1: Here At the End of All Things

Dying did not seem to be the worst of it, as far as Glorfindel was concerned. The blaze of heat that was the Balrog burning his skin off had been bad, true, and he flinched even now at the memory, but on the whole the process of dying had, for him, been mercifully short. There had been no time, really, to think about it, and then it was over.

He remembered falling, the Balrog’s weight upon him, its flames enveloping him even as he continued to fight. He knew a moment of despair at the thought that he had failed his charge to see Idril and young Eärendil to safety, and then the rocks came up and met him and then....

He found himself standing in a dim hall. That was all he really remembered of it. If it contained anything but himself, he could not afterwards say. He only knew one thing — he was no longer in Gondolin.

"NO!" he shrieked in defiant anger. "Let me go back! I have to go back!" He ran towards a door at one end of the hall and tried to open it, but there was no knob on this side. It was smooth and featureless. He pounded on it, shrieking, mindless of anything but the absolute need to return to Gondolin, to see his king’s final orders through. The door remained obstinately shut.

"Glorfindel, Glorfindel, what ever are we to do with you?"

The voice was dark and melodious and Glorfindel recognized it. His screaming stopped and he slid to the floor to sit with his back against the door, shivering with fear.

Fear he had not felt when facing the Balrog.

Fear he had not known when crossing the Helcaraxë.

He looked up through his tears to see Someone standing there looking down at him impassively.

He was tall, taller than the tallest elf, his raven locks long and braided with gems. There was a circlet of silver upon his brow. His eyes were a piercing grey, the shade of wet slate. His velvet robe was the dark blue of a winter sky under which he wore a knee-length tunic of black watered silk trimmed with grey pearls. The sleeves were slashed and under them Glorfindel could see a shirt of whitest lawn. His feet were shod in leather boots that disappeared under the hem of the tunic. He wore no jewelry, save for a single ring on his left hand, an uncut emerald set in mithril.

Glorfindel sat on the floor trembling, awe beginning to replace his earlier anger. He had last seen this Being standing on the shore of Valinor uttering his Doom to the Noldor as they made their way North. He had been much younger then, a member of Turgon’s household, with little knowledge of swords or battles. He remembered the awe he felt at the fell words that Námo, Lord of Mandos, had uttered under the star-strewn night that had replaced the Light of the Trees. He vaguely remembered wanting to go back to Tirion, not wishing to defy the Valar, but Turgon would not budge nor did he give his followers leave to return if they wished. Glorfindel had felt the eyes of the Vala boring into him as he trudged past after Turgon, the guilt he felt weighing heavily on his fëa.

Now that feeling had returned and he quailed at what he was sure would come of those who had defied the Valar. He did not expect to find mercy, nevertheless he found himself attempting to kneel before the august person standing before him, tears streaming down his face, despair in his eyes.

"I’m sorryimsorryimsorry. Pl-please let me go back, please..." He was crying so hard now he could not speak and he did not know what else to do. He refused to look up, shame at his behavior flooding him. He was the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin, one of Turgon’s most trusted advisors and a proven warrior, and here he was blubbering like an elfling and crawling on the floor like one of Morgoth’s slaves.

He felt rather than saw Námo move towards him, crouch down and pull him into his arms. "Hush, child. Shhh. You cannot go back. Your time has come to face the doom of the Valar. Shhh. I know you’re frightened and your fëa is weary yet from battle, but I promise you all will be well."

He felt himself being rocked gently as Námo continued to croon soft words to him until his weeping stilled and a kind of uncaring washed over him. He could not go back, his doom was already decided. Nothing mattered anymore. He didn’t matter anymore.

"It matters more than you think, my son," the Lord of Mandos said softly, kissing the elf’s brow gently. "And you matter a great deal, Child of Ilúvatar, never doubt that. Rest now."

He felt himself being lifted up and then lowered upon a couch. He tried to make sense of what was happening but he was too weary. Námo stroked his face and he felt himself succumbing to the Vala’s ministrations.

"Sleep now, child. Let your fëa find rest. Your doom is not yet at hand."

Glorfindel sighed as he let go of all thought, letting the darkness of death take him at last.

****

Fëa: (Quenya) Spirit, soul.

2: Máhanaxar

Voices woke him, one of them feminine, the sound of bells in her voice.

"...ten years of the Sun have flown. Manwë commands judgment now."

"His fëa is still weary."

Glorfindel recognized the second voice as Námo’s. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to interrupt.

"Weary or not, brother, this judgment is long overdue."

"So be it," the Lord of Mandos intoned after a moment. There was a brief pause. "You may open your eyes now, Glorfindel." Námo’s voice sounded gently amused.

Glorfindel opened his eyes to see Námo and Another standing over him. The Valië was as tall as Námo, her hair as dark, but bound in a glittering net of pearls and black opals. Her eyes were the dark blue of a mountain tarn, calm and deep. She wore a gown of silver mist shot with blue. Námo was dressed much as Glorfindel remembered, save that the outer robe now matched the color of his companion’s dress. They were both smiling.

Glorfindel became acutely aware of where he was and how he had gotten there and he started to panic. The Valië laughed and sat on the edge of the couch, stroking the elf’s golden locks.

"You have no need to fear, hinya. Come. You have been summoned."

Fear shot through him at those words. Fear and guilt. He must have made some noise of protest or denial for Námo stepped forward and put a finger to the elf’s lips, his expression stern.

"None of that, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower."

The sound of his title on the Vala’s lips steadied him and he nodded. Námo held out his hand and he and his companion helped the elf to stand. Glorfindel felt weak and disoriented. It did not help that no sooner had he stood than he found himself...elsewhere.

His first impression was spaciousness. He was in a ring, a ring made of thrones, twelve of them occupied. He had a confused sense of the Valar gazing at him in implacable silence and he shivered. One of them finally spoke, the echo of the First Song in his voice.

"My brother Námo, my sister Estë, welcome."

Glorfindel looked up into the fathomless eyes of Manwë and his fëa quailed at the Elder King’s regard. He felt Námo’s arms tighten around him in support, his strong presence a calming influence on the elf’s battered senses.

"This is the Balrog-slayer?" Manwë asked, though Glorfindel suspected he already knew the answer.

Námo nodded. "He is, my lord."

"Then let the judgment commence."

Glorfindel suddenly found himself standing in the midst of the Máhanaxar alone, for Námo and Estë had moved at the speed of thought and now sat on their own thrones. Glorfindel had just enough time to note the grave expression on Námo’s face before an onslaught of memories assailed him.

He had no conscious memory of falling to the ground as the Valar forced him to relive every moment of his life. He lay there, his eyes open but unseeing. Every memory was carefully sifted, layers of falsehood and self-delusion stripped away, leaving only unvarnished truth — cold and unforgiving. He never heard himself screaming "Emmë! Emmë!" at one particular memory. Estë left her throne and went to him, cradling him in her arms as he sobbed inconsolably. The other Valar sat impassively, waiting. For long moments only the elf’s weeping was heard. Námo’s expression was still grim but his eyes held an infinity of sorrow in them. Manwë’s expression was thoughtful and sympathetic.

When Glorfindel’s sobbing had slowed, the Elder King spoke. "Let us continue."

Glorfindel clutched at Estë, whimpering. "No, please, no," he implored.

Estë stroked his hair and held him tightly as the interrogation began anew. He never knew how long it lasted, never knew the patience with which the Valar examined his every thought and motive, never knew the infinite love with which they treated him, for love, not hate, was the motivating factor in all that the Valar did there within the Ring of Doom.

And while the Valar took care to examine every memory, it seemed to the elf that they lingered over some more than others — the day he rose to the lordship of the House of the Golden Flower, his proudest moment; giving his fealty to Turgon; the coming of Tuor to Gondolin. Glorfindel had listened to the Man’s message with wonder and trepidation, but he had not dared question Turgon’s decision to ignore Ulmo’s warning. He was too new to the lordship of his House and felt his counsel would be unwelcome. The Valar seemed particularly interested in every memory he had of Eärendil, from the time of his birth to the night of Glorfindel’s death. He sensed a feeling of satisfaction over young Eärendil emanating from the Valar that he did not understand.

At last the pressure of their minds eased and now Námo joined Estë in the center of the Ring. He knelt down beside the elf, wrapping his arms around him.

"It’s over now, my son," he whispered. "Shh. There’s nothing to fear. Just one thing is needed. Open your eyes, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel shook his head and tried to curl into a ball, but Námo only laughed and several of the Valar smiled. Námo stood up, forcing Glorfindel to follow. "Open your eyes, child."

Reluctantly, Glorfindel did and found himself facing the Elder King. Manwë beckoned to him, his expression not unkindly.

"Come to me, son of Gondolin."

Námo gave the elf a little push and Glorfindel half stumbled towards Manwë’s throne but stopped several feet away wondering if he was supposed to bow or kneel and afraid that if he did either he would faint from the effort.

"Closer, my son," Manwë said with infinite tenderness.

Glorfindel gulped and took a few more hesitant steps until he was standing directly before the Elder King. For a long moment Manwë gazed intently at the golden-haired elf and Glorfindel found he could not look away, as much as he wanted to. Finally, Manwë smiled and reached out with his right hand and touched the elf’s forehead. A light seemed to emanate from that hand and slowly, ever so slowly, it spread.

Glorfindel gasped. A warmth that was almost physical began to spread through his fëa and the light from Manwë’s hand seemed to search out every corner of darkness within him. The shadows of his doubts and fears were shredded and the fruits of his sins withered before the pure light of Ilúvatar which Manwë channeled.

Glorfindel found himself closing his eyes and moaning as ecstasy that went beyond the sexual flooded him and he was not aware of collapsing into Námo’s arms. He barely heard Manwë’s words.

"Take him, my brother. He has earned his rest."

Then he was back in the hall in which he had first found himself. Námo led him back to the sleeping couch and he fell gratefully into it with a sigh. He felt Námo’s hand on his forehead.

"Sleep now, Glorfindel. The worst is over. All shall be well for you. Sleep and rest. You are safe now. When you awaken again, things will be different."

He struggled to remain awake for some perverse reason but Námo’s words were too powerful to ignore and soon he was asleep. He never knew that Námo stood watching over him for the longest time, a smile gracing his visage, or that several of the Maiar who tended those dwelling in Mandos ranged themselves around his couch, singing softly an ancient lullaby.

****

Máhanaxar: (Quenya) The Ring of Doom.

Hinya: (Quenya) My child; a contraction of hinanya.

Emmë: (Quenya) Mama; finger play-name for amillë "mother".

3: Return to Innocence

How long he slept, Glorfindel could not say. Sometimes he would waken — for a few minutes or a few days, he was never sure — finding himself surrounded by Maiar who spoke soft words of peace and comfort, then he would fall asleep again, feeling safe and loved. Twice that he remembered he woke up screaming. The second time Námo was there, cradling him until he fell asleep again. Eventually he found himself staying awake longer and longer as his fëa grew stronger, the memory of his judgment before the Valar fading. He had ceased to remember dying at all.

