Chapter the Eighth:

In Which There is Rebellion in the Ranks and a Trial is Held

For the next twelve days Finrod and Glorfindel’s routine was this:

They would rise from their beds two hours before dawn (if they bothered to sleep at all) and report to the kitchen where they always found Marilla already there (if she ever left at all; the ellyn were never sure about that), cheerfully handing them cups of hot chocolate — "It gets your get-up-and go going better than tea," she told them the first day — and some rolls for their breakfast. The other kitchen staff would straggle in by ones or twos, gratefully accepting their own cups of hot chocolate as they went about the business of starting the day’s work. Only Isildil would refuse anything, giving them all scowls.

Once they had eaten, Marilla would assign them certain tasks. Usually Glorfindel was given the task of cleaning out the ovens and preparing them for the day while Finrod usually helped Ailinel and some others with getting the breads started. Glorfindel would mutter darkly to himself in Sindarin, glaring at Finrod, who refused to meet his eyes. Only once, on the second day, did Marilla let Glorfindel bake ginger cookies as she’d promised. Once the ovens were readied, Glorfindel usually found himself dressing meat or plucking feathers while Finrod got to peel potatoes or cut up vegetables and once Marilla even let him make some soup. All Glorfindel got to make was a mess, pulling out entrails.

"Marilla obviously likes you better than me, bassoneth," Glorfindel hissed at Finrod on the fourth day as they were leaving the kitchens after lunch. He stormed past the prince, refusing to stick around to hear whatever Finrod had to say, so he did not see the hurt look on his gwador’s face. After that, the two barely spoke to one another unless absolutely necessary. Several people, including Arafinwë and Eärwen, noticed the coolness between the two ellyn, but left it for them to work it out between themselves.

The first three afternoons, as commanded, Finrod and Glorfindel came to the Queen’s solar to sit among her ladies-in-waiting, ostensibly to learn embroidery, but actually just sitting there being very bored and refusing to talk to one another or anyone else for that matter, making everyone else uncomfortable. Eärwen decided that having the ellyn in the same room together was not conducive to anyone’s health and she dismissed them after only an hour on the third afternoon, telling them not to bother coming back.

"I’m sure you can occupy yourselves in the hours between lunch and dinner without getting into too much trouble," she told them and they gratefully left, though once outside the solar they went their separate ways.

Thus, in the afternoons, once lunch was done with, Glorfindel would make himself scarce, usually taking his horse Alagos for a run through Finwë Park or even further afield, returning in time to report to the kitchen for dinner. He never invited Finrod and the one time the prince suggested they ride together, Glorfindel simply walked away and went to the library instead, ostensibly to read, but mostly just staring out upon the gardens below him. If Finrod went riding that day, he neither knew nor cared.

Finrod usually ended up with his atar during the afternoons, helping him with the running of the kingdom. He’d been excused from attending council meetings or holding court during his time in the kitchen, but there were other aspects of governing that fell upon his shoulders, relieving Arafinwë of some of the burden.

Of the wedding, no one spoke.

In the evenings, the two ellyn would report to the kitchen once again, donning the page’s tabards that had been provided for them, joining the other pages — all of them elflings of around thirty-five or so — and helping to serve dinner. Marilla made a point of never assigning them to the High Table.

Isildil, all this while, was busy washing dishes, or washing the floor or doing the most menial of tasks, glowering at everyone and secretly plotting his revenge on the prince and Lord Glorfindel. He wasn’t sure what he would do to them specifically, to Findaráto especially, but he had already decided he would see to it that some aspect of the upcoming wedding was ruined. As he scrubbed the endless stack of dishes and washed down the dining tables, he fantasized about the myriad ways in which he could embarrass those two ellyn before everyone.

And all the while, Marilla smiled and continued ruling the kitchen with benevolent despotism.

Vondo and Vorondil, in the meantime, went camping in the Woods of Oromë with Aldundil and Herendil, leaving two days after the ‘Battle of the Kitchen’, as Vorondil called it. They would be gone for nearly two weeks, returning a couple of days after Finrod and Glorfindel would be done with working in the kitchen.

