125: Picking Up the Pieces

Ingwë stormed into the palace, making his way to the royal apartments, ignoring everyone, his expression set, his eyes blazing with fury, fury at Ingoldo, fury at Ingwion, fury at himself, even fury at poor Ingalaurë, safe from anyone’s wrath in Mandos. It was an anger born of betrayal and the deepest betrayal he felt had been perpetrated, not by his brother, but by the Valar.

"They promised us!" he suddenly yelled, reaching up for his crown and throwing it away in disgust, neither knowing nor caring what became of it. He was too blind to anything else but his own anger. "They promised us safety and light and peace!" he nearly screamed as he stood in the middle of the family’s sitting room, his fists clenched by his sides. Olwë and Arafinwë had followed him warily, and the others in the family were right behind them. As Ingwion entered the room with Intarion and Lindarion, Ingwë’s rage grew suddenly brighter and he fell upon Ingwion so quickly, grabbing the sword from his son’s hands, that no one had time to react.

"I ought to take this sword and send you to your brother!" he screamed.

"Ingwë, no!" Olwë shouted in alarm.

"Valar! Have you lost your mind?" Arafinwë yelled almost at the same time.

Both of them rushed toward the High King, who had raised the sword as if to strike his son. Ingwion was too shocked to do anything but stand there gaping at his atar in disbelief. Intarion, who was right behind Ingwion, instinctively raised his own sword to block Ingwë, his expression one of amazement at his own audacity, but he did not back down.

"Ingwë, that’s enough!" Olwë reached Ingwë first and quickly disarmed the High King, throwing the sword to Arafinwë who deftly caught it while Intarion lowered his sword and stepped back, relieved that it hadn’t gone any further than threats. Ingwë turned his ire upon the Teler. "How dare you!" he screamed. Olwë’s response was to slap him hard across the mouth. The silence that followed was like a thick cloud smothering them and no one breathed. Ingwë stared at Olwë and for a moment it was as if he were seeing his old friend, Elwë, and the look of disappointment mingled with compassion that he saw in the Teler’s eyes was too much and to his everlasting shame he broke down and wept, huge sobs of tears that came from deep within his soul. He barely registered the fact that Olwë was now holding him, rocking him gently.

"You’ve had a rough time of it lately, haven’t you?" Olwë said quietly.

"What’s going on? We could hear shouting from down the hall."

Olwë looked up as Elindis entered the room with Indil at her side. The other queens were right behind them. "Ingwë allowed his anger to get the better of him and almost struck Ingwion down with the sword your son was carrying," he said, nodding to where Arafinwë stood with the sword in his hands.

The ellith gasped in shock and dismay. Eärwen went directly to Arafinwë, who threw the sword onto a nearby sofa and took his wife into his arms, giving her a comforting kiss. Lirillë, noticing the shocked look on her son’s face, went to Lindarion.

"Are you all right?" she asked gently, carefully taking the sword out of his hand and giving it to Intarion, who took it and his own sword and propped them up in a corner out of everyone’s way.

Lindarion just shook his head, his gaze fixed on his atar still comforting Ingwë. "I just stood there," he whispered. "Intarion.... I couldn’t move and all I could think about was... was Falmaron and... and wondering...."

"Shh," Lirillë said, giving him a kiss and smiling at him. "It’s all right. I think you did the right thing not to interfere. Too many swords... someone could have been hurt."

Lindarion finally shifted his gaze to his ammë, and seeing nothing but love and approval in her eyes, relaxed his stance a little and gave her a tremulous smile.

Elindis, meanwhile, went to Ingwion and gave him a hug, which he allowed but did not return. "I know Ingwë’s been very angry of late," she said to Olwë, frowning, "but I thought he was getting over it."

"However, you weren’t beaten nearly to death," Arafinwë pointed out. "You have no idea what that can do to someone even after physical healing has been accomplished." He grimaced, his eyes dark with memories of how they had found Ingwë, how broken in spirit he had been.

Elindis paled but did not back down. "Still, he’s not the only one to have suffered."

