109: Before the Tomb of Finwë

"Atto! Wait!"

Ingwion ran after Ingwë, catching up with him just outside the kitchen, for the High King was leaning against the wall, looking clammy and pale.

"Atto," Ingwion said, gently laying a hand on his atar’s arm. "Come back into the kitchen. You’re still not recovered."

Ingwë shook his head. "No. I have to find Elindis. I have to...."

"Ingwë," Valandur said as he joined them, his expression one of concern. "Elindis is not here. Come, you have over-exerted yourself. Come back and tell us why you think Elindis and Indil are here."

With Ingwion and Valandur prodding him, Ingwë had no choice but to do as they asked and he reluctantly returned to the kitchen where the others were waiting, expressions of concern and surprise warring on their faces. Arafinwë refilled the High King’s goblet and handed it to him as Ingwë resumed his seat. Once everyone was settled, Valandur spoke.

"Now, tell us why you believe Elindis and Indil are here, for I assure you, they are not."

"I heard the guards speaking when they thought I was still unconscious," Ingwë replied. "They said that they hoped that now that the queen was here I would be more inclined to be... behave." He gave them a slightly chagrined look. "I wasn’t a model prisoner," he said somewhat apologetically.

"I should hope not," Arafinwë retorted with a grin.

"What were their exact words, Ingwë?" Valandur asked, and from his tone and the expression on his face, they knew he was in full loremaster mode.

Ingwë gave him a jaundiced look. "I am not one of your students, Valandur...."

"I never said you were, Uncle," Valandur returned with a smile, "but I want to know exactly what these guards said. It may be very important."

"Why are we wasting time?" Ingwë demanded hotly. "We need to find Elindis and...."

"Atto, please!" Ingwion said, laying a calming hand on Ingwë shoulder. "Ammë and Indil are not here, I promise you."

"How do you know?" Ingwë shot back, fuming. "Stop patronizing me. I know what I heard and...."

"No one is patronizing you, Ingwë," Arafinwë said sternly. "Stop being an idiot and just tell us what the guards said exactly."

Everyone, including Ingwë, stared at Arafinwë with expressions of shock and surprise. Arafinwë’s own stern expression never changed and Ingwion felt as if he were looking, not at his younger cousin whom he had taught how to read and ride, but some puissant Elf-lord from an older generation. Ingwë looked at Valandur. "Who is he?" he demanded, pointing a finger at Arafinwë. "Are you sure this is Arafinwë?"

Arafinwë started laughing, the sound like silver bells that brightened the room. "Ingwë, stop stalling," he said once he calmed down. "You know very well who I am."

"You’re my sister’s youngest son," Ingwë said pedantically.

Arafinwë shook his head, still looking amused, though there was a sense of something harder in his eyes that the others could not interpret. "I am more than that, Uncle. I am the Noldóran... and your equal."

Ingwë sat back in his chair, his eyes narrowing, gazing shrewdly upon his sister’s son. Arafinwë faced him with equanimity and without any sign of apology. "Yes," he finally said, nodding slowly. "Yes. I rather think you are."

"So now tell us what these guards said," Arafinwë rejoined.

Ingwë sighed, looking suddenly weary. "It was after my... my last beating," he replied softly. Ingwion grimaced and the others had expressions of sympathy mingled with anger at what had been done to their High King. Ingwë ignored them, his eyes focused on his lap as he spoke. "I was drifting in and out of consciousness, but at one point I heard one of the guards say that he hoped that now that the queen was in their hands I would be more willing to behave and not cause any trouble."

"Those were his exact words?" Valandur asked.

Ingwë shrugged, hissing against the pain, for he had forgotten about his back. "More or less," he answered. "I was in a lot of pain and my hold on consciousness was tenuous."

Valandur nodded in understanding. "The point is, the guard didn’t say ‘Now that the queen is here’ only ‘Now that the queen is in our hands’."

"And that’s important?" Ingwë asked.

"Perhaps," Valandur averred, not willing to commit himself entirely. "The point is, Uncle, they are not here. Eccaldamos and I searched this place from roof to cellar and found no one but you and your guards."

"I have even searched every house in the village," Eccaldamos chimed in, "and there is no sign of anyone but us here."

"But I heard them," Ingwë protested. "I am not lying..."