And so it went and there was peace of a sort in the realm of the Noldor for a time.

That peace was shattered, however, midway into the second week of Finrod and Glorfindel’s kitchen duties.

Every morning Glorfindel would report to the kitchen in high hopes that that day he would get to make bread or soup or do something other than dumping ashes and entrails. And every morning he would be disappointed. The one time he’d been given the task of making ginger biscuits had been the highlight of the day, nay, of the week, and he always entered the kitchen giving Marilla a hopeful look. She, in turn, would give him a wistful smile as she handed him a cup of hot chocolate, silently pointing to the ovens and with a sigh he would down the drink in two gulps and then pick up the scuttle and brush and begin work.

However, on this particular morning, the eighth day of their servitude, Glorfindel walked into the kitchen and the almost apologetic look Marilla gave him as she handed him a cup of the hot chocolate suddenly angered him and he knocked the cup out of her hand, sending it to the floor where it crashed, spewing hot liquid and scattering broken pottery about. "Why do you hate me so much?" he practically screamed, ignoring the shocked looks on the faces of the others who were already there.

"Glorfindel...." Marilla started to say, but the ellon refused to give her a chance to speak.

"Is it because my name is Glorfindel?" he snarled into her face. "Is it because Finrod is a prince of the realm and I’m just a... a balrog-slayer? I was a lord of Gondolin, one of Turgon’s closest advisors. I deserve better than this."

Marilla shook her head. "I don’t hate you, Glorfindel," she replied, "but this is supposed to be a punishment and...."

"A punishment!" Glorfindel shouted. "The only one being punished is me!" He pointed a finger at Finrod who was standing next to Ailinel, his expression unreadable. "He’s the one who started the fight, but does he get punished? No. He gets to make bread and soup and do nice things, while I’m the one up to my ears in ashes and entrails. Well, no more."

He took a few steps to where the scuttle sat beside one of the ovens, picked it up and turned to Marilla. "You want the ovens cleaned, Marilla, do it yourself." And with that he threw the scuttle across the room where it crashed against the wall, several Elves ducking to avoid being hit. Then he made his way to the door leading out to the herb garden, ignoring all pleas and orders for him to return as he threw it open and stomped out.

For several long minutes there was complete silence in the kitchen as they stared after the fuming Glorfindel who passed through a leafy arbor and out of sight. Most of the Elves had looks of shock on their fair faces, while Marilla’s expression was more sad than anything. Finrod, not sure how he felt about it all, suddenly noticed Isildil gloating and fury swept through him, all the hurt and humiliation that had been building up inside him this past week finally coming to the fore. Without thought, he swooped down upon the ellon, grabbing him by the placket of his tunic.

"You! This is all your fault!" he shouted and then shoved Isildil hard against the wall and began striking him with his fist, all the while shouting, "It’s your fault, all of this is your fault."

"Findaráto!" someone yelled but he ignored them, still hitting the hapless ellon who cowered before him, trying to protect himself. Then hands grabbed him, pulling him away and Marilla was now before him, her expression terrible to see, and Finrod stopped thrashing, suddenly afraid. With a nod from Marilla, the two ellyn holding him let him go and moved away.

"I thought better of you, Arafinwion," she said coldly. "Whatever Isildil did or did not do, he does not deserve this." She pointed to where a couple of people were helping Isildil up and Finrod saw that he had a cut lip and was bleeding from the nose and purpling bruises were already forming around one eye. Chagrin took him and he started to apologize, but Marilla cut him off.

"Since Glorfindel is not here, you can clean the ovens today," she said.

But Finrod was still feeling anger — anger at Isildil and his gloating, anger at Glorfindel and his taunts, anger at Marilla for just being there, and finally anger at his atar for punishing him in this fashion in the first place, he who once had ruled a kingdom of his own. He drew himself up and gave Marilla a haughty look. "If Glorfindel is not here, then neither am I." And without a backward glance, he stormed out of the kitchen, making his way through the palace and out into the main street, not caring where he was going, only knowing he could no longer abide being anywhere near the royal kitchen.