"I didn’t say that," Olwë retorted gently. "I said he’s had a rough time, between his own captivity and what was done to him, losing his son, and having to put his own brother on trial for treason, not to mention dealing with this one with his erratic behavior." He nodded towards Ingwion who was standing there, still as a statue, his eyes narrowed as he took in the situation, his expression calculating. Olwë saw it and frowned at the young prince.

"You had better rethink whatever plans you are making, yonya," he said coldly. "Your atar is not the enemy."

Elindis gave Olwë a concerned look as she stroked Ingwion’s hair to soothe him. "What do you mean? Ingwion would never...."

"He’s been trying to kill Ingoldo since Ingil died," Arafinwë said before Olwë could answer. "So why stop there?"

By now Ingwë had gotten himself under control, brushing the tears from his eyes as he moved away from Olwë, turning to his son. "Ingwion, come here," he said quietly.

When Ingwion hesitated, Elindis gave him a gentle push. "Go to your atto, child," she said softly.

Ingwion took a reluctant step or two towards his atar but stopped well out of Ingwë’s reach. "Please, yonya," Ingwë pleaded, his expression sorrowful at the look of distrust in his beloved son’s eyes. "I won’t hurt you."

Ingwion took two more steps and Ingwë carefully put his arms around him, but Ingwion remained stiff and unyielding in his atar’s embrace. Ingwë sighed and kissed his son’s brow. "I would never hurt you, Ingwion. I fear I let my own anger rule me and I’m sorry if I frightened you." Ingwë stepped back slightly so as to be able to look into Ingwion’s eyes, trying to gauge the younger ellon’s emotions. "You know what you did was wrong, don’t you?" he asked.

Something in Ingwion’s eyes flickered, then was gone in a second, and his only response was a shrug. Ingwë resisted a sigh, only holding his son more tightly, wondering what was to become of him, of them all.

Ingwion, standing in his atar’s embrace, was unsure what his feelings should be. He recalled the absolute look of rage on his atar’s face and it shocked him, for he had glimpsed his own rage in his atar’s eyes, a rage he barely acknowledged, layering it with cold calculation and cunning, but it was there and he did not know what to do with it, how to deal with it. It felt too alien. It wasn’t who he was, who he wanted to be, but he didn’t know how to stop. The driving need to avenge his brother — he had long realized that Ingil was beyond saving — was all that kept him from curling up into a ball and receding deep into his mind and never coming out. Plotting Ingoldo’s demise was the only thing that kept him going. But the look on his atar’s face as he raised the sword against him had flooded him with a panic he had never felt before, a fear that he realized was not directed towards his atar but towards the idea that he might die. As much as he desired to be with his brother, at that moment, he knew he was afraid to die, did not, in fact, wish to.

And that revelation had frightened him more than his atar’s rage.

"Please... help me," he whispered, his voice breaking with despair, not knowing where the plea had come from or to whom it was truly addressed, only knowing something was very, very wrong and he had no idea how to fix it.

"We will, yonya," Ingwë promised, holding his son more tightly. "We will."

Then Manveru and Erunáro were there. "We’ll take him, Ingwë," Manveru said, gently taking Ingwion from his atar. "Come along, Ingwion, and let’s get you settled. Erunáro will bring you something to eat and then I think sleep is the best thing for you."

Ingwion allowed himself to be led away, his attitude one of resignation. The others breathed more easily once he was gone. Ingwë gave them all a rueful look. "Forgive me for my outburst. I think I will retire as well. The last few days have been... fatiguing."

Olwë gave him a quick hug. "Go, meldonya. Elindis, take your husband away from here. Arafinwë and I will take care of things for a while."

"Fine High King I’ve turned out to be," Ingwë muttered as he let Elindis take his hand.

"As I said before," Arafinwë retorted, "you’re the only High King we want or need."

"Tell that to the Vanyar," Ingwë shot back. "I’m neither blind nor stupid and I’ve noticed a decided lack of warmth in their regard for me."

"Something you will have to deal with, but not now," Olwë said. "Right now, you and Elindis need time alone. So go already." He made shooing motions and both Ingwë and Elindis grinned as they left. Olwë then turned to the last remaining member of the High King’s family. "And you, Indil. How are you faring, daughter?"