A time came when he began to take an interest in his actual surroundings. The chamber in which he slept was not overly large, containing nothing more than his sleeping couch. There were two doors, but one had no knob and could not be opened. Glorfindel was drawn to the door for some reason he could not fathom. He stared at it curiously, running his hands over its smooth surface, but when one of the Maiar led him gently away, he went willingly and soon forgot about it.

The other door proved more interesting, for when he opened it he found himself in a wide hall lined with tapestries and, even better, there were other elves wandering about. He glanced at his attendant Maia in surprise but she only smiled and nodded, pushing the golden-haired elf out the door with a gentle nudge.

"Go play," she said softly.

Glorfindel stood hesitantly for a moment watching the other ellyn and ellith as they interacted with one another. Most stood around one tapestry or another speaking softly, gesturing. Others danced or sang. One or two stood alone, watching.

One such saw Glorfindel and came over to greet him. He was golden-haired as well, but where Glorfindel’s eyes were grey, his were a startling blue. The ellon smiled. "Mai omentaina. My name is Findaráto, but I prefer to be called Finrod. What’s your name?"

Glorfindel smiled shyly back. "Glorfindel. My name is Glorfindel."

"Would you like to be friends?"

Glorfindel nodded and when Finrod held out his hand he took it and the two ellyn walked hand-in-hand through the hall talking amiably, or at least Finrod did the talking while Glorfindel listened. Finrod seemed familiar to him but he couldn’t place it and eventually decided it didn’t matter. He was just happy that he had found a friend so quickly. Finrod stopped occasionally and introduced some of the other elves to Glorfindel.

"This is Beleg and this is Finduilas and this is Saeros," Finrod motioned to three elves to join him and Glorfindel. Finduilas smiled warmly and the other two ellyn greeted Glorfindel with glad cries.

"Would you like to play with us?" Saeros asked. "We’re playing catch-me. You can be It, if you like."

Glorfindel looked at Finrod, who nodded encouragement. "Thank you," Glorfindel said. "I would like that."

Finduilas laughed and to Glorfindel’s surprise grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a kiss on the lips before darting away. "Catch me if you can, Glorfi."

The other ellyn all laughed and began to scatter as Glorfindel followed after the elleth who stayed teasingly out of reach. How long they played, Glorfindel never knew. Sometimes it seemed as if they had always been playing. Finduilas eventually allowed him to catch her and the two tumbled on the floor laughing. The other ellyn soon joined them in a free-for-all that ended with all of them suddenly falling asleep in a heap. Their Maiar attendants all chuckled at the sight and rejoiced that these Children, so hurt and broken, had found laughter and friendship again.

It took them some time, though, to sort out the fëar and return them to their respective sleeping chambers.

****

After that the five of them were nearly inseparable. They often played together, danced and sang together or just sat quietly enjoying each other’s company. Sometimes other ellyn and ellith joined them for merrymaking, but more often than not, they were left to themselves. Often enough their attendants would find them sleeping in a huddle after a strenuous game of catch-me. It annoyed Glorfindel to find himself waking up in his chamber with no memory of having fallen asleep in the first place. The Maiar would assure him that it was only to be expected and that eventually he would be able to stay awake for longer periods of time.

Only one thing marred Glorfindel’s happiness during this time. He was wandering the corridors that were their playground by himself when he came upon a solitary elleth. She seemed strangely familiar to him, and when she told him her name was Elenwë, something in him quailed and a flash of memory, of eternal white and cold and the sudden cracking of ice as someone screamed, crossed his mind and he cried out, much to Elenwë’s horror.

At once several Maiar were there. One took Glorfindel in his arms and held him, crooning softly until the ellon calmed down. The others led Elenwë away, assuring the now weeping elleth that it was not her fault and that all would be well. She was taken to her sleeping chamber and fell asleep and when she woke again she no longer remembered the strange encounter with the golden-haired ellon. Glorfindel, too, was eased of the memory until such time as he was ready to face it. He never saw Elenwë in the Halls of Mandos again.

Whenever Glorfindel woke from his slumber his first thought was to find his new friends and the Maiar encouraged him with glad smiles. Usually they were all there waiting for him but one time he found only Finrod. Glorfindel felt unaccountably sad when he could not see Finduilas anywhere.

"They’re still sleeping," Finrod said sympathetically in explanation. "I’ve been here the longest, so I don’t need to sleep as much. Let’s go explore." Finrod held out his hand and Glorfindel took it and the two ellyn began to wander through the various corridors.

Often they would stop before a particularly arresting tapestry, wondering what the picture might mean. Most of the time they found themselves in the company of other elves but at one point they wandered down a dim corridor where none other walked. The corridor ended abruptly and they found themselves staring at a large tapestry that sent chills through Glorfindel’s fëa. There was a seven-tiered city burning in the background while in the foreground a golden-haired elf fought against a creature of flame and shadow. The picture disturbed Glorfindel in a way he could not understand and he found himself shaking, tears running down his face. Finrod tried to lead the ellon away, for he realized that this tapestry had something to do with his new friend. He remembered how he had reacted to a certain tapestry himself.

"Please come away, Glorfindel," Finrod pleaded but Glorfindel could not move and began weeping even harder.

Suddenly, a Presence was felt and Finrod turned to see the Lord of Mandos standing there looking at them with concern.

"Children, what are you doing here? This is no place for you." He scooped Glorfindel up into his arms as if he were no bigger than an elfling of ten summers and Glorfindel clutched at the Vala, weeping. "Shh, little one. It’s time you were abed. Say good-bye to your friend, for it is time for Findaráto to leave and walk with his atar in Eldamar."

"B-but I don’t want Finrod to leave," Glorfindel stammered through his tears and Námo laughed.

"I’m afraid that can’t be helped, hinya. It is time for the son of Arafinwë to join his atar in Life."

Finrod stood there looking stunned and not a little afraid. Námo gave the one-time King of Nargothrond an encouraging smile.

"W-will we still be friends?" Glorfindel asked doubtfully.

Finrod smiled tremulously. "We will always be friends, meldo."

"B-but we’ll never see each other again," the younger ellon wailed, for he had long ceased to remember living in the hröa and could not imagine being anywhere than where he was.

Now it was Finrod’s turn to laugh. "Nay, titta hánonya. We will see each other soon. Namárië." He leaned over and planted a kiss on Glorfindel’s forehead.

"Namárië," Glorfindel echoed sadly and then Finrod was simply not there. Glorfindel sobbed and nestled further into Námo’s embrace and then he was being lowered onto his sleeping couch.

"Do not be sad, yonya," Námo said sympathetically. "You will see your friend again, and sooner than you think. Sleep now and awaken refreshed once again."

And with the sound of the Lord of Mandos singing softly as he stroked the ellon’s hair, Glorfindel fell asleep.

****

Words are Quenya unless otherwise noted.

Ellyn: (Sindarin) Male elves, plural of ellon.

Ellith: (Sindarin) Female elves, plural of elleth.

Mai omentaina: Well met; the Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin Mae govannen.

Atar: Father.

Meldo: Friend.

Hröa: Body.

Titta hánonya: My little brother.

Namárië: Farewell.

Yonya: My son; a contraction of yondonya.

Historical Note on the First Age: Finrod died in 468. Finduilas, Finrod’s great-niece, died in 495 when Nargothrond was sacked. She is the daughter of Orodreth, son of Finrod’s brother Angrod. Saeros died in 482 from a fall into the chasm of a river as he fled from Túrin's wrath. Beleg was accidently killed by Túrin, probably within a year or two after the death of Saeros. Glorfindel died in 512.

4: Progress Reports

"How is he doing, Olórin?" Námo asked.

The Maia turned with a smile and bowed briefly to his lord. "Glorfindel does well enough, lord."

The two were standing unobtrusively to one side of the Mardi Envinyato watching the elves at play. Those who wandered through these particular Halls were destined to be Reborn, though for many that would be years, even centuries, from now. It did not matter. The Children knew nothing of Time in these Halls and the Valar and Maiar had no need for it, save as a convenience.

Námo reflected sadly on another part of his domain, a place for those who would never be allowed re-embodiment until Arda was Renewed. It was no less beautiful and peaceful than these Halls of light and laughter, but it was truly a prison rather than a place of temporary repose for weary fëar. And those who walked those halls walked alone.

He shook his head as if to clear it of such dark thoughts and turned his attention to the scene around him. Glorfindel sat with a group of ellyn and ellith singing. It was a silly song, fit for elflings, but these grown elves, now restored to innocence, found it amusing. There was much laughter mixed with the singing and Námo smiled as he listened to the words.

      "Here’s to singing, dancing and laughing,

      here’s to loving, friendship and sleeping.

      I don’t know which of these I like best,

      But after the dancing I do need to rest."

Olórin chuckled. "Glorfindel has not needed to rest for nigh two years of the Sun, my lord. I think he is ready to move on."

"Perhaps, but not quite." Námo watched as a door to one of the sleeping chambers off the Hall opened. The door itself had not existed before that moment for the occupants of the room beyond had not been ready to join their fellow elves in the Halls. Námo saw two ellyn step out hesitantly, one of Olórin’s brethren standing behind them with an arm around their shoulders, offering them his support. The ellyn looked very much alike and were obviously twins. They appeared much younger than most of the elves around them.

Námo sighed. He had hesitated to bring these two here. Normally elflings who died were housed in their own Halls, the Mardi Winiron, where their fëar were allowed to mature to adulthood before they were released. These two however were different and they would prove important to Glorfindel’s own healing. He also hoped Glorfindel would be instrumental in helping the twins to recover from the trauma that had brought them to Mandos.

Vala and Maia watched as Glorfindel looked up and noticed the newcomers. He rose gracefully from the floor and walked over to the ellyn. They were probably only thirty years old and they looked scared, clutching each other’s hand.

"Mae govannen, pennith. My name is Glorfindel," the golden-haired elf said with great gentleness. Glorfindel vaguely noticed that he always seemed to know which language should be spoken to newcomers, whether Quenya or Sindarin. He did not really question it, but it was there in the back of his mind and he sometimes wondered how he knew.

The Maia standing behind the twins smiled warmly at the former Balrog slayer. "Mae govannen, Glorfindel. These are Elurín and Eluréd. They’ve recently arrived. They could use a good friend. Would you like to be their friend?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Oh yes. That is if it’s all right with you two."

The twins glanced up at the Maia as if seeking reassurance and Calimo nodded, offering the elflings his warmest smile. As one they returned their gaze to Glorfindel, then one of them, Glorfindel couldn’t remember which, reached out and took the older elf’s hand.

"Come. Let’s play," Glorfindel said with an encouraging smile.

The twins smiled and after introducing them to Beleg, Saeros, Finduilas and a few others with whom Glorfindel often played, they were soon all running around in a vigorous game of catch-me. Before long Námo was pleased to see the twin sons of Dior laughing and shrieking with the rest, though they never let go of each other’s hands. When most of the elves, including the twins, collapsed into a heap fast asleep, only Glorfindel and one or two others were still awake. As the Maiar attendants began sorting out fëar, Námo saw Glorfindel sitting beside the sleeping forms of the twins, singing to them softly the same lullaby Námo had sung to him once upon a time.