"We never said you were," Arafinwë assured him, "but consider the source and the circumstances. You admitted that you did not accept your captivity meekly."

"I set fire to my bedclothes, thinking I could escape when they opened the door to put out the flames," Ingwë admitted, his expression rueful. "It didn’t quite work the way I’d planned."

"Regardless," Arafinwë continued, "the point is, your captors considered you a trial. I suspect they knew you could hear them and one of them spoke as he did, thinking perhaps that if you believed Elindis and Indil were in the guards’ hands you would hesitate to do anything to endanger them, am I correct?" He cast a shrewd look at Ingwë who nodded somewhat reluctantly.

"Then they’re not here?" he asked almost pleadingly.

Ingwion carefully put an arm around his atar’s shoulders, leaning down to kiss him on the temple. "No, Atto. They are not here. I promise you. They are still in Vanyamar with Ingalaurë, and yes, they are in Ingoldo’s hands, but they are not here."

"How do you really know, though?" Ingwë insisted. "They could be hidden...."

"It is unlikely that the guards would be aware of any hidden rooms," Arafinwë said. "Certainly Ingoldo would not know of them. The guards were quite shocked to see us emerging from behind what they must have assumed was a solid wall. No, Uncle. Any hidden rooms remain hidden and unknown by us all. I only knew about the tunnel because Macalaurë told me about it."

Ingwë leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and sighing. "I was so sure...."

"It’s all right, Atto," Ingwion assured him warmly. "I wish they and Ingil were here as well, but they are not. We need to free them, we need to free all of Vanyamar from Ingoldo."

"You must rest now," Valandur said, taking the goblet from Ingwë’s hand. "You must regain your strength, for we must return to Vanyamar as soon as we can. Our people need you. I do not know how Ingoldo has explained your long absence, but so far he appears to have taken over quite successfully. That cannot be borne and so you must rest and recover from your ordeal and then we will return to Vanyamar and confront Ingoldo."

Ingwë nodded, his expression turning cold. "Yes. There is a reckoning due. What of the guards?"

"Eccaldamos and I have them securely locked up in one of the storage rooms in the cellar," Valandur answered. "They’re not going anywhere. We’ll leave them with sufficient food and water when we leave but that is all."

Ingwë nodded, closing his eyes again. "I do not wish to return to that room, though."

"Nor need you," Ingwion said. "We can set up a cot here by the fire for you. In fact, I doubt any of us will wish to stray too far from here. This kitchen is the warmest place. There’s even a privy nearby."

"Then let us remain here in this room until we are ready to leave," Ingwë suggested and the others agreed. Eccaldamos and Intarion volunteered to find beds for them all and bring them down to the kitchen while Valandur and Ingwion started preparing some more food, for Ingwë confessed he was feeling hungry again. In the meantime, he and Arafinwë sat before the fire, speaking softly together as they waited for the meal.

****

It took another three days for Ingwë to recover from his ordeal. During that time, Ingwion and Intarion busied themselves by exploring the valley and exercising their horses. There was no sign of Lord Oromë but there was one horse more than they originally had and they understood that the Vala had brought it for Ingwë to ride. Arafinwë stayed close to Ingwë, tending to him. They spent long hours sitting before the kitchen fire when Ingwë was not otherwise sleeping, speaking of things concerning their respective kingdoms, especially what should be done with and for the Noldor.

"Olwë and I have already discussed reparations," Arafinwë told him, "and I believe Eärwen and he are finalizing the initial agreement. When all this is over and I resume the throne, I will see that my people follow through with it. Those who remained behind might balk at having to comply but those who followed me back will be willing enough to help repair the damage Fëanáro and his people caused. Indeed, some remained behind in Alqualondë when I returned to Tirion."

"That is good," Ingwë said. "I will need to speak to Olwë as well, for I fear that we Vanyar have been remiss in ignoring the rest of you as we have. We Vanyar have been too enamored of the Valar, I think."

Arafinwë gave him a surprised look and Ingwë chuckled.

"Oh, don’t get me wrong," he said. "I love and respect the Valar no less than before, but things have changed for us in many ways ever since the Trees died. Our relationship with the Valar is one of those things that has changed."

Arafinwë nodded, unconsciously raising a hand towards his throat as he stared into the fire, his expression blank of any emotion. "Yes. That is certainly true."