Indil shrugged, looking aloof. She had been pretty much ignored since Ingil’s death, or so it felt to her, and she didn’t know whether to be resentful or grateful. Lirillë and Eärwen both sensed the elleth’s conflicting emotions and together they went to her. "Why don’t you come with us, dear, and tell us all about that handsome ellon who never took his eyes off you the whole time of the trial," Lirillë said.

Indil gave the Teler queen a surprised look and then blushed at the amused expression on her face. "His name is Tam... Tamurilon Cemendilion."

"Ah," Lirillë said, giving her husband a significant look. "We’re well acquainted with Lord Cemendil, and remember all too well how... um... very enthusiastic he was in studying the plant life around Alqualondë." She ignored the snorts coming from her husband and son and gave Indil a bright smile. "So, why don’t you tell us all about... Tam, is it?" With that she and Eärwen steered the younger elleth away.

Valandur, seeing Arafinwë nod in his direction, took the hint and turned to Findis, giving her a hug and a kiss. "I feel like a walk in the gardens. What about you?" Findis gave him a searching look, but in the end, nodded, understanding what her husband was truly saying. She turned to Indis who had remained quiet, watching everything. "Would you care to join us, amya?"

Indis gave Arafinwë an enquiring look and he nodded in return. Whatever silent message passed between them seemed to satisfy her for she turned to Findis and Valandur, saying rather imperiously, "I think the lower gardens will do." Then she simply walked out of the room without a backward glance. Valandur and Findis gave the others amused looks before following her out.

Intarion started to leave as well, but Arafinwë stayed him, and once Valandur and Findis were gone, closing the door behind them, he quietly thanked his cousin for his bravery in confronting Ingwë. Olwë and Lindarion echoed his praises much to Intarion’s embarrassment. Then Olwë gave the other three a conspiratorial smile. "So, how about a game of chess?"

"The four of us?" Intarion asked incredulously.

"Sure," Olwë said. "Arafinwë and I will play one game and you two play your own and whoever wins our matches will play against each other."

"But... chess?" Lindarion asked, giving his atar a skeptical look.

"Unless you have anything more important to do?" Olwë retorted with a raised eyebrow.

Lindarion exchanged a bemused look with Intarion and they both shrugged. "So who’s playing white?" he asked and in a short while the four were sitting together poring over two chess boards, quietly discussing the events of the recent past and wondering what the future would hold for them now, while elsewhere in the palace others were pondering that very same question for themselves.

****

The days that followed were ones of deep conversations and quiet discussions. Valandur and Eccaldamos, who had become the loremaster’s second, spent a great deal of time taking the measure of the city and surrounding farms, gauging the mood of the people and their reaction to the trial, then reported to Ingwë and the other two kings.

"Outside the city, the people seem better disposed towards you," Eccaldamos told Ingwë. "The farmers, I think, are more forgiving than the nobles. They resented Lord Ingoldo closing the city against them, preventing them from selling their produce, forcing them to throw a good percentage of it away."

"And they don’t blame me for allowing the situation to arise in the first place?" Ingwë asked with a skeptical look.

"I didn’t say that, Sire," Eccaldamos replied with a sour smile. "I said they were more forgiving."

"The nobles, on the other hand, are less forgiving," Valandur chimed in. "Or rather, I should say the lesser nobles, those who were friends of Ingoldo, for instance."

"Like Súlimondil," Ingwë said with a nod.

"Yes," Valandur replied. "They, at least, appeared to have benefitted from your absence, or they would have had you remained absent. Your return meant they lost whatever royal favors Ingoldo had bestowed upon them."

"What about the rest of the city?" Ingwë asked.

"Ah, there’s where it gets interesting," Valandur said with a smile that never reached his eyes. "One can almost divide the city in half, between those of us who made the journey here from Endórë and those born in Aman. The older generations know your worth and never trusted Ingoldo and are very happy to see you return. The younger generations, with a few exceptions, feel differently. They don’t so much resent you returning as they do you leaving."

"But I didn’t leave," Ingwë protested. "In fact I was returning."