****

"And how is our Balrog-slayer these days, brother?" Manwë asked as he and Námo stood on the balcony of the main audience chamber of the Valar on Taniquetil. They were enjoying the view of Anar rising above the ocean as dawn came to Aman.

Námo chuckled. "He’s become quite the mother hen where Dior’s sons are concerned. And the twins follow him around like chicks."

Manwë chuckled, his eyes glowing with amusement at the image his brother sent him.

"Good, good," he said and winked. "He needs the practice."

The two Valar laughed.

"Will you be releasing him soon?"

Námo shook his head. "Normally, yes, but I feel he needs more time, as do the twins. Their deaths were particularly gruesome..." He grimaced, unable to complete the thought even to himself. Dior’s sons had not died easily nor quickly and their fëar had come to him in such pain and horror that he had wept to see them. It was especially terrible that these were children who had died without any comprehension of what was happening to them or why.

Their Maiar attendants had done their best but the twins proved unresponsive, refusing to be loved, refusing to play with the other children, refusing to be comforted, and refusing to be parted from one another. They had died hand-in-hand; they weren’t about to let death separate them even for a second.

Glorfindel had "adopted" them immediately, sensing their need without understanding its source. He had matured himself in the intervening years since his own death, though he did not realize it. His fëa glowed now with the memory of the Light of the Two Trees, though he had ceased to remember that time while dwelling in these Halls. He was often the first to greet newcomers, much as his friend Finrod had, and was quick to intervene when some of the ellyn and ellith became "overly excited" as Olórin had once put it with a twinkle in his eyes, for while these were adult elves, they had had their innocence restored and were learning again how to be children, and children were often selfish. One of the tasks of the Maiar was to lead these innocent ones on the path to true maturity. Only when they had achieved it were they then ready to be Reborn.

"Findaráto pines for his friend," Manwë said casually, "and chafes at the seeming delay."

"Many of the Children chafe at the seeming delay of the release of their loved ones," Námo commented with a lift of an eyebrow. "Why has Finrod’s impatience drawn the interest of the Elder King?"

"Not just my beloved’s interest, but mine as well."

The two Valar turned to see Varda standing there, smiling at them, the light of the living stars wreathed above her head undimmed by the glow of the Sun. Námo noticed the looks that passed between the other two Valar as Varda joined them on the balcony though he was not privy to their silent communication. It was rare that any of the other Valar, even Manwë, ever questioned or interfered with his decisions as to who would be released and when. He wondered what made this situation different.

"Would either of you care to explain?" he said with an ironic smile.

Manwë turned to the Lord of Mandos with his own smile. "Events are happening in the outside world that require our attention. Both Finrod and Glorfindel are destined to play pivotal roles in the affairs of Arda, though only one will return to Middle-earth. You know this. We have all seen it."

Námo nodded. "Yes, but the time is not yet right. Release Glorfindel too soon and it will all be for naught."

"Arafinwë is concerned," Varda said with a slight sigh. "His son does not attend to his duties as he should, pining for his friend. Every time the Andondi Entulessëo are opened, he is there looking vainly for one he loves as a brother."

Námo sighed, then nodded. "Send Finrod to me."

****

Finrod stood nervously before the silent Vala, his heart in his throat. The summons by Námo, Lord of Mandos, had frightened him and he had feared he was being sent back to be Unhoused again for some reason. His atar had assured him that this was not the case, but looking at the grave expression on the Vala’s face, Finrod was not so sure.

As if divining the ellon’s thoughts, Námo’s visage lightened somewhat. "There is nothing to fear, my son. Come and sit by me."

Námo motioned towards a bench and sat. The ellon hesitated for a moment before complying, sitting stiffly beside the Vala. They were in one of the gardens of Lórien where Námo’s brother Irmo ruled. The scent of honeysuckle and roses mingled heavily in the air. Butterflies flitted about in lazy patterns and birds sang quietly as if reluctant to disturb the peace of the place overmuch.

Námo placed a hand on Finrod’s back and began to unobtrusively rub it in an attempt to calm him. Slowly the peace of the gardens and Námo’s ministrations brought Finrod to a more relaxed state and he visibly sighed as tension left his body.

"That’s better," Námo said with a smile and Finrod returned it with a sheepish smile of his own.

"You are concerned for your friend, aren’t you?" Námo asked gently.

Finrod looked at the Vala in surprise, then nodded, not trusting himself to speak, too overwhelmed by emotions he only half understood. He remembered his time in the Halls of Renewal very clearly, though he never spoke of them to anyone, not even to his atar and amillë, too embarrassed at the memory of how like an elfling he had acted, playing silly games and falling suddenly asleep as babies were wont to do. He also remembered his friendship with Glorfindel and wished they could be reunited in Life.

"You must not fear for Glorfindel," Námo said. "He is well and happy. He misses you, too, but he has made new friends and has begun to take on new responsibilities. As must you, son of Arafinwë. It is why you were released from my care. Do not make me regret that decision by your neglect of those duties."

This last was said somewhat sternly and Finrod quailed inside and gulped. "I’m sorry," he whispered, feeling very much the elfling, tears beginning to roll down his face. He had noticed since his return to Aman how much he still reacted as if he were only thirty. His amillë had assured him that that was just a consequence of being Reborn and that, as he became used to being re-embodied, he would gain greater control over his emotions.

It had not happened yet, and he feared it never would.

Námo smiled sympathetically and wiped the tears from Finrod’s face with a gentle finger. "Now, no tears, child. You will see your friend soon. You and he will have many years together, just like before."

"Pr-promise?" he blurted out unthinkingly and then flushed in mortification. He was the one-time King of Nargothrond and son of the King of the Noldor and here he was sounding like an elfling again. He felt himself plunging into a state of despair.

Námo merely laughed, gathered this beloved Child in his arms and kissed him on the brow. "Promise."

That simple gesture gave Finrod great pleasure and he sighed contentedly as he allowed himself to be held in the Vala’s arms. Memories of another time and place flooded him and he found himself falling asleep with the sound of Námo singing a well-known lullaby.

When he awoke, it was to find himself back in his own bed in his atar’s house, his favorite stuffed animal from when he truly had been an elfling snuggled in his arms.

****

Glorfindel was resting in his sleeping chamber, his mind beginning to drift. It was the first time in a long time that he had felt the need for sleep, but in truth the twins wore him out. He chuckled at the thought. Not that he minded. They were adorable elflings and he felt fiercely protective of them. They had been so scared when they had come to the Halls and Glorfindel and the others had taken great pains to ease them of their fears. Being so young, the twins still slept often and their playtime was generally shorter in comparison to the adults’. Glorfindel had decided to take advantage of this and was resting himself.

His eyes were nearly glazing over as he slipped onto the Path of Dreams, for he no longer slept involuntarily, when Vanimeldë, one of his Maiar attendants, appeared and shook him gently.

"Wake up Glorfindel."

Glorfindel started, his eyes focusing. "What’s wrong?"

"Come. You are needed," was all the Maia would say and Glorfindel found himself being gently but firmly pulled from his bed. He followed the Maia out into the Hall where she led him to another door which opened silently before they reached it.

Glorfindel stopped, suddenly feeling afraid and uncertain. It seemed to be an unwritten rule, never questioned, that none entered another’s sleeping chamber. In all the time Glorfindel had dwelt in Mandos he had never known any but the Maiar to enter his own chamber and now he was being led to the sleeping chamber of another and he did not know why.

Vanimeldë took his arm and made him come with her. "Fear not, my elfling. All is well. Lord Námo requires your assistance."

Glorfindel looked at the Maia in wonder and allowed himself to be led into the chamber without further protest. Inside he immediately noticed an over-large sleeping couch where Elurín and Eluréd lay together. Two other Maiar — one of them Calimo, the other, Olórin — were there as was Námo himself. The Lord of Mandos was sitting on the edge of the couch attempting to calm the two writhing figures lying there, their hands entwined, their eyes closed and their mouths open. They were obviously screaming, though only strained whimpers could be heard. Nothing the Lord of Mandos did could bring them out of the nightmare that held them enthralled.

Námo saw Glorfindel standing hesitantly at the doorway and motioned with his hand. "Come, child. You are needed."

"What’s wrong, sir? Why do they not waken?" Glorfindel asked as he approached the bed.

"I do not know, but I think you may be able to help me bring them out of their nightmare."

"How?"

Námo smiled warmly. "That is for you to decide, my son. Do as you think best."

For a long moment Glorfindel stood there staring at the pathetic scene before him. The twins were obviously in pain as the terror of the nightmare they seemed to be sharing held them. Pity swept through his fëa and he felt himself weeping at the sight. Unaware of what he was doing, he crawled onto the bed, practically climbing over Námo to do so, much to the Vala’s amusement. He tried to lie down between the twins but their interlocked hands would not allow him to. So, instead, he knelt between their legs, laid a hand on each of their chests and began to rub them gently as he sang a lullaby.

Námo sat perfectly still and the Maiar standing around them did not move. Slowly, the twins ceased their writhing and their mouths closed. Glorfindel did not stop his ministrations, nor his song, but continued both, singing the words of the lullaby over and over again for what seemed like years to him. He felt his arms grow heavy but he did not stop. At last, with a sigh, both twins fell into real sleep, their faces peaceful once again.

Glorfindel slowed his rubbing and sang the final verses of the lullaby in a whisper. He leaned over and gently kissed each twin on the forehead. "I love you," he whispered to each. "I always will."

He did not think they actually heard him in their sleep and he was about to climb out of the bed when he heard a small gasp from one of the Maiar and turned back to see the hands that had always been entwined slowly open up. He glanced at Námo in wonder and with a question in his eyes. The Lord of Mandos nodded slightly, smiling, and Glorfindel found himself smiling back. Then he moved the twins’ arms enough to settle himself between them. Instinctively, the twins, who never woke, rolled towards him until they lay nestled in his arms, fingers now entwined in Glorfindel’s golden locks.

Glorfindel was never aware of the Maiar leaving them, so enthralled was he by the emotions that swept over him as "his elflings" snuggled against him in complete trust. He looked up with tears shining in his eyes to see the Lord of Mandos smiling down at him.

Námo leaned down and kissed Glorfindel’s brow, stroking his head. "I think you’ll do," he whispered, his heart full of gladness at the knowledge that these three Children in his keeping were making great progress towards healing.

****

Words are Quenya unless otherwise noted.

Mardi Envinyato: Halls of Renewal/Healing.

Mae govannen, pennith: (Sindarin) Well met, younglings.

Mardi Winiron: Halls of Babes; literally, "Halls of Children not yet fully grown".

Andondi Entulessëo: The Great Gates of Return in Lórien, where those released from Mandos are greeted by their loved ones.

Amillë: Mother.

Historical Note: Eluréd and Elurín, twin sons of Dior and Nimloth of Doriath, were born in 500 and died in 507 when Doriath was sacked, thus they would have been the equivalent of 4 years old in human terms.