Ingwë gave him a concerned look and reached over to pull the ellon’s arm down. Arafinwë gave him a startled look. "I think it’s time you told me what happened to you," Ingwë said, and as softly and compassionately as he spoke, yet was there a ring of command to it that Arafinwë could not ignore. At that moment, Ingwë spoke to him not as a concerned uncle but as the High King.

Arafinwë sighed and nodded. "Ingwion knows, but no one else," he said, "and I’d like to keep it that way."

Ingwë nodded, leaning back into his chair. "Then it will be as you say. Why don’t you freshen our goblets and then you can tell me."

Arafinwë stood and poured more spiced wine into the goblets and then settled down, taking a sip of the warm drink before speaking. "I had decided when we turned back that the Noldor were fit for nothing but to be the thralls of the Vanyar and the Teleri and to that end I made my way to Ilmarin to speak with Lord Manwë about it and...."

By the time Arafinwë finished his narrative, they were both in tears, but Ingwë saw a measure of acceptance in the younger ellon’s eyes for what he had experienced that had not been there before and knew that it was because the burden of his ordeal had been shared.

"My ordeal was nothing compared to yours," he said to Arafinwë after they pulled themselves together, "but it was bad enough."

"Tell me," Arafinwë said simply and Ingwë did and in the telling he found he was able to lay his own demons to rest and felt the better for it afterwards.

****

Valandur and Eccaldamos spent the time interrogating the guards. Later, on the second day, when they were all gathered for a meal, Valandur told them what had been learned. "All of them are beholden to Ingoldo in one way or another," he began. "Most are retainers from his household, one or two are from Eldamas. At least three, from what Eccaldamos and I can determine are of mixed Vanyarin and Noldorin blood."

"That is interesting," Arafinwë commented.

Ingwë nodded. "Indeed. Have you learned why they agreed to waylay me and hold me captive and... and abuse me as they did?"

Valandur shook his head. "Only two of them ever punished you, is that not so?"

Ingwë gave the loremaster a surprised look. "Actually, that’s true. It was always the same two guards, though others held me down. The last time...." He paused, frowning at the memory. "The last time I swear I saw one of the ellyn with tears in his eyes as I was being whipped."

Eccaldamos and Valandur both nodded. "I think he and some of the others are here against their wills," Valandur stated.

"How do you mean?" Arafinwë asked before anyone else.

"It seems that Ingoldo has some hold over them," Eccaldamos answered. "They would not say specifically, but I think Ingoldo has their families as... um... not sure what the word would be," he ended with a frown, then shrugged and continued. "He has threatened them with bringing harm to their loved ones."

There was a moment of shocked silence among them, then Ingwion spoke. "And they believed him?"

Eccaldamos shrugged. "With no evidence to the contrary, wouldn’t you?" he retorted. "And then, would you not comply to hateful orders for fear that if he truly did have your family that they would come to harm otherwise?"

"If they truly hated what was happening, why allow it to go on?" Intarion asked.

"They owe their allegiance to Ingoldo," Ingwë answered. "They are his retainers. To break faith with one’s lord...."

"And whether Ingoldo has their family in his keeping or not, is immaterial," Valandur added. "They only need to believe it, just as Ingwë believed the guard’s words about Elindis and Indil. With no proof to the contrary, you were willing to accept their words, weren’t you?" He turned to Ingwë as he spoke and the High King nodded.

"And now I see how clever they were," he said ruefully.

"And so with these guards," Valandur said. "Most of them struck me as decent fellows who had the misfortune to be beholden to Ingoldo. They were as much prisoners here as you, Uncle."

"What of the two who took it upon themselves to punish me?" Ingwë asked.

"They are a different matter," Eccaldamos answered. "We decided to separate them from the others. They are both in individual rooms. I don’t trust either of them not to intimidate the other guards who probably wish they had taken service with some other lord and fear what will happen to them and their families."

"As to that, it will have to wait until I have regained my throne," Ingwë said, "but for now we will leave them as they are." He turned to Arafinwë. "You said something to me earlier about seeing that others will watch over them when we leave."

Arafinwë nodded. "I made arrangements for some of Lord Manwë’s Maiar to come and keep an eye on them."

"When did you do that?" Ingwion asked, looking puzzled.