In his anger, he never noticed someone following him as he wended his way through the dark streets and squares of the city, for Anar had yet to rise, casting her golden light up the Calacirya to shine upon the city’s white towers. Eventually, as the sky lightened towards blue, he found himself before a tavern in a part of the city he did not recall ever visiting before and entered it, calling for ale. He found a dark corner by the fireplace that was unlit, for the morning was mild and pleasant, though clouds were forming in the west, promising rain later. Sitting there with his mug of ale before him, he fumed, glaring at nothing in particular, silently cursing everyone and everything.

"I should have just stayed in Lórien," he muttered out loud for no particular reason except to hear his own voice. He picked up the mug of ale and started to take a long gulp.

"Perhaps you should have."

Finrod choked down his ale and stared at the person standing before him, wondering where he’d come from so suddenly. He did not recognize him. He seemed a typical Noldo with his dark hair but his eyes were an odd shade of greenish-grey and, oddly enough, he was wearing warrior braids. Finrod recognized the pattern worn by those warriors who had given their allegiance to his cousin Maglor. "Excuse me?" the prince said somewhat haughtily.

"I said you should have stayed in Lórien," the stranger repeated, apparently not at all put out by Finrod’s attitude.

"And what concern is that of yours?" Finrod retorted, beginning to feel annoyed as well as angry.

The stranger shrugged. "None really. Just making conversation."

"Well make it somewhere else," Finrod snarled rudely, lifting his mug to take another gulp of ale. "I’m not in the mood."

"You and Glorfindel," the stranger said with a shake of his head, his expression one of amusement. "You certainly make a right pair."

Finrod stumbled to his feet, his eyes wide with shock, a frisson of fear running down his spine. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "Who are you?"

"It doesn’t matter," the stranger said coldly, his greyish-green eyes darkening with something dangerous. "Take my hand, Arafinwion," he ordered and such was the power of his command that Finrod did just that and then he found himself elsewhere.

****

Glorfindel headed straight for the stables and called for his horse. Brushing Alagos and readying him for riding calmed him and he was not as angry as earlier. Still, he felt hurt and betrayed and put-upon. Why did Marilla hate him so much? In spite of what she had said, he still felt that was the case. He had sensed Finrod’s contentment at the end of each morning’s stint when they were free for the afternoon. And why shouldn’t he be? He got to bake bread and make soup and yesterday Marilla let him help with the subtlety for dessert. It just wasn’t fair!

He led Alagos out and mounted him, heading away from the palace and through the streets of the city. By now the sky in the east was beginning to turn blue though the stars were still visible. He headed for Finwë Park, situated beyond the eastern wall of the city, but continued through the park into the open plains beyond. At that point he gave Alagos his head and they galloped down the Calacirya. He had done this before, passing the silent towers that lined the cleft with their Maiarin watchers. He usually only went a few miles down, returning after passing the fifth tower, but this time he simply let Alagos continue beyond that point. He had a vague idea of simply going on and not returning to Tirion, perhaps even taking ship and crossing over to Tol Eressëa and visiting with his friends there.

Eventually, though, he brought Alagos to a walk. By now he estimated they were nearly halfway to the Bay of Eldamar. Anar was higher in the sky, bathing all of Aman with her golden light. He felt much calmer now, but he had no desire to return to Tirion, not yet. He brought Alagos to a halt before one of the watchtowers and dismounted, letting the horse graze while he sat with his back against the tower wall, his arms around his knees. Like all the other towers, this one had no entrance. These towers were manned solely by the Maiar who needed no doors or stairs to reach the top.

He closed his eyes and sighed. He suspected Atar Arafinwë would punish him for leaving as he did, and that idea did not sit well with him. He sighed again, leaning forward slightly to press his forehead against his knees. "I should’ve just stayed at Aewellond with Eärendil and Elwing until it was time for the wedding," he said out loud in Sindarin, which he always preferred to speak when alone.