5: Endings and Beginnings

Time passed, or didn’t...

Glorfindel continued to play with the twins, who now were willing to hold onto his hands, one on each side of him, rather than cling to each other as before. The sight of the sons of Dior running around separately cheered everyone who saw them, Eldar and Maiar alike. The light of their own fëar began to strengthen and Glorfindel was sure that they were maturing quickly.

"They still have many years before they are ready to leave Mandos," Olórin told him when he mentioned it to the Maia after seeing the twins to their sleeping chamber. "Soon they will be returned to the Mardi Winiron with the other elflings."

The thought saddened the golden-haired elf, for he had become quite fond of the twins and hated the idea of being apart from them. Olórin looked at him with sympathy. "It is for the best, you know. They really need to be with other children their own age and learn what they need in order to mature into the fine adults that Eru meant for them to be."

Glorfindel nodded, still not convinced. "I know. It’s just..."

The Maia smiled gently and put an arm around the elf to comfort him. "Eluréd and Elurín were brought here for a specific purpose. You helped them to open up to others, to trust others beyond themselves. Now it is time for them to go forward, as it is time for you as well."

Glorfindel started and looked at the Maia with some trepidation. "What...?"

"Oh, not immediately," the Maia assured him, "but soon it will be time for you to be Reborn. Fear not," he added at the stricken look on the elf’s face. "I will be there to aid you. I have asked Lord Námo's permission to be your chief attendant and he has agreed."

"Wh-when...?"

Olórin shook his head. "You will know when the time is proper. Now, go and play and worry not."

The Maia gave Glorfindel a slight push and the elf reluctantly complied. Soon, though, he ceased to think or worry about the Maia’s words and spent the next few hours, or it could have been days or years, singing and dancing with Finduilas, Saeros, Beleg and his other friends while he waited for the twins to waken once again.

****

A time came when Glorfindel found himself alone with the twins as they wandered through the Halls, Eluréd and Elurín chattering away. Glorfindel let them for they had said little when they had first arrived at the Halls and now they were joking and singing and it made Glorfindel glad to hear their sweet voices. They came to a dim corridor that ended at a door. It had no knob and they had turned around and taken several steps back up the corridor when they felt a Presence and looked back to see the Lord of Mandos standing there. The twins moved closer to Glorfindel, their expressions wary. Námo smiled.

"Tolo hí, hîn nîn," he said quietly, holding out his hands and after a moment’s hesitation the twins complied. Námo took their hands in his and led them back to the door.

"Open it," he said and the twins looked up at him in surprise.

"B-but there’s no knob," Eluréd said, his expression fearful as he dared to contradict the Lord of Mandos.

Námo merely smiled. "It’s there but you have to look for it."

"Wh-why do we have to look for it?" Elurín asked almost as fearfully.

Námo knelt between the twins, capturing their eyes with his, his face somber. "It is time for you to return to your proper Hall, my precious ones. This door will take you there, but only you can open it."

Now the twins looked stricken and they glanced up at Glorfindel who had remained silent, knowing somehow that this was as it should be.

"B-but we don’t want to leave Gl-glorfi," Eluréd protested and they both began to cry.

Glorfindel moved then and gathered the twins in his embrace. "And I don’t want you to leave, either, but you must. Lord Námo is correct, it is time you returned to where you belong."

"We w-want to st-stay with you," Elurín blubbered.

Námo pulled the twins gently from Glorfindel’s embrace and gathered them into his own arms. "But Glorfindel is not staying either."

Now all three elves looked at the Vala with amazement. Glorfindel felt something cold settle inside him. "I-I’m not?"

Námo looked at the older elf with a sympathetic smile. "It is time for you to leave these Halls, my son. Time for you to return to Life."

For a moment Glorfindel could only stare at the Vala and then he nodded slowly, recognizing the truth of Námo’s words. He looked at the twins and smiled a bit tremulously. "Then it’s a good thing you are leaving too, isn’t it?"

"Come," Námo said, standing up again. "Open the door, my children and face your destinies."

He turned them to face the door and then with some reluctance the twins began to feel the smooth wood, looking for a knob they were convinced wasn’t there. Glorfindel almost wished they wouldn’t find one, and then, Elurín gave a soft exclamation.

"I can feel something!" he cried.

Námo nodded, a pleased smile on his face. "Turn it to the right, but you both must turn it."

The elflings did as they were told and Glorfindel heard an audible click and then the door swung open by itself. Beyond was nothing but a bright light, but he could hear the faint laughter of children somewhere in the distance. The twins looked at the light in wonder and shrank back towards Glorfindel who moved to place a protective arm around their shoulders.

"Do not be afraid, my children," came the calm voice of the Vala from behind them, deep and melodious and full of bells. "Go and know only joy."

Glorfindel gave them both a squeeze of encouragement then bent down and kissed them on their brows in farewell.

"Namárië, Eluréd. Namárië, Elurín."

The twins hugged him wordlessly and then hand-in-hand stepped through the door into the light. The door closed behind them without a sound and Glorfindel found himself weeping. Námo came and placed a consoling hand on his shoulder.

"They are happy now as they have never been," he said quietly. "You helped them to be so."

Glorfindel nodded and wiped the tears from his face and turned to face the Vala. "What happens now, lord?"

Námo looked at the elf gravely and said, "Turn around."

Glorfindel did and was surprised to find that the door was no longer there. In its place was a tapestry, one that struck familiar chords in him. It was the tapestry of the seven-tiered city burning while a golden-haired elf faced a creature of flame and shadow. Glorfindel stared at it for the longest time, dread beginning to fill him.

"Th-that’s me, isn’t it? Th-that’s how I died."

"Yes, child. That is how you died. You have forgotten much about your former life dwelling here in Mandos, but now it is time to remember."

"Why have I forgotten?" Glorfindel asked, looking perplexed.

"Because you needed time for your fëa to heal. More than just your physical body was destroyed, Glorfindel. Something of your fëa also was lost. The time spent in these Halls has been for the purpose of regaining what was lost so that you could leave here whole."

"Wh-what did I lose?" Glorfindel asked as he continued staring at the tapestry before him.

For a long moment Námo did not speak. "The ability to love another and to let them go," he finally said with as much gentleness as he could.

The ellon shuddered, not knowing what the Vala meant, but afraid to ask. Námo knew what was going through the elf’s mind and made him turn around and face him.

"When you came here," he said quietly, "your only thought was to go back, to fulfill your oath to protect Idril and Eärendil. You could not accept the fact that they were no longer your responsibility. You had done your part, but you could not let go. The time you have spent dwelling in these Halls has been given over to teaching you how to let go. You showed that you have learned that lesson with the twins just now."

Glorfindel thought over the Vala’s words for long moments. Finally he spoke. "H-how long have I been here?"

Námo chuckled, well aware of the real question the ellon wished to ask. "You have been here as long as it was necessary, no more and no less. You took as much time as you needed to learn your lessons. There is no shame for the length of time that it took. Others may have learned their lessons sooner but all learn what they need to learn in the time they need to learn it. You have been a very good pupil and I am very proud of you."

Glorfindel leaned against the Vala, hiding his face and giving a small sob. Námo put his arms around him and began to rock him slowly. "Hush now, my son. This is not a time for tears, but a time to rejoice. You are ready to rejoin the Living, to enter into the life that Eru always meant for you to have. There will be much heartache, true, but also much joy. You were meant for Life, child, not Death."

He stroked the ellon’s hair and crooned softly until the elf had calmed. "That’s better."

Glorfindel found he had one more question. "W-will it hurt?" he asked shyly, suddenly feeling very foolish, but Námo merely laughed and kissed him gently on the forehead.

"Let’s find out." With that a great weariness fell upon Glorfindel and he found himself slipping into darkness. He was not aware when Olórin appeared and took him into his arms, then walked through the tapestry to what lay beyond.

****

Tolo hí, hîn nîn: (Sindarin) Come here, my children.

6: Awakening

Author’s Note: This chapter is inspired, but not dictated, by Nilmandra’s description of Glorfindel’s re-embodiment in her story History Lesson: Second Age, particularly, chapter 3, "Visions of Danger" and chapter 7, "Healing".

****

Weight was the first thing that he noticed, a heaviness that he could not place. His thoughts were sluggish and he could not seem to move. Panic seized him and he surprised himself with the mewling sound that came from his throat. He opened his eyes and suddenly realized he had eyes to open. In Mandos his fëa had retained the memories of the hröa and its functionings and had imitated them out of habit, but this was real.

He closed his eyes again, not only for the sheer wonder of being able to do so, but because the light that surrounded him hurt. He instinctively cringed and felt a gentle hand on his cheek.

"Welcome back, Glorfindel."

He knew that voice, or thought he did, but memory was slow to sort itself out and he could not put a name to it. Soft laughter floated about him.

"All in good time, child. Now open your eyes. That’s it... open them," the voice said encouragingly and Glorfindel slowly complied.

The light, that had seemed so overwhelming at first, was less bright this time and he could see the one caressing his face. It was a Maia. His features were familiar but Glorfindel still could not remember a name and he felt himself becoming agitated at the thought.

"Hush now," the Maia said gently. "There’s no need for that. My name is Olórin."

Olórin. Yes, that was the name and it was as if a door opened in his mind and he remembered his time in Mandos and seeing Olórin there, caring for him, guiding him, comforting him. He smiled, or thought he did. His fine motor control seemed a bit off.

Olórin laughed. "Don’t worry, child, your fëa and hröa are still getting reacquainted. Soon you will be able to move around again, and speak again. There’s no rush. Take all the time you need."

Glorfindel wanted to nod his understanding but the best he could manage was a slight twitch. The Maia seemed to understand his intent and nodded in response.

"Good, good. Now it is time for you to sleep again. When you awaken I think you will find things have much improved for you."

With that Glorfindel suddenly found it too difficult to keep his eyes open and he closed them almost in relief, plunging back into sleep with a grateful sigh.

****

He woke several times after that, each for longer and longer periods. He was reminded of the early days of his time in Mandos when all he seemed to do was sleep and Olórin assured him that this was a normal consequence of re-embodiment.

"Your fëa and hröa have been long separated," Olórin told him. "It will take time for them to learn to work together."

Every time he woke, he noticed that he had better control over his body. He still could not sit up without help and Olórin had to feed him as if he were a baby, but he could speak now and move his head and even wiggle his toes, a sensation that never ceased to give him pleasure.

When he slept he dreamt, but the dreams seemed far too real, for he always remembered them upon awakening. He slowly began to realize that he was remembering his former life. There was no emotional attachment to the scenes, though, and he might have been watching someone else’s life. When he questioned the Maia about it Olórin merely smiled.

"In many ways, you are. Your life before your death is over. You can never go back or reclaim any part of it. Yet, that life still dictates who you are. The choices you made or didn’t make, the mistakes, the joys and the sorrows that made up that life all contributed to making you the person you are and always will be, even after death. You are remembering in order to put it into perspective. It’s part of the healing process all must undergo when they are Reborn."