"Before I came to find you," Arafinwë answered with a smile. "I figured once we rescued your atar, someone would have to remain behind to keep an eye on the guards. Not knowing how many would be in the rescue party, I asked Lord Manwë for a loan of one of his Maiar and he agreed. One will come when we leave here."

"So now the question remains: when do we leave and what are we going to do?" Intarion asked.

"That is something we need to discuss, but not now," Arafinwë said, casting a knowing glance at Ingwë. "I think you should rest, Uncle."

It was a testament to how weak he still was that Ingwë did not protest but went meekly to his bed, giving a grateful sigh as he lay down. In minutes he was fast asleep and the others sat quietly speaking of various matters.

****

"You have not left my side since you found me," Ingwë commented to Arafinwë the next time he was awake. He and Arafinwë were alone in the kitchen. "The others take turns to leave this room and explore the valley or just to get some air but you will not leave. Why is that?"

Arafinwë shook his head. "I have no desire to see Formenos," he answered. "I... I will not step outside. When we leave, I will take the tunnel back out."

Ingwë studied him for a long moment. "You have not gone to see your atar."

"What is there to see?" Arafinwë retorted angrily. "From the crest of the hill I could see the pile of stones in the courtyard. That is as much of him as I wish to see. No, Ingwë, I will not go see my atar."

"Not even with me?" Ingwë asked quietly.

Arafinwë gave him a considering look. "Why...?"

"I never got to say farewell," came the reply. "I think you need to as well."

Silence hung between them for several minutes. Arafinwë sat staring into the fire before which they sat. "I.... I don’t think I can," he finally said in a meek voice.

Ingwë gave him a compassionate look as he rose from his chair, holding out his hand. "Come, yonya. Let us go to your atar together."

Arafinwë looked up, his expression haunted, but in the end he rose and allowed Ingwë to put an arm around his shoulders. "It will be well, child," Ingwë said softly. "I truly think you need to do this, for your own peace of mind."

Arafinwë said nothing, his face white, his lips compressed into a thin line, and it was obvious to Ingwë that the ellon was struggling to keep his emotions under control. They made their way out of the kitchen and through several halls until they reached the front doors, still hanging open. At the threshold Arafinwë balked but with a gentle prod from Ingwë he stepped outside and the two crossed the courtyard to the cairn. Ingwë brought them to stand on the side where the sword still stood. Starlight glimmered down upon them. Arafinwë looked up to see the Valacirca hanging over them, an eternal reminder of the might of the Valar. He looked back down at the stones, white and grey, that covered all that remained of Finwë Noldóran, his atar.

He glanced at Ingwë and was surprised to see tears running down his uncle’s cheeks and had to look away, not sure why the sight of his uncle weeping disturbed him so. He stared at the sword instead, trying to imagine what his atar must have been feeling and thinking as he faced Melkor. Did he know it was a futile gesture on his part? Was he sad? Fearful? What had been his final thoughts? Arafinwë grimaced. He doubted they had been about him or Ñolofinwë. More likely, his atar’s last thoughts were of Fëanáro. Or, perhaps not. His brow furrowed in deep thought. Perhaps his atar’s last thoughts were of Míriel. Yes. That was probably so but somehow that realization did not appease him — Míriel, but probably not Indis, his own amillë. He doubted Atar even gave his ammë a moment’s thought before he died. It was always Míriel... and Fëanáro.

Well, of course it was and he had known it for a long time, had even come to accept it to some degree as something that could not be changed. Didn’t mean he liked it and he didn’t. He hated that his ammë was always second in his atar’s eyes, or perhaps even third, right after Fëanáro. That realization had hurt when it came and he had buried it deep inside him, knowing that it was a fact that he could not alter. Now, though, things were different. His atar was dead and his ammë... his ammë was no longer queen.

Arafinwë glanced at Ingwë again, wondering what his uncle was thinking as they stood there under starlight. Ingwë still looked pale and his features were drawn, but he stood straight and unbending. Arafinwë knew that most of the lash marks had already faded, though he suspected the deeper wounds to his uncle’s fëa would take longer to heal, if they ever did. Ingwë apparently was deep in his own thoughts for he ignored Arafinwë, reaching out to lay a hand on one of the stones comprising the cairn and then, to Arafinwë’s surprise, kneeling, resting his head against his hand.