"Perhaps you should have."

Glorfindel scrambled to his feet in shock, reaching for a sword that was not there. Then he saw who it was who had spoken, also in Sindarin, and stared at him in disbelief. "Nyéreser?"

The Maia smiled. "The one and only."

"What are you doing here?"

Nyéreser pointed up. "You’re leaning against my watchtower. I thought I would say hello."

Glorfindel’s eyes widened. "Your watchtower?"

The Maia nodded. "I’m usually standing guard here along the Calacirya."

"Really? How... boring." Glorfindel gave him a wicked smile.

"Almost as boring as cleaning out ovens?" Nyéreser retorted with a knowing grin.

"How did you....?"

"Oh, word gets around," the Maia said, then gave Glorfindel a slight frown. "In fact, shouldn’t you be there now?"

Glorfindel scowled, not looking at the Maia. "I’m tired of dealing with ashes and entrails while Finrod gets to bake bread and... and peel potatoes. Marilla obviously hates me and loves Finrod because she never lets me do anything fun."

"Peeling potatoes is fun?" Nyéreser asked in amusement at Glorfindel’s elflingish tone.

Glorfindel glanced up, glaring, not at all amused by the Maia’s tone. "More fun than pulling entrails out of sheep and goats or plucking feathers from quail and certainly more fun than cleaning out ovens. Why does she hate me so much?" he practically wailed and Nyéreser was alarmed to see tears forming in the ellon’s eyes. "What did I ever do to her that she treats me with such contempt?"

Nyéreser started to reply and then stopped, his eyes taking on the distant look Glorfindel recognized as one that the Ainur had when they were bespeaking to one another in ósanwë. Then his expression cleared and he gave the Elf a strange look. "Take my hand, Glorfindel," he said as he stretched out an arm.

"Why?" Glorfindel demanded suspiciously, backing away so he was pressed against the stone of the tower. "I’m not going anywhere with you."

"You’ve been summoned, Son of Gondolin," the Maia said coldly.

Glorfindel just stood there, shaking his head, refusing to move. "No. Not again. Not ever again. Alagos!" He whistled and the horse came cantering from where he’d been grazing, but Nyéreser blocked Glorfindel’s path.

"No, Glorfindel," he said not unkindly, seeing the mix of fear and anger in the ellon’s eyes. "You’ve been summoned and it’s not wise to ignore a summons by one of Them. Take my hand, Child."

"No," Glorfindel retorted, his protest sounding weak even to him and he found himself shaking and the tears were falling. Nyéreser sighed and wrapped his arms around the ellon, drawing him into his embrace. Before Glorfindel could object he found himself elsewhere.

****

"Ah, good," came a dark, melodious voice that Glorfindel recognized. "Thank you, Nyéreser. If you would be so kind as to bring Findaráto as well. He’s sulking in the Star and Tree Inn just off Blue Willow Square."

"Of course, my lord," the Maia said as he released Glorfindel from his hold, giving the Elf a wry smile that did nothing to comfort him. Then he was gone and Glorfindel was left alone... with Him.

"Turn around, Glorfindel," Lord Námo said in an amused tone. "I’m not about to speak with you with your back turned to me. Besides, that’s very rude."

Glorfindel scowled and did not comply at first, taking the time to gaze around him, trying to figure out where he was. He did not recognize the place. It certainly wasn’t Mandos... or, at least, he didn’t think it was. For one thing they seemed to be in a meadow surrounded by impossibly tall mountains and there was a tarn, deep and dark, reflecting starlight, though it was daylight. It rather reminded him of Mornaringwë where he had spent some time with Olórin years before, but he had the feeling this place was not accessible to anyone except the Valar and the Maiar. He turned about and saw Lord Námo sitting in a throne-like chair under a single oak. How an oak tree was thriving so high up in the mountains, Glorfindel did not know. Námo was sitting there with a darkly amused smile on his face. He was dressed in a midnight blue silk tunic with an overrobe of blue samite shot with silver and he wore a circlet of mithril with a single sapphire upon his elf-braided hair. A mithril pendant of his emblem of a Sun-in-eclipse hung from his neck.