At one point he took enough interest in his surroundings to wonder where in Aman he was and was disappointed to learn that he was still within the bounds of Mandos, though in a different part of it reserved for those who were recently re-embodied. He wondered if he would ever be allowed to leave Mandos and Olórin had to laugh.

"Of course you will, child. Once your fëa and hröa have become one you will be allowed to leave. Indeed, you’ll have no choice."

"Wh-where w-will I g-go?" he stuttered, for he was still learning to use his tongue for speaking.

"You will go to Lórien for a time until you are ready to face the world and take up your life again. There will be others there, also recently re-embodied. You might even remember them from your time in Mandos."

That comforted Glorfindel somewhat and he fell asleep wondering which of his friends would be there.

****

At some point he woke to the sensation of warm wetness flowing down his legs and wondered what it might mean. The sound of Olórin making a tsking sound and then the feel of a warm wet cloth on his lower extremities as the Maia wiped him clean brought him to full consciousness and he realized what he had done. Tears of shame came unbidden and he tried to apologize, but his mortification was too great and all he could do was try to curl himself into a ball to hide his shame.

He felt Olórin lift him gently from his couch, making hushing noises and then he was clinging to the Maia weeping much as he remembered doing as an elfling and more recently during his time in Mandos.

"There’s nothing to apologize for, Glorfindel," the Maia said gently as he rocked the elf in his arms. "And no reason for tears. It’s a natural function of your body, one you will have to get used to all over again. Now, why don’t you sit here while I clean things up."

Glorfindel found himself being lowered into a soft chair. Olórin took a blanket from a press and wrapped it around him. "There. Now you just sit here and relax. Everything’s going to be all right."

The Maia quickly changed the soiled bedding and soon clean sheets were put on the bed. When he was finished he turned to the elf who sat in the chair in dejected silence.

"Let’s clean you up now and get you back into bed."

He removed the blanket and began his ministrations, speaking softly, his tone one of compassion rather than disapproval. "In many ways, my friend, you are much like a newborn elfling. It will take time for you to gain control over your bodily functions, though such control will come more quickly than before. Do not be troubled, child. You’re not the first one this has happened to, nor will you be the last."

When Olórin was finished drying the elf off he gently pulled Glorfindel up, but rather than lift him into his arms again, he encouraged the ellon to walk to the bed. It was not easy and he was weak and dizzy just taking the few steps between chair and couch. He was grateful when Olórin lowered him into the bed and was asleep before his head touched the pillow.

****

After that, he seemed to improve and before long he was able to get out of bed by himself and take care of his needs without help. All this time he saw only Olórin and he never left the chamber he was in. Usually when he awoke it was to find the Maia sitting there beside the bed patiently waiting for him to wake up, or bustling about, cleaning the chamber or bringing in a tray of food.

Unlike his time in Mandos, there was actual day and night, for the light brightened and dimmed with unfailing regularity, though his sleeping schedule did not follow suit. He was as likely to be wide awake in the middle of the night as in the middle of the day. Regardless, Olórin was always there.

One morning, though, he woke to find himself alone. He sat up in bed and noticed the door leading to the outside. For the first time curiosity about what lay beyond his chamber took him and he cautiously stood up and padded to the doorway, opening it hesitantly, as if half-expecting the Maia to suddenly appear and shoo him back into bed.

As he opened the door and looked out he found himself in bright daylight and surrounded by a garden. The colors were almost overwhelming and he had to close his eyes for a moment to get control of himself. When he opened his eyes again he cried out with delight. There were shade trees and flowers of all kinds, some he could put no name to, and even bees happily collecting nectar. He stood there rapt in the pure pleasure of seeing light and color and feeling the slight breeze on his skin. He stepped past the lintel and began wandering in the garden, stopping to sniff this flower or that, running his hands over the tree trunks. He was delighted when the trees rustled their branches in greeting and sent warm thoughts to him. He had forgotten what that felt like, to be in communion with trees.

An impulse took him and he suddenly swung himself up into a large maple, or tried to. He was lacking in coordination and it took several attempts before he succeeded. The tree stood patiently waiting for the elf to climb into it and sit in the crook of a branch. The maple had seen many of the Reborn come into the garden and try to climb it and rejoiced that this newest one had recovered enough to make the attempt.

Glorfindel was somewhat breathless by the time he managed to climb into the tree. The soft rustle of leaves welcomed and soothed him and without realizing it he soon fell asleep. The maple carefully arranged the nearby branches to ensure the elf did not fall out, softly murmuring a lullaby about seedlings growing in the sun.

Olórin found him still sleeping some time later. He smiled at the protectiveness he felt from the tree and nodded his head. He decided to leave the ellon there in the tree while he tidied up the sleeping chamber. The maple shivered with delight at the thought that it would be allowed to cradle this Reborn Firstborn for a while longer.

Glorfindel woke only when the daylight deepened into early evening. At first he was unsure where he was but the tree sent waves of reassurance to him and he relaxed.

"Well, are you going to come down, or do I have to come up and get you?" came an amused voice and Glorfindel looked down from his perch to see Olórin smiling up at him. He smiled back.

"I’d like to see you try."

Olórin laughed. "That sounds like the Glorfindel I remember from long ages past. Come. I will help you down." He reached up and Glorfindel allowed the Maia to help him to descend. Once on the ground he put his hand on the maple’s trunk and silently thanked it for watching over him. The tree’s branches rustled with delight.

Olórin looked at the ellon with approval and a light glinted in his eye. "Next time, though, you might try putting something on before stepping outdoors."

Glorfindel stared at the Maia in incomprehension until he happened to look down and realized that he was completely naked and blushed. He had forgotten about that in his eagerness to see the outdoors.

"Sorry," he said in apology and Olórin just laughed as he ushered the elf back indoors and towards the bed.

"But I’m not tired," Glorfindel protested. "I am hungry, though."

"Then sit here in this chair and eat and later we will talk."

Olórin brought a tray of bread, fruit and new cheese for the elf along with a goblet of clear water and Glorfindel began eating the simple fare with pleasure. He loved the different tastes and smells and Olórin always made sure there were many enticing dishes from which to choose. In very little time he was finished. Olórin took the tray from him and then sat in another chair.

"Now tell me what you felt and experienced as you stepped out into the garden."

Glorfindel closed his eyes, trying to marshal his thoughts. "I woke up and you weren’t there. Why weren’t you there, Olórin?"

The Maia raised an eyebrow at the elf’s querulous tone. "You are not my only charge, elfling. And I cannot always be with you. Eventually, you must learn to do for yourself."

Glorfindel’s face fell. "B-but I don’t know how!"

Olórin laughed, his voice merry and light. "Not yet, child, but soon. You did not learn overnight the things you needed to know in your first life. It’s the same in this life. You must have patience. Now tell me about the garden and then I have a surprise for you."

Intrigued in spite of himself, Glorfindel complied. "It was so beautiful and so frightening. Will it always be like that?"

Olórin shook his head. "No, Glorfindel. The beauty will remain, but the fear will not and perhaps it was not fear that you felt so much as it was awe, and that is not a bad thing to feel at any time."

"Awe..." the elf said, experimenting with the word. "I felt awe, not fear?"

"Yes, I imagine you did."

"H-how do you know?"

Olórin smiled warmly. "Because I found you sleeping in a tree, not cowering in your bed."

Glorfindel smiled back. "It’s a nice tree. It likes me." He sounded almost smug.

The Maia laughed and went to the elf and raised him up into a warm embrace. "Yes, indeed, child. It likes you very much."

"What’s my surprise?" Glorfindel asked then and Olórin stood back with a grin.

"Come, I will show you, but first you must dress." He went to the clothes press and pulled out a linen sleeping shirt and found a bed robe and slippers and helped Glorfindel to dress. Glorfindel was so intrigued by the softness of the fabric and the way they felt against his skin that he did not even bother to protest, for wearing clothes still felt strange to him and normally he preferred not to wear any at all unless Olórin insisted.

Olórin led the ellon back outside, and Glorfindel gasped in wonder. It was full night now and the stars were a blaze of glory strewn across the sky. He gazed in wonder and swayed to the music he heard emanating from them, high and remote though it was. A flash of light arced across the heavens and he shouted with delight, jumping up and down in excitement. Suddenly several lights fell in a shower that left the ellon breathless and tears fell, tears of irrepressible joy such as he had never felt before.

Emotions he barely understood flooded him and he collapsed to the ground weeping, his arms crossed before him as he rocked himself. He felt rather than saw the Maia reach for him and cradle him in his arms. Then they were inside and Olórin was removing the robe and slippers and putting him into bed.

"There now, child. I think that was enough excitement for one day. Sleep now."

Glorfindel gave a small hiccup and a brief sniffle before exhaustion borne of deep emotion carried him into sleep. His dreams were of falling stars and trees that sang lullabies to him and he slept that night with a smile on his face.

7: Trouble in Paradise

Not long after the night of falling stars Glorfindel expressed an interest in learning about the garden. The gardens of the Reborn were tended by Maiar in the service of Yavanna, though they generally did not make themselves known to the elves residing there. When Glorfindel asked to be allowed to work in the garden surrounding his sleeping chamber Olórin introduced him to Cemendillë, who agreed to teach him.

Glorfindel, however, was not an apt student. In point of fact, he was rather inept. He had difficulty telling flower from weed and was no good at pruning for he would burst into tears every time he had to deadhead the roses. Cemendillë would then have to take him into her arms and comfort him until he calmed down enough to be given some other task, such as watering the plants, though he tended to drown them more often than not.

Secretly, though, both Maiar were pleased. The very fact that the ellon had even expressed an interest such as gardening, however inept he might be, was a sure sign that he would soon be ready to move on to Lórien.

That did not mean, however, that there weren’t setbacks.

One afternoon the two Maiar discovered Glorfindel happily "weeding". They were loath to tell the ellon that he had just pulled out an entire row of asëa aranion and when they did the elf burst into tears and ran away. They found him sitting naked in "his" maple tree, clothes strewn all around the ground. The ellon refused to come down and no amount of cajoling on the part of the Maiar could entice him from his perch and they were forced to leave him there. He would not even leave the tree for the evening meal, though once Olórin spied him running to the privy before climbing back into the tree.

The tree was no help at all, even when Cemendillë asked. The maple loved having the Reborn nestle in its branches and could see no reason why it should tell him to leave. The two Maiar shrugged at one another and sighed. Dealing with the mercurial emotions of the Reborn was not always easy; dealing with the stubbornness of trees was even harder. They left the ellon and the tree to their own devices.

"He’ll come down eventually," Olórin said with a resigned smile as he picked up Glorfindel’s discarded clothes and returned them to the sleeping chamber.

In that, the Maia was proved wrong. Glorfindel would not come down and the Maiar could hear him weeping softly through the night. It broke their hearts to hear such anguish but they knew they had to leave the elf to find his own way.

When morning came and Glorfindel still refused to come down Olórin was ready to lose his patience, but was saved from exploding by an unexpected visitor.

Or rather, two visitors.