"From Tirion, where you should never have gone in the first place," Arafinwë said, giving Valandur an enquiring look to see if his guess was correct.

"Yes, that’s it exactly," Valandur said. "They resent that you seemed more interested in the fate of the Noldor than in them."

Ingwë sighed, closing his eyes. "I cannot undo what I did, and I went at the behest of the Valar."

"The second time, but not the first," Arafinwë pointed out.

Ingwë opened his eyes to stare at the younger king, and then grimaced. "It seems I cannot win either way. There are more of the younger generations than the older and their voices are louder and more strident."

"Perhaps," Olwë then said, entering the conversation for the first time, "but it is the older generations who decide policy and help run the government. Their support is crucial. The others will follow because, in truth, they’ve known no other way. Right now, they are still adapting to a world without the Trees."

"Even as I," Ingwë retorted.

"But you recall a time when there were no Trees, so you are adapting more quickly than say your own children."

"And as distasteful as the trial was on a personal level, Ingwë, it did help to put you in people’s good graces," Valandur said then. "I’m not saying it solved everything, but it did give people pause. Most believe that Ingoldo and his people got off fairly lightly considering what happened, but most do not blame you for showing leniency. They actually sympathize with you, knowing what you and Elindis lost."

"But...." Ingwë raised an eyebrow, recognizing that there was indeed a ‘but’ in there somewhere.

"But, you are still going to have some fence mending to do," Valandur said.

"Any suggestions?" Ingwë asked.

"A celebration," Eccaldamos answered before anyone else and even Valandur gave him a surprised look.

"Explain," Ingwë ordered.

Eccaldamos shrugged. "Our last celebration was rather rudely interrupted." He gave them all a sardonic grin and Arafinwë barked a laugh. "There has been much sorrow of late and people are feeling confused and bereft. So why not proclaim a time of celebration?"

"But will anyone want to celebrate anything and what would they be celebrating?" Olwë asked.

"The fact that in spite of everything, they are still alive and thriving?" Eccaldamos offered. "The fact that our civilization still stands, though I have no doubt that Melkor’s intent was to destroy us."

"Perhaps, we should not think so much about celebrating, as simply giving thanks for what we do have," Arafinwë suggested. "You might consider offering a public apology for what happened with Ingoldo. There is a need, I think, for reconciliation."

The others nodded in agreement.

"Then I think we should do just that," Ingwë said. "I think it’s time to pick up the pieces and move on."

To that, the others had no arguments and they spent some time hashing out the details of what they would do and how they would do it.

****

In the end, Ingwë, with everyone’s approval, decided to hold a Ball with a brief ceremony at the beginning honoring a few people who were instrumental in helping him or his family during the time of trouble.

"To offset the punishments I’ve had to mete out," he told Elindis, who agreed with him.

Thus, he asked various people for recommendations, even Ingwion, who, when he shyly offered a name or two without being rebuffed, became more enthusiastic about the entire thing and began rattling off name after name. "... and then there was...."

"Yonya," Ingwë interrupted with a laugh, giving his son a warm hug. "That’s half the city right there. I’m sure the chambermaid who smiled at you deserves a big reward, but I was thinking smaller, just the few people who were instrumental in helping us when we needed it most."

"Don’t forget Tulcafindil and Marilla," Ingwion said soberly. "They risked everything."

"I know they did, and I haven’t forgotten them. Though they didn’t accomplish the mission you gave them, that was not their fault. That they were willing to do it is enough."

Ingwion gave his atar a conspiratorial smile. "They’re sweet on each other," he said smugly and Manveru and Erunáro, who happened to be there, both rolled their eyes at the ellon’s tone.

Ingwë smiled back. "I know," he whispered. "Do you think we’ll be invited to the wedding?"

Ingwion’s answer was a snigger and Ingwë silently rejoiced to hear it.

