Disclaimer and Author’s note: No profit was meant; they are, and will remain, Tolkien’s. Nor dishonour, cause “It is the way of my people to use light words at such times and say less than they mean."(ROTK, Houses of Healing)

Thanks to Vana for her spotting eye, and to Nilmandra for allowing me to post in this wonderful site of hers!

A CONSPIRACY OF SILENCE: THE TRUE STORY OF AMÁRIË AND FINROD

Amárië’s POV:

WARNING: Elven scholars are mostly male, and so their accounts tend to be more than slightly biased on the heroical. If you are fan of Finrod the Faithful, the beloved, the wonder boy, the perfect elf, but also ever wondered, “Eru, is it possible that such an oh so perfect elf ever existed?” then go ahead and read my account of that fateful day. After all, I was there too, you know?

Quenya names are used in this tale, for I never left Valinor. Scroll down for Sindarin rendition.

Tirion, the last day of the trees:

That the day had been difficult was easily read on my lord Arafinwë’s usually clear and currently clouded features.

He, no doubt, had reasons for being unhappy.

First, that stupid festival Manwë insisted on holding every year, forcing everybody to gather together and pretend they liked it.

Second, his older brother had made a complete fool of himself; hugging and greeting their mad half-brother with the kind of affection only dangerously high doses of the strongest miruvor could explain.

Not happy with that, Lord Nolofinwë, to his brother's utmost humiliation, had sworn eternal love and loyalty to their half-brother and had promised to follow him wherever he went. No wonder Lord Fëanáro looked utterly disgusted that day, though I, for one, would love to have the handsome Lord Nolofinwë following me around -were it only for an hour- the Lady Anairë allowing, of course!

Third, while the High King in office had been showing off around his, by that time very much enraged, older half-brother, something happened and the lights went out, and everybody was scared. Messengers arrived from Formenos, with grim tidings of King Finwë’s -Lord Arafinwë´s father- death.

So now he was an orphan, and the Fëanturi’s powers were not needed to foresee that a big row would arise between the houses of Fëanáro and Nolofinwë concerning the High Kingship of the Noldor, a fight that could easily span for an age or two...that's it, once Lord Nolofinwë would come from the depths of his current drunkenness to take part in it.

For now, he simply held his father’s crown in his hands and giggled madly “It is mine, it is mine...”

And fourth, and to make troubles worse, Findaráto had gone missing.

I’m sure that piece of news truly disturbed my lord Arafinwë, for Findaráto was his heir, his most beloved and perfect son, and he would not bear to think something bad had happened to him, not when Melko was on the run and so much evil was around!

I shuddered, for though I was there to quiet his worries, the news I was bringing was surely not exactly what he would be expecting in that terrible day, I suddenly realized with apprehension.

I could not retreat though, as my lord raised his eyes and acknowledged my presence with a courteous bow:

“My lady Amárië,” he sighed in his soft voice, hiding his grief and weariness while extending his elegant hand and preventing his brother from taking another goblet of whatever he was imbibing with thorough dedication, “what can I do for you?”

As sudden realization hit him, he looked straight at me, and taking in the state of my robes and the tears in my eyes, he panicked. “Has anything happened... to my son?“ he gasped.

That was the moment Lord Nolofinwë chose to come back to the world of the living, and greet me. “Oh my! The wonderful and renowned Lady Amárië! Tell me, lady, how is it that you are not trying your charms on my oldest son?”

I blushed and bowed to the High King of the Noldor. “My lord, you would forgive me, Eru knows that I have tried! But it is impossible to steal your son’s attention from that beautiful cousin of his. They are so close sometimes it is difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins...”

I saw the king blanch, and heard a muffled chuckle coming from Lord Arafinwë, who seemed happy to see his older brother’s enlarged ego suffering a deep blow for once.

“What do you mean, my lady?” the King demanded in his low, rumbling voice, and, all of a sudden, he appeared to be very sober and very angry.

“I mean... I only mean...” I stumbled, “ that they are fast friends, your majesty, nothing more...” As he still seemed to be furious, I added in a conspiratorial tone, “besides, I have heard he’s got a beloved but he prefers to keep it secret, my lord.”

He laughed out loudly then, and satisfied that his heir’s honour was safe he turned to mute mode once again.

I was wondering where that strange idea of Lord Nolofinwë’s heir having a secret affair had come from, when Lord Arafinwë pressed me again. I was about to tell my story when the door opened and Lord Findekáno himself made his appearance, carrying alongside what seemed to be the remains of a very drunk, very mud stained and very dishevelled Lord Findaráto.