He was standing under the maple trying to convince an unresponsive Glorfindel to finally come down and have some breakfast when two Presences made themselves known. Olórin turned and bowed as Yavanna and Námo walked towards him. Yavanna was dressed in a gown of summer green, her chestnut brown hair crowned in a wreath of grapes and ripened wheat. Her eyes were warm and full of love for all living things. Námo’s eyes were bright with amusement.

"I understand you have a problem, Olórin."

The Maia sighed. "Apparently so, my lord. My charge has decided he doesn’t want to be an elf anymore. He would much rather be a bird." He glanced up into the tree with a wry look. "A rather naked bird."

The two Valar chuckled at that and looked up into the tree to where the aforementioned elf sat unmoving on a high branch. The ellon was so wrapped in his own misery he hadn’t even notice their arrival.

Yavanna smiled at her companion. "He is still under your authority, Námo. Will you bring him down, or shall I?"

Námo shook his head. "Let us see what you can do, Yavanna. I prefer not to exert my authority in this matter unless I have to. The repercussions on Glorfindel’s recovery would be too severe if I have to take action."

The Earth-Queen nodded and looked back up into the tree. The maple, recognizing its mistress, trembled slightly, but a single thought from the Valië stilled it.

"Glorfindel," she called up softly. "Come down, child. It’s all right. I’m not angry."

They heard a soft whimper from above and saw the elf shift his position slightly but otherwise he made no response. Olórin gave Yavanna a startled glance.

"Is that what this is all about, my lady? He thinks he’s angered you?"

Yavanna smiled at the Maia and nodded, then turned her attention to the elf. "You cannot hide there forever, meldanya."

With that she placed a hand on the trunk of the tree and slowly a change came over the maple. Its thick canopy of leaves began to change color and in minutes seasons changed from summer to autumn within the garden and the maple’s leaves began to fall. A wind came up and soon every leaf was gone and the maple stood bare with a naked elf sitting in its branches, shivering.

"You see, child. You cannot hide. Come down now, and let me see you."

The two Valar and Olórin stood silently, waiting. When Glorfindel still wouldn’t move, Námo sighed, reluctant to intervene but seeing no other choice.

"Glorfindel, if you don’t come down you will never see your friend Finrod again," the Lord of Mandos said in his most forbidding tone. "I will not allow it."

That brought a most unexpected response. Glorfindel suddenly stood up, one hand on the tree’s trunk to hold him steady, and shouted down at them.

"I don’t care! I don’t deserve to see Finrod. I don’t want to be Reborn anymore. I’m no good at anything, I can’t do anything right. I want to return to Mandos!"

The elf’s outburst left them all nonplused. Námo, of course, had the power to command obedience from Glorfindel, but not the right. The ellon would have to come down of his own free will.

The maple tree, however, had other ideas. While it enjoyed having the elf in its branches, it knew that Glorfindel did not really belong there. So, with the slightest shifting of its branches it caused Glorfindel to lose his balance and fall shrieking into the arms of the Lord of Mandos.

Glorfindel trembled and clutched at Námo’s tunic as Yavanna stroked his hair. "There, there, child. You’re safe now. Do not be afraid."

"You know you’ve been behaving very badly, don’t you?" Námo asked gently as he continued to hold the elf in his arms.

Glorfindel nodded. "W-will I st-still be able t-to see Finrod?" he asked in a small voice.

Námo grimaced to himself, regretting having made that threat, though he had been prepared to carry it through had it proved necessary. He put Glorfindel down and forced the ellon to look at him.

"Do you promise to behave yourself from now on?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Promise."

Námo smiled. "Then I don’t see any reason why you can’t see your friend."

"When?"

Námo laughed. "You’re persistent if nothing else. When the time is right and not before."

Yavanna motioned for Glorfindel to come to her. She smiled warmly at the elf, who suddenly felt self-conscious in his nakedness.

"You were afraid I would be angry at you for pulling out all the asëa aranion."

Glorfindel sighed. "They looked like weeds."

Yavanna nodded. "And many will see them as such, but looks can be deceiving. Someday one will come who will recognize the full worth of this unassuming plant and it will come into its own. In the meantime...."

She paused and considered the ellon before her for a moment. "In the meantime, you and I will replant the asëa aranion together."

Glorfindel’s face lit up. "Truly?"

"Truly, but only if you put your clothes on and keep them on."

He nodded and with a quick glance at Olórin for permission, practically ran back to his sleeping chamber to find his clothes. In his excitement he did not notice that the maple was again in full leaf.

The Valar and Olórin laughed. Yavanna gave Námo a mischievous grin. "Will you stay and help us replant the asëa aranion, hánonya?"

Námo gave her a jaundiced look. "I’ll leave you to play in the dirt with our elfling, nésanya. I have better things to do."

Yavanna merely laughed as the Lord of Mandos took his leave of them. Soon Glorfindel emerged from the chamber suitably clad and he and Yavanna, now joined by Cemendillë, spent the rest of the morning replanting the asëa aranion once Yavanna revived them from their withered state. As they planted, Yavanna gently probed Glorfindel, determined to learn what had prompted the outburst earlier.

"Do you really feel you are no good?"

Glorfindel stopped what he was doing and sighed. "I know I’m no good in a garden, but..."

"But what, child?"

He looked at her with frustration written all over him. "If I can’t be a gardener, what can I be?"

"You were once a warrior," Cemendillë said.

"Aman doesn’t need any warriors," he replied with some bitterness.

"Aman doesn’t," Yavanna said quietly in agreement, "but Endórë does."

Glorfindel stared at the Valië in surprise. "But I can never return to Middle-earth."

"No? Well, I suppose you are right."

Yavanna hid a smile at the thoughtful look in the elf’s eyes. It would be long and long before their plans for this Child of Ilúvatar were realized in their fullness, but the seeds had been planted. Yavanna’s purpose for coming here today had been two-fold and more than just the asëa aranion had needed tending.

Olórin came then with some lemonade and a light snack, insisting that Glorfindel eat something as the elf had not had any sustenance since the day before. As the ellon ate, Yavanna continued her questioning.

"What would you like to do?"

"I don’t know," came the reply, the elf sagging somewhat in dejection.

"You used to play the harp, I understand," Olórin said. "Perhaps when you go to Lórien you will pick it up again. Your friend Finrod plays the harp quite well, I hear."

Glorfindel perked up at that. "Truly?"

The Maia nodded and Glorfindel looked thoughtful again as he nibbled on a biscuit.

"In the meantime, Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower," Yavanna said, her voice going stern with the echo of thunder and earth tremors in her tone, "you must never wish to be Unhoused again. That is not your destiny and such a wish is an insult to Ilúvatar who has granted you this time to live once more. Do I make myself clear?"

Glorfindel went white, his eyes wide with fear, and he could only nod. Yavanna nodded and stood, satisfied that the ellon understood.

"Good. Now I will leave you. Remember, meldanya, there is more than one way to tend to a garden and not all gardens are made of flowers and trees. Cultivate beauty and the love of it in yourself and in others wherever you may go and you will please me greatly."

She paused for a brief moment and then with a glint of amusement in her eyes said, "And do try to keep your clothes on, child. I fear the ellith of Lórien will be too distracted by your beauty otherwise."

With that the Lady of Earth faded away, leaving Glorfindel to ponder her words. Olórin and Cemendillë exchanged knowing glances and smiles above the elf’s head.

The seeds were indeed beginning to take root.

****

Asëa aranion: Athelas, kingsfoil.

Meldanya: My beloved, my dear, my sweet.

Hánonya: My brother.

Nésanya: My sister.

8: Leaving Mandos

"Glorfindel."

Glorfindel looked up from the flower bed where he had been weeding all morning to see Olórin standing there, smiling. The elf smiled back.

Olórin was pleased at what he saw. The days that followed Yavanna’s visit had brought a remarkable change in the ellon. He would never be a gardener but some of his earlier awkwardness and ineptness with regards to working in the garden had disappeared. He seemed more content than he had been before.

He had also managed to keep his clothes on whenever he worked outside, though in the evenings he preferred not to wear anything after taking his bath. Olórin allowed him this one idiosyncracy, but insisted that the elf at least put a robe on if he wished to go outside to see the stars.

Yes, the elf’s progress had been remarkable and now it was time for him to move on.

"There’s someone here to see you, child. Come, put your tools away and go clean up."

"Who’s come to see me?" Glorfindel asked even as he began to comply with the Maia’s instructions.

"I think I’ll let our visitor introduce himself to you," Olórin said with a small smile.

Intrigued, Glorfindel hurried to do as the Maia had bid and soon he was following Olórin towards a small terrace where Glorfindel often took his meals. Potted plants surrounded the flag-stoned area and an arbor provided shade. One of the chairs at the small table under the arbor was occupied.

Glorfindel stopped in shock at the edge of the terrace and bowed, unaware that Olórin was no longer beside him.

"Ah, I see our Balrog-slayer is coming along quite nicely." The voice was warm and deep, laughter lurking around the edges. "Come closer, child, and let me see you."

Glorfindel straightened and, after a moment’s hesitation, complied, trembling slightly as he stood before the Vala. The Elder King of Arda sat under the arbor in a robe of shifting colors that shaded from cerulean to indigo to violet to dusky rose and back again in no discernable pattern. He wore no crown. Instead, a wreath of yellow and purple helinyetilli graced his head. The Elder King smiled warmly at the ellon standing before him.

This was a different image from what Glorfindel recalled of their last meeting. The last time Glorfindel had seen Lord Manwë had been within the circle of the Máhanaxar and he had not been smiling then.

"Ah, you remember that, don’t you?" Manwë asked gently.

Glorfindel could only nod, not trusting himself to speak.

Manwë smiled. "Good. That’s good."

Glorfindel looked at the Elder King in surprise. "It is?" he blurted out and the Vala laughed.

The ellon found himself grinning in spite of himself. Manwë’s laugh was rich and joyous and all who heard it could not help but be moved to laughter as well.

"Oh yes, indeed, my dear child." Manwë sobered somewhat, though the joy remained in his eyes, which were a deep blue with a ring of gold around the pupils. "The time of judgment is usually the last memory that is restored to the Reborn. It is not always a pleasant memory and for some the judgment after death is more frightening than the death itself. I think you can agree." The Elder King eyed the golden-haired elf shrewdly.

Glorfindel shuddered, remembering what had passed within the Ring of Doom. He hoped never to suffer such humiliation again.

"Humiliation?" Manwë asked gently, reading the elf’s thoughts. "Nay, child, though it may seem that way to you. We do not judge to humiliate but to instruct. Nor do we do it out of a need for vengeance, but out of love for our wayward children."

"We’re not children," Glorfindel countered, appalled by his own audacity, but not able to stop himself from speaking his mind.

"Think you not?" Manwë smiled. "Well, perhaps you aren’t, except where it matters the most. Now come." The Elder King stood and started down a garden path, one that Glorfindel was sure had never existed before.

"Wh-where are we going?" he asked breathlessly, trying to keep up, for Manwë’s strides were long and purposeful.

"Why, to your new home, of course."