****

And so invitations were sent to certain people and preparations for the Ball went apace. In the meantime, Ingwë, accompanied by Olwë and Arafinwë, was seen walking through the city, assessing the damage done by the storm and seeing first-hand the pace of rebuilding. At first, the people were wary and stiff in the High King’s presence, but Ingwë spoke gently and courteously to all and sundry, giving each person with whom he spoke his full attention. The sight of the High King nonchalantly cradling a sleeping elfling while discussing reconstruction with its parents did much to ease the resentment many still felt towards the royals, and he was greeted more warmly the next time he ventured out to speak with various guildmasters on matters concerning them.

The day of the Ball arrived. Not everyone in the city could attend, of course, but Ingwë had asked the guilds to open up their halls to the ordinary people so they, too, could dance and make merry. All provisions were provided by the palace. The first part of the Ball actually took place in the courtyard fronting the palace, where again the platform that had been used for the trials was now used for another purpose. The citizens gathered, dressed in their finery, chatting excitedly. Then Ingwë and the other royals stepped out and silence reigned as they made their way to the platform. When all were settled, Ingwë moved forward to the edge of the platform and publicly made an apology to the people for all the pain and sorrow that had been caused by Ingoldo’s attempt to take the crown. He spoke simply yet sincerely and when he was done there was a brief moment of silence and then somewhere in the midst of the crowd, someone began clapping and then another person joined the first and soon the entire courtyard was awash with the sound of applause. Ingwë stood there for some time, allowing his people to express themselves as they would, before raising his hands for silence, which finally came after a few more minutes.

"Thank you," he said with deep sincerity, "and now there are a few other people who need to be thanked for their roles in the events of the recent past." He returned to the chair that was his throne, standing alongside of Elindis, while Sorontor came forward.

"Will Arminas, Innkeeper of the Bowman’s Rest, come before their Majesties," the chamberlain called out and there was much murmuring among the onlookers as the innkeeper proudly climbed to the platform, giving his king and queen his obeisance.

Others were also called and thanked, their deeds, great or small, mentioned, a small gift in token of the High King’s gratitude given. Thus, in a matter of minutes, Eccaldamos and his parents and family were honored, as were those members of the Privy Council, such as Lord Lassezel and Lady Almáriel, who sided with Ingalaurë against Ingoldo. Tulcafindil and Marilla were also called before the High King and Queen and commended for their bravery and loyalty. Ingwë leaned close to them, giving them a wicked grin.

"So, when’s the wedding, and are we invited?" he whispered.

Tulcafindil just gaped at him, but Marilla giggled. "Of course, you’re invited, Sire," she said. "As soon as we’ve set the date, I’ll let you know."

Ingwë gave them both a wink and let them go.

The last person to be honored was Tamurilon, who blushed the entire time Ingwë spoke, giving particulars of the ellon’s deeds and sufferings. Finally, though, he motioned Indil to join them and after a brief discussion, Ingwë and Elindis took their hands and they all moved forward to the edge of the platform.

"Lord Tamurilon’s parents cannot be with us this day," Ingwë began, "but I know they would approve. It is with great pleasure that we are able to announce the betrothal of our beloved daughter, Indil, to Lord Tamurilon."

There was much rejoicing at the news, for the young couple were popular among the citizens and it was some time before Ingwë could speak again. "The date of the wedding has yet to be set, and we will wait for when Lord Tamurilon’s parents return to Vanyamar for the betrothal dinner, but I suspect that the wedding will happen sooner rather than later. And now, let all rejoice and make merry!"

With that, the royals descended the platform and made their way back into the palace while the crowd began dispersing. In the main ballroom, Ingwë and Elindis, joined by Arafinwë and Eärwen, Olwë and Lirillë, led the first pavane and the ball began. Hours flew as everyone enjoyed themselves. Many offered their congratulations to Indil and Tamurilon on their betrothal and the special guests were accorded every courtesy. Even Ingwion behaved himself, though he did not dance except the obligatory dance with his ammë. He spent most of the time sitting quietly in a corner out of everyone’s way, nursing a goblet of wine, while Manveru and Erunáro stood behind him. When Indil, Tamurilon, Intarion and Amarië came over at one point and invited Ingwion to join them in the garden for a while, he politely refused. Manveru and Erunáro exchanged concerned looks and Manveru knelt next to Ingwion.

"Why do you not join your sister and friends, Ingwion? Why do you sit in this dark corner instead of joining in the merriment?"