"Ah, Finwë, my brother," Ingwë said softly, his voice tinged with regret, "I fear, in the end, your wisdom failed you completely. What did you hope to gain by challenging a Vala? What hope did you ever have that you could defeat him, or did you face him without hope?" He sighed and Arafinwë stood there, watching as his uncle started weeping in earnest. Awkwardly, he reached out and put a hand on Ingwë’s shoulder to offer him some comfort, though he had none for himself. After a moment, Ingwë seemed to pull himself together, for he straightened, wiping the tears from his eyes and started to stand. Arafinwë gave him a hand up and Ingwë smiled gratefully in thanks. Then he spoke again, his tone harsh, and Arafinwë, listening, realized that for all the calmness that his uncle exuded, Ingwë was furious and his fury was directed at his long-time friend who lay under the stones before them. "You should have fled with your people, Finwë. Not even the Silmarils are worth dying for and in the end Melkor stole them anyway." The High King paused for a moment and then sighed, now looking less angry. "It grieves me that we parted the last time in anger but it grieves me even more that we will probably not meet again until the Remaking. Námarië, hánonya. May Lord Námo treat you kindly."

Ingwë turned to Arafinwë, giving him a compassionate look. "Do you have anything you want to say to your atar, child?"

"What should I say?" Arafinwë asked quietly, staring at the tomb.

"What your heart bids you to say, with no condemnation. If you wish, I will leave you and only the stars will hear your words."

Arafinwë shook his head. "No. I... I don’t... I don’t think I want to be alone."

"Then I will stay," Ingwë said, giving him a comforting hug and Arafinwë was grateful for his uncle’s presence.

Silence fell about them for a time and Arafinwë stared at the cairn and the sword that had been his atar’s. It stood there twisted and blackened, the hilt half-melted, the jewels that had graced it dull and cracked. It was ugly, as his atar’s death had been ugly. He felt bile rising at the thought of his atar’s charred remains lying buried under all that stone. Hot tears blinded him and somewhere a deep abiding anger welled up within him.

"Damn you, Atto," he whispered. "Why? Why couldn’t you love me and your other children as you loved Fëanáro? Why did you desert us... me? Why couldn’t you love...." He stopped, unable to go on, unable to voice all the hurt and anger that dwelt within him. He started to turn away, but Ingwë stayed him.

"No, yonya," he said gently. "Don’t run away from this. Face it. Face him. You need to speak of this to him or you will never be free of the pain."

"He’s not here," Arafinwë countered harshly. "What good is it to speak to a pile of stones? He’s not here to hear my words. I might as well go speak to that tree over there for all the good it will do."

"If that is what you wish, then do so," Ingwë said. "It matters not if you speak to this pile of rocks or to that tree or to the stars above, but you must speak, yonya. Do not let this fester within you. It will only darken your fëa."

Arafinwë’s shoulders sagged as he stood there with Ingwë holding him. "Why couldn’t he love me?" he finally whispered, the tears flowing freely now.

"He did, yonya," Ingwë said gently. "In his own way, he did." He sighed, looking up into the heavens as if for inspiration or support. After a moment he looked down again and smiled at the ellon before him. "Do you know what Finwë said to me when you were born?"

Arafinwë shook his head.

"He told me that he named you Arafinwë because he believed you would be the noblest of all his children. ‘When he was placed in my arms for the first time,’ he said to me, ‘I had a vision of him as an ellon grown. His eyes were bright and keen. On his brow sat wisdom, and in his hand was strength. I think he will surpass us all, though I do not know in what manner.’"

Arafinwë stared at Ingwë. "He... he said that?"

Ingwë nodded. "Yes. He was very proud of you. He knew that someday you would rise to greatness, though his vision failed him and he knew not the manner of that rising. I think that time is at hand. You have it within you to be great, yonya, to lead your people as they need to be led, to give them back their hope and self-respect, but it will only happen if you let go, let go of the anger and the hurt. What good has it done you? Let it go, Arafinwë, and let your atar go."

He stepped back a few paces, as if to give the ellon some privacy. Arafinwë stared at the sword for a long moment and then laid a single finger on the pommel. "I wish you could have loved me better," he whispered. Then he straightened, wiping the tears from his cheeks. "Namárië, Atto."

He stepped away, ignoring Ingwë’s outstretched hands and his look of concern, making his way back inside the fortress, never looking back.

****

Námarië, hánonya: ‘Farewell, my brother’.