Glorfindel stopped, feeling suddenly frightened. Manwë turned to see the ellon standing there white-faced and shaking. He smiled sympathetically.

"You’ve grown too large for this small garden, child. Time to move on." He held out his hand and after a brief moment of hesitation, Glorfindel took it. Together Vala and Elda walked hand-in-hand through the garden to a wooden gate Glorfindel had never seen before.

On the other side of the gate stood a great horse. Glorfindel gasped at the sight of the steed shining white as the snows of Taniquetil, its eyes bright with intelligence and curiosity.

Manwë smiled at the sight of the elf standing there with his mouth opened in astonishment. "His name is Asfaloth and he will bear you to Lórien."

"Me?" Glorfindel asked as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune.

"Yes, you. Now, why don’t you say hello?" Manwë opened the gate.

Glorfindel stepped outside and put his hand on the horse’s forehead and gently stroked him, speaking softly. Asfaloth returned the greeting by nuzzling the elf’s hair. Glorfindel laughed as he climbed onto the horse’s back, memories of earlier times on horseback filling him. He looked down at Manwë with a grin and then realized that Olórin had not followed them to the gate.

"Where’s Olórin? Will he not be coming with me?"

"He will not," Manwë answered. "Did he not tell you that he has other charges besides yourself? Yes, I thought as much," he added when Glorfindel nodded. "But do not fret. You will see him again from time to time. Now off with you."

Glorfindel, however, could not resist one last question. His eyes twinkled with humor as he looked down at the Elder King. "How do you know I won’t just ride off with this fine beast to some remote area of Aman, never to be seen again?" He patted Asfaloth on the neck.

Manwë’s laugh was rich and deep and there was the echo of Another’s laughter that sent a frisson of awe down Glorfindel’s spine. "Such impudence! No wonder Námo finds you so amusing. But to answer your question: Asfaloth knows better than to allow a mere elfling such as yourself to distract him from his duties. He will deliver you to the Gates of Lórien and nowhere else."

With that, the Elder King nodded to the horse who whinnied, dipping his head in obeisance to his lord and they were off. Glorfindel gave a crow of delight at the feel of the horse’s muscles under him. He looked back to wave to Manwë but, to his surprise, both the Elder King and the garden were no longer there.

They rode past green hills and through lush meadows full of wildflowers — yellow daisies and blue periwinkles as well as bright elanor and pale niphredil. They met no one on the way nor were there any signs of habitation.

How long the ride lasted, Glorfindel could not say, but all too soon they came to a high hedge of dark yew. Asfaloth halted before a gate made of living vines. Glorfindel climbed down from the horse’s back and looked at the entrance with some trepidation. He had expected to be met, but there was no one. Asfaloth gave the elf a nudge towards the gate as if to say "There is your road now, elfling."

Glorfindel stroked the horse’s forehead and kissed it. "Thank you for letting me ride you, Asfaloth. I hope we will meet again."

The horse gave a neigh and with a toss of its head galloped away. For a long time Glorfindel stood there watching the great horse until he was too far away for even elven eyes to see clearly and then he turned back to the gate. As he approached, wondering how he was to pass through the vines, they moved aside of their own accord and Glorfindel found himself surrounded by high hedges with but a single path opened to him. The vines returned to their former position and when Glorfindel turned around he found he could no longer see where he had entered. He swallowed nervously and turned back, and found that now there were three paths before him. His heart sank with despair.

He was in a maze and he had no idea which path to choose.

****

Helinyetilli: (Quenya) Eyes of Heartsease; a name of the pansy (viola tricolor).

9: In the Maze

Author’s Note: Telepathic speech, in this and in any subsequent chapters, is indicated by asterisks.

****

He stood there for the longest time, indecision keeping him rooted on the spot. Then he heard, or thought he heard, someone speak to his mind.

*Well, are you just going to stand there, elfling, or do I have to come and get you?*

The Voice sounded suspiciously like Olórin’s, but he couldn’t be sure. Giving a mental shrug and a brief sigh he squared his shoulders and took the path that was before him, ignoring the ones to his left and right.

*Ah, so that’s the way of it, is it?* he thought he heard the mysterious Voice say, but as no other comment was forthcoming, he ignored it.

The path continued straight for some time and then turned right. Several feet further on he came to a fork where he had to decide whether to go left or right. After a moment’s hesitation, and half expecting to hear a comment from the Voice which never came, he turned right. Almost immediately the path began twisting in a serpentine pattern so that at one point he was sure he was facing the direction from which he had originally come. His senses became too confused and as he couldn’t see the sun to gauge his direction, for the high hedges blocked out most of the sky, he soon became hopelessly turned around.

At some point he came unexpectedly upon a small clearing where a wooden bridge spanned a pool fed by a spring. He didn’t realize how claustrophobic he had been feeling and dreaded having to leave the clearing and plunge back into the maze. On the other side of the bridge there were three paths from which to choose. Glorfindel spent some time contemplating his choices, stooping to drink some water from the pool in the meantime. This was more a delaying tactic than a real need to slake his thirst and when he was finished he sighed, feeling annoyed and rather tired of it all.

*Patience, child. Everything has a reason. This is no different.*

Again that Voice that sounded like Olórin’s but wasn’t. Realizing he wasn’t going to get anywhere just standing there he decided to take the left hand path. He thought he heard a sigh somewhere but wasn’t sure.

Almost immediately he began to regret his choice. The path started branching almost at once and he had to choose again. Three times he was forced to go one way or another. The third time proved to be a dead end and he turned back, intending to take a different path. However, he couldn’t remember which branch was which and before he knew it he was back in the clearing with the pool, feeling hot, frustrated and not a little angry.

He collapsed on the bank of the pool next to the bridge in dejected silence and waited for the Voice to make some scathing comment, but none was forthcoming. The silence was absolute. After a while he leaned down and splashed some water on his face, and felt marginally better. He wondered if other Reborn had had as much trouble finding their way through the maze as he was having.

Well, while the idea of just sitting there by the pool forever did have its merits, Glorfindel knew he couldn’t do it. Something within him refused to give up. That, and the fact that he was beginning to feel hungry, drove him to choose the right-hand path.

This path, however, went nowhere, and he had to return to the clearing once again. He went directly to the middle path without bothering to stop at the pool, confident that this must be the right one, but again it went nowhere. Glorfindel stood staring in disbelief at the hedge blocking his path. Were all three paths wrong? How would he traverse the maze then? Maybe he would have to go all the way back to the entrance, if he could be sure to recognize it if he saw it, and choose one of the other paths.

Despair began to take hold and he slumped to the ground before the offending hedge, feeling too tired and sick at heart to return to the clearing. He clasped his hands around his knees and rocked himself in a vain attempt to find comfort. He didn’t know what he should do now.

*Think it through, child. The answer lies before you.*

And then a second voice joined the first, this one sounding even more familiar to the elf, but again he could not place it.

*You know two of the paths go nowhere, but the third had several branches. You only explored one of them.*

The elf looked up in surprise. Could that be the answer? He stood up and practically ran back to the clearing and plunged back into the left-hand path for the second time. When he came to the first fork he stopped, trying to remember which one he had taken originally. Left. He had taken the left fork last time. He was about to turn right when another thought stopped him.

What if the right path lay further along the other way? What if one of the other two branches that he had encountered and not taken led to the right path that would take him successfully through the maze? He cried out then, caught in a web of indecision, and felt tears welling in his eyes. He waited to hear the Voices tell him which way to go, but there was nothing but silence. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, trying to think things through as he had been told to do. The maze was so confusing, it was difficult to remember which branch of a path he had taken. It seemed that all choices were equal, all choices were evil.

*But some are less evil than others*, came the second Voice.

Glorfindel opened his eyes and decided. He had taken the left-hand path the first time; he would take the right-hand path this time and hope it was the right one. It was all he could do at this point. This path did not twist as much as the other had and at one point the hedges on either side grew inward to form a canopy, creating a dark leafy tunnel. He walked through to find yet two more paths and sighed, but he had already decided his course. From now on he would only go right whenever he reached a branching of paths.

In this manner he continued through the maze, always taking the right-hand fork whenever one appeared. He ceased to wonder if he would ever leave the maze; all that mattered was to try, sticking to his decision and not worrying about anything else. He wondered what he would do, though, if he came to a dead end, but that worry never materialized. How long he wandered the maze he could not tell, for the sky above remained a perfect blue, never shading towards evening. He had arrived at the maze around noon, but it seemed that time did not matter here.

Finally, he came to another clearing. There was a bridge that spanned a wide stream that ran swift and deep between the hedges. There were also two paths to take, but one lay to the left on this side of the stream, the other lay on the other side of the bridge. Glorfindel hesitated. The path on the other side of the bridge veered towards the right, true, but something did not seem right to him. So far he had been lucky in his choices but that didn’t mean his luck would hold forever. He decided to trust his instincts, and moved towards the left-hand path.

He walked only twenty paces when the hedges opened up into a square, perhaps thirty feet across, and he realized he had finally reached the center of the maze. He stood there gaping. Sunlight shone all around. Four stone paths lined with flowers in every imaginable hue came together in the center where there was a small table under a pavilion made of white sendal, its side walls rolled up. Two Beings sat at the table sipping from crystal goblets, watching him with amused expressions on almost identical faces. One was unknown to Glorfindel, but the other...

Námo turned to his brother, Irmo, with a smirk. "You lose, titta háno," he said. Then both Valar laughed.

****

Titta háno: (Quenya) Little brother.

10: Tea with the Fëanturi

Glorfindel could only stand there in open-mouthed astonishment, unable to accept what he was seeing. The two Valar sat there gazing at him with evident amusement and Glorfindel could feel himself getting angry, replaying his journey through the maze in his mind. No doubt they had found him quite amusing as he floundered about like an idiot. He was surprised all the other Valar weren’t there laughing at him as well. Probably because I’m not considered high enough entertainment for them, he thought sourly.

"No, yonya," Námo said, his mien sobering somewhat. "No one is laughing at you. Come here." He gestured and, in spite of himself, Glorfindel found himself moving towards the pavilion, though every step was slow and reluctant. He wanted nothing more than to just turn around and go back into the maze and to Angband with them all.

Irmo cast a glance at his brother Vala and raised an eyebrow. "He’s a stubborn one, isn’t he?"

"He’s always been that way," Námo said with a nod, never taking his eyes off Glorfindel who continued to approach them however reluctantly, fury written all over the ellon’s face. "Just the sort you like, if I recall."

"Hmmm. But there’s stubborn and then there’s stubborn. I’m not sure I like what I see in this one." He gazed dispassionately at the elf who felt himself getting angrier by the second, all reason fleeing.

"Well," Námo said, "he’s your problem now and..."

"STOP TALKING ABOUT ME AS IF I WEREN’T THERE!"

Silence reigned for an eternity as the Fëanturi gazed with some consternation at the elf now standing before them. Then, with a stifled sob, Glorfindel turned and started to run back towards the maze but strong arms stayed him. He struggled to get free but to no avail and finally he collapsed into Námo’s embrace, shame and exhaustion taking their toll, as he wept. He waited for the Vala to lift him into his arms like an elfling, as the Lord of Mandos had done countless times before, but instead, Námo merely guided him towards the pavilion, sitting him in a chair.