"They all hate me," Ingwion whispered without looking at the Maia.

Now the two Maiar were really concerned. Erunáro knelt on Ingwion’s other side. "No one hates you, child. Why do you think such a thing?"

"I’m bad," Ingwion said baldly. "I... I do bad things and everyone hates me." The tone of despair that was evident was almost too much for either Maia.

"You have done some things that were unwise," Manveru said carefully, "but no one hates you for them. Child, you are surrounded by people who love you: your parents, your sister, Arafinwë, Intarion, even the Valar. Can you not feel their love and concern for you?"

Ingwion shook his head, tears beginning to fall and his expression was so despairing it broke their hearts. Manveru sent a silent plea to Lord Manwë, at a loss to know what to do for this poor child. Yet, even as he did so, Ingwë walked over, having noticed the two Maiar hovering over his son and wondering what was happening. When he came abreast of them, the Maiar stood and gave him brief bows of respect.

"What’s wrong?" Ingwë asked, seeing the tears on his son’s face.

"He thinks everyone hates him," Erunáro answered and there was no levity in the Maia’s eyes and his tone was absolutely serious. "He thinks he’s bad and no one loves him."

Ingwë sighed and reached down to take the goblet out of Ingwion’s hands and giving it to Manveru before raising his son and embracing him. "I never hated you, Ingwion," he said softly. "I’ve always loved you, I will always love you, no matter what. And your ammë will always love you, no matter what."

"And Indil?" Ingwion said between sniffles.

"Well, she’s your sister," Ingwë replied with just the right amount of amusement in his tone and Ingwion nodded. Ingwë held his son closer. "Ingwion, you are not bad."

"But I am," Ingwion protested. "In m-my mind. There’s something wrong with me, Atto. In my saner moments I can tell and I don’t know what to do."

"Shh...." Ingwë said, gently rocking his son. "There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re suffering from grief and I think despair and that’s making you think and do things you normally wouldn’t do. Have you no hope within you, yonya? Is there no room for estel in your heart anymore?"

"No," Ingwion replied. "All hope was lost with Ingil."

"And Ingil would be the first to tell you how foolish you are to abandon hope because of what happened to him," Manveru chimed in. "He would be saddened to see you this way, Ingwion. He would not want you to give up on hope."

Ingwë started to say something but was distracted by a commotion near the embrasures that led out to the balcony that ran along one side of the ballroom with stairs leading down to the gardens. "What’s happening now?" he asked almost rhetorically and even Ingwion pulled himself together enough to take an interest.

"....light... a bright light... to the west...." they heard several people exclaiming to one another. Then suddenly someone from outside screamed, "The Valar save us! What is that?" and there was a crush of bodies as everyone attempted to get outside to see what was happening, the celebration forgotten.

Ingwë began cursing and grabbed Ingwion by the arm, pushing his way through the crowd, demanding to be let through, and it was only because Sérener and Eccaldamos miraculously appeared beside them, calling for people to make way for the High King, that they were able to make it outside and down into the garden without too much trouble. Looking about, Ingwë spied Olwë and Arafinwë with the queens standing some distance away on a grassy knoll, palace guards surrounding them to keep others away.

"This way," he said to Ingwion, and with Sérener and Eccaldamos’ aid, they were able to work their way towards the knoll. All around they saw people milling about in confusion, pointing west, exclaiming in surprise, their expressions mostly of fear, some wondering out loud if this was some new mischief of Melkor.

"Do you see anything?" Ingwion asked his atar as he craned his neck around trying to get a glimpse of whatever was exciting everyone. "What’s that strange glow? Is it a fire? It doesn’t look like a fire."

"Let’s get to the knoll," Ingwë answered. "We’ll see better from there. The palace is blocking our view." As they came to the knoll, the guards let them through, but no one else paid them any mind, their gazes fixed to the west, their eyes wide, their faces filled with awe. As he reached Elindis’ side with Ingwion right behind him, Ingwë turned to see what all the excitement was about and felt the blood drain from his face.

****

Meldonya: My (male) friend.

Amya: My mother.