be led a merry chase before either lets us capture them," his grandson said with an amused snort. "And you are correct. We will need to retrace our route so as to appear as if we have returned from the hunt."

"Are you sure they will not be suspicious of us?" Ingwion asked. "We’ve been gone for some time and I doubt we can look suitably disreputable, as if we’ve been sleeping out under the stars this last week or more."

"We’ll have to dirty ourselves up before we reach the gates," Findaráto quipped. "I think, though, that it would be wise for you to leave Tirion as soon as you have cleaned up. I do not know what has happened while we’ve been away, but I have this feeling that Tirion is going to be an unhealthy place for any who are not Noldor."

Ingwion shrugged. "I will remain just long enough to see what is happening so I can report to Atar and then be on my way."

"Then, the sooner you leave the better for you both," Olwë said. "Go and make your farewells to the family and I will have your escort ready."

He gave them both a fierce hug and a kiss on the brow and then he left them to make their farewells and gather their things. In short order they were being led back to the harbor where a swanship awaited them. As the ship slipped through the arch of living sea rock, Ingwion watched the city of Alqualondë fade away into the darkness, the sound of its bells ringing softly across the waters, thinking about a certain elleth and wondering if he would ever return.