“Atar, Uncle,” the High Prince bowed, while Lord Arafinwë jumped to his feet:

“Ingoldo, my son! What happened to you!”

But Findekáno smiled crookedly. “Easy Uncle, he’s only... and completely... inebriated.”

He suddenly noticed my presence, and casting a shrewd look at my state of disarray his grin widened while I cursed inwardly. Our clothes were equally stained in mud, and even Findekáno, given time enough, was able to put one and one together, so he gave me a wicked smile. ”And I should add that he seems to have reasons for being very happy too, my Lady Amárië...” he said, as he bowed mockingly at me.

I narrowed my eyes, wishing the handsome, nasty prince a horrible, slow death, but his father made another of his guest appearances and decided he had to defend my honour.

“Findekáno!” the King growled menacingly, and the prince had the good grace to blush and keep his beautiful mouth shut, while Lord Arafinwë turned to me and asked for the third time, "could you please tell me what happened, my lady?” his soft voice full of concern.

I sighed, trying to convey my most innocent expression, and started recounting my plight: “Well, you see my lord, today, your son... asked me for a walk...”

“It was you who proposed,” Findekáno pointed out. We all turned to look at him angrily: he was holding his cousin upright with one hand while bending towards us, listening unabashedly with full interest.

I mentally kicked the idiot below his waist: And to think I had considered him to be too tipsy at that moment to have noticed my asking Findaráto! I gave an exasperated sigh and tried to continue with my tale.

“We went for a walk in the forest, and suddenly, your son tripped over me... and we fell in that mud pool...”

“A very big one, Uncle,” Findekáno felt the urge to inform us. “He was trying to swim in there when I picked him out!” he added, half laughing and obviously enjoying the whole situation.

Both his father and his uncle glared at him at the same time.

“Will you please shut up!” they yelled at him as one. They were terrifying, looking as if Oromë himself was going to war, but that display seemed to have little effect on the cheeky prince.

“Easy, easy, “ he claimed in what would clearly qualify as a disrespectful tone, raising his two hands in a placating gesture. He had to lower them quickly, though, for having lost grip of his cousin, this had slipped to the floor his peaceful slumber undisturbed.

Lord Arafinwë seemed to have exhausted his patience for the day -and to be quickly depleting his preserves for the next Age- as he turned and prompted me to continue with my story, which I obligingly did.

“So, your son and I went for a walk,” I said, “and, suddenly, your son tripped over me... and... we both fell in that... BIG MUD POOL,” I added, casting a pointed look at Findekáno, who in return gave me a scowl in a very childish manner. “We... rolled... and... then... your son... kissed... me... and...”

Lord Arafinwë had closed his eyes, fearing what was coming next, and that was the moment the High King felt his clear judgment was required, and decided to join in the conversation.

”And one thing led to another,” he seriously put in “and then the birds and the bees... and now you are here to tell us that you are expecting a baby! Congratulations brother, you’re a grandfather!” he added happily, completely unawares of the effect his words were having upon his audience.

Lord Arafinwë blanched and cast a stunned look from his brother, to his oldest son, to me.

Findekáno was doubling up with laughter, and threatening to fall to the ground and drag his cousin with him, an occurrence I intended to prevent, not completely sure of the honesty of the prince’s intentions.

And what about me? I was astonished. How could a dead drunk elf, I beg your pardon, a dead drunk High King, know of my pregnancy? Was it so clearly written upon my face? I think it was then when I briefly wondered whether Námo and Irmo had also been drunk and their powers were flowing around freely.

When he saw my shock, Lord Arafinwë understood it was true, and he suddenly roared: “Findaráto!”

It was a scaring howl; I did not know such a quiet and calm creature as my lord Arafinwë could utter such a horrifying sound. Obviously, neither his brother nor his nephew nor his oldest son were familiar to this ability of his, for the two first almost jumped out of their skins, while the third blinked tiredly and flashed one of his charming, disarming smiles at us:

“Atar?” he asked, uncertainty in his voice.

To his credit I must say that by that time he was hanging from the neck of his tunic, firmly caught in Findekáno’s strong fist, his head lolling to one side, so his field of vision was not the best for one who returns from the blessed realm of drunken sleep into a world full of elf lords in the peak of their rage. Well, there was only one, but surely in his condition he might be seeing a roomful of them.

Lord Nolofinwë on his part was laughing uncontrollably, openly enjoying that dire situation the perfect prince of the Noldor seemed to have eagerly stepped into. Findaráto, good natured as he’s ever been, smiled courteously at his uncle, and then looked up and gave a wicked grin to his cousin, no doubt remembering something funny, and then he fixed his eyes on me and frowned, as if trying to remember something.