Before Glorfindel could ask about where they were there was the strong scent of lemon balm and then Nyéreser was there again with Finrod beside him.

"So, now we’re all here," Námo said in a satisfied tone.

Finrod glanced about him and then looked at Glorfindel, arching an eyebrow. "Wherever here is," he said softly.

Glorfindel merely shrugged, not ready to respond. Finrod sighed and turned to give the Vala a proper bow. Glorfindel refused to give Námo that courtesy, simply glaring at the Vala. If Námo was upset by his rudeness, he did not show it, though Finrod frowned.

"I suppose you’re wondering why I called you both here," the Lord of Mandos said in an amiable tone that fooled neither ellon.

"I’m sure it wasn’t to discuss the scenery," Glorfindel said with a sneer.

"Glorfindel!" Finrod exclaimed. "What’s wrong with you?"

Glorfindel glared at the prince. "You are! You, Marilla and him," he pointed at Námo, "and everyone else who’s out to make my life as miserable as they can. That’s what’s wrong with me."

"I never...."

"No?" Glorfindel sneered. "Perhaps not, but you certainly didn’t help. Have you been enjoying watching me cover myself with ashes and pig guts all week while you baked your precious bread, bassoneth?"

"Stop calling me that," Finrod demanded, getting angry himself. "You’re just jealous."

"Jealous?" Glorfindel shot back. "Jealous doesn’t even begin to describe what I feel at this moment."

"What do you feel, Glorfindel?" Námo asked and both ellyn started, having forgotten that they had an audience.

Glorfindel glared at the Vala. "What I feel is that I’m everyone’s favorite excuse to treat me with contempt. I didn’t start the fight with Isildil but I’m the one being punished."

"I’m being punished, too, or hadn’t you noticed?" Finrod retorted angrily.

Glorfindel stared at Finrod with a look of disgust. "Oh, I noticed all right. I noticed the sticky buns Marilla gives you with your hot chocolate while I have to make do with hard rolls. I noticed Ailinel letting you ‘taste-test’ the strawberry tarts a few days ago. I noticed you sneaking a lick of the subtlety you made when Marilla’s back was turned for a second. I noticed you smiling while you stirred the soup you were making and the other day you were actually humming while you were peeling the potatoes. I noticed a lot of things."

An uncomfortable silence fell between the two ellyn. Finrod had the grace to look abashed. Glorfindel just glared at them all. Finally, Námo spoke, his tone quiet. "No one hates you, Glorfindel, however much it may appear that way to you. And Findaráto is indeed being punished, though you believe otherwise."

"How? How is he being punished?" Glorfindel demanded angrily. "He gets to do all the fun stuff. Even the one time I was allowed to make ginger biscuits, I still had to clean out the ovens and dress some of the meat first. I thought at least that one time we would trade places, let him deal with ashes and entrails for a change, but no."

"I’ll tell you how I’m being punished, Glorfindel," Finrod said then. "I’m being punished by your constant taunts of calling me ‘bassoneth’. I’m being punished by the courtiers who ask me what part of the meal I helped prepare so they would be sure not to eat it for fear I might have poisoned the food. I’m being punished by servants tittering and smiling when they see me with an apron on. And while you’re in the scullery dressing the meat, you don’t see the apprentice cooks doing their level best to make me look bad or incompetent in Marilla’s eyes by sabotaging my efforts. Do you know how many batches of yeast they ruined on me and neither Ailinel nor Marilla believed me when I told them it wasn’t my fault?"

"But you still get to do fun stuff," Glorfindel protested.

Finrod sighed, casting Námo a helpless look. "You deal with this, lord," he said. "I can’t." And with that, he walked away from them.

Glorfindel just stared at him in disbelief, watching Finrod move closer to the tarn and make his way along its shore. Then he turned back to Námo. "And you’re just going to let him walk away?" he asked.

"Findaráto is haryon to the throne and...."

"And I’m just a lowly Lord of a House that doesn’t exist any more and so, of course, I get landed with all the filthy tasks while our precious prince gets the royal treatment, even from you," Glorfindel retorted.

"Yet everything Findaráto told you is the truth," Námo said, refusing to respond to the ellon’s accusations. "He is being punished in ways you don’t see because all you see is the outer circumstances and nothing of the inner struggle he suffers, having to maintain a cheerful and princely mien before all when what he wants most to do is rip everything apart with his bare hands. You don’t know of the shame he feels when others make sly and even cruel remarks about his situation within his hearing but always when he is not in a position to retaliate or the anger he has to hold in when Marilla disbelieves him when he says he wasn’t the one to ruin the soup by putting too much salt in it."

He paused and gave Glorfindel a sad look, which surprised the Elf. "And you don’t see the hurt in his eyes when you taunt him with foolish epithets or snub him, the one person he thought he could count on to stand by him as you suffered your durance vile together."

Now Glorfindel reddened in embarrassment, casting his eyes downward at his feet. It was true, he knew. He had let his own jealousy and hurt get in the way of things, and yet... "It’s still unfair," he muttered, not looking up. "Why can’t Finrod sweep out the ashes or dress the meat once in a while?"

"I offered, but Marilla refused."

Glorfindel looked up to see Finrod coming back and gave him a quizzical look. Finrod nodded. "I told Marilla she was being unfair to you, never giving you something else to do and offered to clean the ovens and dress the meat once in a while, but she said she preferred me to be doing what I was doing and that you were where you needed to be." He shrugged when Glorfindel’s eyebrows shot up as he gave him a disbelieving look. "Her words, not mine. I have no more idea what she meant by them than you."

"Why didn’t you tell me?" Glorfindel asked.

Now Finrod’s expression turned colder. "You never gave me a chance. The day I suggested we go riding together.... I’d planned to tell you and perhaps we could’ve thought of some way together to convince Marilla to let us switch places."

Glorfindel scowled. "Nothing about this makes sense," he said. "Just who is Marilla anyway? I saw the looks of shock on the faces of the other kitchen staff, even Isildil, when she came. She’s not just another guildmaster, is she?" He shot the question towards Námo who shrugged.

"Who she is, is not important at the moment," he replied. "What is, is that you both have behaved badly today and we need to address it."

Glorfindel gave Finrod a startled look. "I know what I did, but what did you do?"

Finrod grimaced, looking embarrassed. "After you left, I saw the gloating expression on Isildil’s face and something inside of me snapped and I... well, I attacked him."

"Did you now?" Glorfindel said. "Then you beat me to it. I’ve been wanting to push his stupid face into the ashes all week."

"Well, I did more than that to him," Finrod rejoined with a snort, "but what I did was wrong. I should never have let him get to me that way."

"You are correct," Námo said, his expression darkening somewhat, much to the ellyn’s dismay. "You were both in the wrong this morning and that’s why we’re having this little trial."

"Trial?" Finrod and Glorfindel exclaimed almost at the same time.

Námo leaned back in his throne, smiling slightly, a smile that did nothing to calm the two Elves. "Yes. You are both on trial for your deplorable behavior. Glorfindel at least has the mitigating excuse of still being emotionally young, but what’s your excuse, Arafinwion?"

Finrod drew himself up. "I have no excuse, lord."

Námo nodded, apparently pleased with the answer. "Then here is my judgment."

"Whoa!" Glorfindel exclaimed, taking a step back in surprise. "Judgment? What judgment? What trial? We’ve just been talking... haven’t we?" He gave them a slightly unsure look.

"Which is more than you’ve been doing lately," Námo said. "Both of you have been growing angrier and angrier over the last week, not only at your situation, but at each other and that makes you very dangerous to everyone else."

"Dangerous?" Finrod asked. "How, lord?"

"You remember the last time the two of you got into an... um.... altercation?" Námo retorted with a lift of an eyebrow.