“And…you are...?“ he politely questioned.

That was more than I could bear. We had been hanging around each other for more than ten years of the trees before that evening’s events. How could he pretend he had forgotten? I stood in front of him and claimed:

“You are a disgrace, Findaráto Ingoldo Arafinwion, and this I say to you: You will never be able to bed another woman for as long as you live, and a werewolf will eat you up alive! And you... and you... you’ll never, ever remember what happened this day!” I shouted, completely mad at him.

“Well, that sounds most probable to me...judging from his state,” Findekáno had to put in his invaluable opinion, “but the rest sounded really nasty... and painful too, Amárië... and what's that werewolf thing anyway?”

“You shut up Findekáno! “I yelled at him, and he froze in place at my rage. “We shall still be seeing white flames coming from your head!” I spluttered, while he regarded me with suspicion and even retreated half a step, before honouring his epéssë by stoutly standing his ground, shaking his head and deciding I was mad.

His father and uncle were looking at me, their charming mouths wide open, when a noise caught up our attention: Findaráto had fallen asleep again and was snoring peacefully.

Lord Arafinwë gave a pained sigh and shook his head with resignation. “Come, stand up brother, it is time we went...”

Lord Nolofinwë looked up at his younger brother “went ...where? “

“I don’t know” the other answered, ”but Fëanáro is rallying our people in the square...”

“What do I do with him, Uncle?” Findekáno interrupted, pointing at his cousin, or what was left of him.

“Bring him along,” was Lord Arafinwë´s curt answer. “I hope the wind will wake him... if your half-uncle’s shouts don’t... we'll speak later, my lady” he added, nodding to me.

“Why should I... go... to... where Fëanáro...says?” The High King seemed to have trouble fighting the dense miruvor-induced fog blurring his brain “I... I...am the King...?” he added questioningly

“Because YOU – SWORE – LOYALTY – TO – HIM – AND – PROMISED – TO – FOLLOW – WHEREVER – HE – WOULD - LEAD!” Lord Arafinwë´s patience had finally abandoned him as he stood in front of his brother’s somehow distorted field of vision, marking each word with vicious delight.

With grim satisfaction, he saw panic arising in his brother’s eyes as his words hit home: “I did ... WHAT?” the High King whined.

“Bring heavy, warm cloaks with you my lords, you’ll need them, believe me!” And with that last bout of foresight I bowed and disappeared into the night.

A/N reviews truly appreciated

Sindarin rendition of Quenya names

Arafinwë: Finarfin

Nolofinwë: Fingolfin

Findaráto Ingoldo: Finrod

Findekáno: Fingon

Fëanturi: Námo and Irmo (Mandos and Lórien)

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

EPILOGUE: Our son was born exactly a year later, and he was as blond as his father. With my lord and lady’s permission, I called him Gildor Inglorion, (Ingoldorion sounded too harsh for our taste, we Vanyarin people have an ear for music, you know) He later went to Middle Earth with his grandfather, hoping to find his father and to fight in the War of Wrath, and he liked it there and so he stayed -why am I not surprised- so not until the beginning of the fourth age, when the ring bearers left Middle Earth, did our son return to us and we finally became a happy family.

POST-EPILOGUE: Of course, my husband was complete in all of his relevant parts and in perfect state of operation when returned from Mandos, even his memories were restored, Eru be praised!

POST-POST-EPILOGUE: As it became general knowledge around Valinor some years after this event, the Fëanturi were actually dead drunk that fateful day, and their powers of foresight were freely running around (Hey, I did know! didn’t I?)

What had Manwë to say about this? Well, Irmo could be seen collecting fallen leaves from Estë´s pools for an age, while Námo was honoured with the cleansing of Oromë´s stables for an Age and a half. After all, he was the eldest brother

POST-POST-POST-EPILOGUE: Some years later it was disclosed that the responsible of all that mess had been a young blond elf -who later went to Middle Earth following the host of Turukáno, son of Nolofinwë- who had the great idea of adding a potent liquor and some intoxicating herbs to the drinks that were to be served at the main table.

That explained the different states of drunkenness among the Powers of Arda and many an elf lord and lording on that fateful day. To make matters worse, it was from those drinks that Oromë had refreshment sent to his guards. Need to say more? A pity Melko and Ungoliant did not give it a try...

POST-POST-POST- POST- EPILOGUE: So! You still wonder what Glorfindel did to deserve such an expeditious re-embodiment and urgent shipment back to Middle Earth?

Did you ever think it was a reward?

Do you think Mandos would have forgiven or forgotten after an Age?

A/N Reviews appreciated