Both ellyn cringed at that particular memory, refusing to look at one another, remembering how a certain grove in Lórien had been destroyed. Námo nodded. "We want to avoid another such scene, don’t we?"

The two Elves nodded.

"And that is why I had you brought here," Námo said. "If you were going to kill each other you were going to do it where no one else would be harmed."

"But I would never...." both ellyn said almost at the same time, with identical expressions of shock on their faces.

"I’m glad to hear that," Námo said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, then he relented somewhat, giving them an amused look. "This past week or so has not been easy for either of you, I know, but you’ve endured worse, together and separately. Your friendship is too valuable to be lost over something as trifling as doing kitchen duty, however onerous it might be."

"Lord Námo is correct, Glorfindel," Finrod said. "You don’t know how much I missed you, talking things over, plotting our revenge."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "Revenge? Against whom?"

Finrod merely gave him a suggestive smile. Glorfindel thought about it for a moment, realizing that he’d been thoroughly miserable over the past week, not because of his chores in the kitchen, but because he had not had Finrod to talk to about things. He nodded. "You’re right. I’ve been an idiot as usual," he admitted with a scowl.

"Not an idiot, Glorfindel," Námo said gently, "merely young."

Glorfindel ignored Námo’s comment, giving Finrod an uncertain look. "So... um... are we still friends?"

Finrod smiled. "Friends.... and more than friends," he replied and the two embraced, giving each other a kiss as between close kin.

Námo nodded in satisfaction. "Well, I’m glad that’s been resolved, but we still need to address your actions of this morning. Glorfindel, you will return to Tirion and seek out Marilla and apologize to her and accept whatever punishment she gives you, if she gives you any." Glorfindel nodded, not looking at all pleased. "And Findaráto," Námo continued, "I think you know what you have to do."

Finrod nodded, not looking too happy, but willing to do what was necessary.

"Good. Nyéreser, take them back to where you found them," Námo ordered, "and you two behave yourselves, or our next little chat will be... less friendly. Do I make myself clear?" Both ellyn nodded vigorously. Námo gave them a satisfied look. "Oh, and thank you for the wedding invitations," he added, almost as an afterthought. "That was very thoughtful of you." Before either Elf could respond, the Lord of Mandos was gone, along with the throne.

"Come," Nyéreser said with a smile for them, "I will take you back." He held out his hands and the two Elves each took one and then they were gone.

****

Finrod found himself back in the inn, sitting at the table with the mug of ale before him, and looked about him. It didn’t seem as if any time had passed, nor had anyone noticed his absence. Someone entered the inn and approached him, giving him a bow. Finrod raised an eyebrow.

"Amandur!" he exclaimed to one of his personal guards. "What are you doing here?"

"Following you, your Highness," the ellon said with a grin. Then his expression sobered. "If you’re ready to return to the palace?"

Finrod sighed, took a long pull on the ale, emptying the mug, and nodded. "Let me pay the bill and we will go."

"Don’t worry, your Highness. I’ll take care of it," Amandur said and did just that, so that in a matter of minutes the two were wending their way through the streets of Tirion back to the palace.

****

Glorfindel found himself back at the tower with Nyéreser. Gauging from the sun’s position, it didn’t seem as if any time had passed while they were in the mountains with Lord Námo. Alagos was still there, contentedly grazing. Glorfindel gave the Maia a puzzled look, but Nyéreser merely smiled.

"Go back to Tirion, child," he said. "I have my own duties to attend to."

Glorfindel couldn’t help giving him a cheeky grin. "And I thought cleaning out the ovens was boring."

Nyéreser just laughed, fading from view. Glorfindel shrugged, whistled for Alagos and soon horse and Elf were making their way back up the Calacirya towards Tirion.

****

Words are Quenya:

Ósanwë: Telepathy.

Mornaringwë: Dark cold lake (in the mountains). It is situated in the southern Pelóri range. The incident Glorfindel recalls is described in Elf, Interrupted: Book Two, chapter 55.

Otornor: Plural of otorno: Sworn-brother.

Hánor: Plural of háno: Brother.