"Drink this," the Vala said as he handed Glorfindel a crystal goblet and Námo’s tone brooked no argument. Glorfindel took a hesitant sip of the clear liquid in the goblet. He gasped in spite of himself. Miruvórë! The mead of the Valar. It had been long ages since he had drunk any. He felt his spirits lift and his emotions steadied with just that first sip.

"All of it, yonya," Námo ordered and Glorfindel had no problem obeying the Vala in this particular instance. When he had drained the goblet Námo took it and set it on the table before sitting down. Glorfindel stared at his lap, refusing to look up.

For long moments there was only silence, save for Glorfindel’s breathing, which had been somewhat ragged with tears but had calmed a bit with the miruvórë. When it had become slow and even again, Námo spoke, his tone soft.

"I apologize for any distress you have felt, child. It was not our intent for you to be so distraught. You have to understand something." Here Námo leaned over and placed a hand on the ellon’s chin, forcing him to look up. Glorfindel saw no condemnation in the Vala’s eyes, only love. "The Eruhíni are an endless source of wonder and delight for us, for we had naught to do with your making. You belong to Eru Ilúvatar alone and we Valar rejoice that it is so. If, at times, it seems we are laughing at you, it is not so. Rather, we laugh with you, delighting in all your ways as you struggle to become that which Eru has destined you to be."

"I...I don’t recall you laughing when you... when you uttered your Doom against the Noldor," Glorfindel said in a small but still defiant voice.

Námo sat back as he lifted an eyebrow at the ellon’s words, refusing to respond to such impertinence. Irmo sighed, shaking his head.

"Stubborn as the day is long."

Námo turned to his brother with a wry smile. "Perhaps, but would you want him any other way?"

The Lord of Lórien stared at Glorfindel for a moment and the ellon tried not to squirm under his intent gaze. Irmo looked much like his brother, but whereas Námo’s hair was black as to be almost blue, Irmo’s was more a black-brown and his eyes were hazel rather than silver-grey. The Vala smiled. "No, I suppose not. Where would be the fun in that?"

Glorfindel started to make a retort, but stopped in time, the words that he had been about to say, words he knew he would regret saying as soon as he had spoken them, dying on his lips. The Valar nodded their approval, though Glorfindel did not see that, for he had returned his gaze to his lap.

"I...I’m sorry, too," he finally said quietly. "I shouldn’t have yelled like that."

"Then we will speak no more of it," Námo said gently. "But to answer your questions..."

Glorfindel looked up at the Vala in confusion. As far as he knew, he hadn’t said anything except to yell at them. What questions?

"The questions that are constantly in your mind, elfling," Irmo said, not unkindly. "They roil about like flotsam on a raging river and even we have trouble keeping up with them."

"Oh... those questions." Námo and Irmo both grinned at the sheepish look that crossed Glorfindel’s face.

"There is no shame in such questions, my child," Námo said. "They are part of what delights us about you. Now, let us take tea together and speak of many things. You have not eaten since this morning and you need nourishment."

"Th-this morning? But...I mean.... the maze...I was...that is..."

"Time runs a little differently inside my brother’s maze," Námo said as he proceeded to pour out tea from a ceramic pot into dainty cups that hadn’t been there a moment before. Plates of tarts and cheese, fruits and cakes also graced the table where before there had been three crystal goblets and a decanter of miruvórë. Glorfindel had ceased to wonder at such feats and simply accepted them as what one would expect around the Valar. "You entered the maze at noon, and it is barely an hour past that. Now drink your tea and have one of these tarts. No questions and no answers until you’ve eaten."

Glorfindel gave a sigh and complied. He was hungry, true, but he much preferred having his questions answered. However, after taking the first bite from a tart that proved to have strawberries inside it, all questions fled his mind and for several minutes he devoted himself to eating his fill. The Fëanturi sat there watching him with indulgent looks on their nearly identical faces.

When Glorfindel’s eating had slowed and he was content to sip his tea and nibble on some cheese and fruits, Námo nodded. "That’s better. Let us begin."

Glorfindel dropped his cup, which landed on the table, tea spilling everywhere. He felt the blood drain from his head. The last time he had heard such words he had been surrounded by....

Suddenly he felt as if he were going to be sick and he put a hand to his mouth and started to get up, afraid he might embarrass himself before the Valar. Irmo was at his side in an instant, placing a gentle hand on his forehead and holding him steady.

"No, Glorfindel. That is not the way of it. Hush now. All is well. Take a deep breath. All judgments have been rendered, all debts paid. There is nothing to fear now, child. That’s it. Breathe deeply."

Glorfindel followed the Vala’s instructions and began to feel better. He slid back into his chair and Irmo released him. Námo said nothing, merely pouring more tea into Glorfindel’s cup and handing it to him. Glorfindel accepted it gratefully and drank the soothing liquid. There was no sign of any spillage; the table was as pristine as before.

"Irmo is correct, Glorfindel," Námo said after a moment, looking grave. "All judgments were made a long time ago. This is a time of healing and renewal, not punishment. Let your spirit be easy on that score. I sit here not as Judge but as Consoler, for after judgment comes forgiveness and a need for comfort. We, the Valar, have forgiven you. It is now time for you to forgive yourself."

"Forgive myself? Forgive myself for what?"

"That is what you will need to discover while you are here in Lórien," Irmo said, looking at the elf in sympathy. "Until you can answer your own question, you will not be permitted to leave and take up your life again in Aman."

Glorfindel scowled. "But I have no life to take up. My life was in Gondolin, serving my king. I know no other life than that. What life can I possibly have in the Undying Lands? I fear all whom I ever knew and love are either dead or dwell still in Middle-earth."

"Not all," Námo reminded him. "Finrod waits for his friend to join him, and there are others. Your life in Aman will not be what it was even before you left with Turgon for the Thither Shores, and it will not be what you remember of your life in Gondolin, but it will be your life and you need to accept it for what it is: a second chance."

For several minutes Glorfindel sat there silently thinking about what the Valar had said. Finally he looked up at Irmo. "What was the purpose of the maze? Was it just to provide you with idle amusement at my expense?"

Irmo raised an eyebrow at that and Glorfindel waited for an explosion, or at least a bolt of lightning, but none was forthcoming. Instead, Irmo chuckled and shook his head. "Stubborn child," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. "The maze has nothing to do with me and has everything to do with you. The maze is nothing more than Choice writ large. Along every path there is the chance of having to make a choice, of going one way and not another. All choices are equal, and all choices seem evil, but only from a certain point of view. It would not have mattered which path you had initially taken, you would have ended up here in the center one way or another eventually."

"But then what...?"

Irmo held up a hand and Glorfindel stopped. "All paths taken in life ultimately come to the Center, but not every one has the courage to reach it. Some become discouraged by setbacks and give up, preferring to sit by a pool and stare at nothing in particular. Others wander from one path to another, mindlessly looking for something that isn’t there, becoming hopelessly lost. And still others stand at the juncture between two paths, or even three, frozen by indecision, afraid to make the wrong decision, not realizing that not making a decision is the wrong decision."

Námo now interrupted. "You experienced all of these things to one degree or another while in the maze, did you not?"

Glorfindel could only nod, feeling a little ashamed at his behavior now that it had been pointed out to him. Námo shook his head.

"Such reactions are typical in every life. What matters is that you didn’t allow such negative feelings to rule you. When you finally decided to accept the consequences of your decisions, right or wrong, you made your way here. Life is the same way. The center of your existence is Ilúvatar, not other people, not material things, and certainly not the Valar, but only you can make the decision to seek Him. We can only point the way for you."

Glorfindel contemplated the Valar’s words, taking them to heart. He realized he had been depending on the Valar and their Maiar servants to make all the decisions for him of late. In Mandos’ Halls, there were no decisions to be made and thus nothing ever changed. Everything was a Timeless Now where children played and sang and slept in complete ignorance of anything else, a womb for those needing one for a time. But eventually, the child must be born and join the outside world.

He thought about his time in the garden. Olórin had been his constant companion, feeding him, clothing him, consoling him, admonishing him, much as a parent would a young child. But he was no longer a child, was he?

He looked up at the two Valar. "I’ve been acting like a perfect idiot, haven’t I?"

Námo shook his head. "You’ve been acting as you should, Glorfindel. There is no condemnation here. All the Reborn suffer from the same condition. You have had your innocence restored, but that innocence needs now to be tempered with experience or you cannot grow to emotional maturity and take your rightful place in the life of Aman."

"Each stage of your journey since death has served a purpose," Irmo added. "When you dwelt in my brother’s Halls you learned what it meant to be a child again, innocent of evil. After your re-embodiment, the garden taught you how to reintegrate yourself to the physical world. Now, here in Lórien, your task is to reconcile with your emotions and to come to terms with who you were and who you are now. That is the hardest task, but necessary."

"So when I leave Lórien, I’ll be emotionally mature?" Glorfindel asked doubtfully and the Valar laughed, though not unkindly, and the ellon did not take offense.

"Nay, not even close," Irmo answered. "But you will have the tools you learned here to begin the process of maturity when you do leave."

"But don’t I know this already from my former life?" Glorfindel remembered every detail of his life before his death, but nothing of that life touched him emotionally, neither joy nor sorrow, and he felt troubled by it, as if it were somehow a failing on his part.

"The memories of your former life have been stripped of all emotional context, else you would be overburdened with remorse and guilt once again," Námo explained. "Your memories cannot help you in this case. You must learn to make new connections and integrate them into your present life."

"Most of the elves who dwell in my gardens," the Lord of Lórien said, "are Reborn who are learning to put their lives back together just as you are. They are your fellow students, if you will, not your teachers, though it is hoped that you will all learn from one another."

Glorfindel sighed, feeling somewhat overwhelmed. It just seemed so daunting and impossible.

"So does it seem to the child taking his first step," the Lord of Mandos commented. "Yet he does and finds that it’s not so difficult as he had thought and another step is taken and before long he is running and dancing and you would never guess that he had started out stumbling and falling and picking himself up over and over again until he got it right."

At that, Námo and Irmo stood up and Glorfindel found himself standing as well. Námo gave the elf a piercing look, then his expression softened. He leaned over and placing his hands on either side of the ellon’s face, gave him a gentle kiss on his brow. Glorfindel blinked and when he opened his eyes again both Námo and the pavilion were gone. Irmo clapped the ellon on the shoulder.

"Welcome to Lórien, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel looked around, not at all surprised to find that he was no longer in the maze. Around him were the lush gardens and groves of Lórien and Estë stood before him with a welcoming smile.

****

Fëanturi: "Masters of Spirits", the name by which Námo and his younger brother Irmo are known.

Eruhíni: Children of Eru, i.e. Elves and Men.

11: Artelemnar and Sador

In some ways Lórien proved a disappointment to Glorfindel. Not that he wasn’t happy. The gardens of Irmo were havens of peace and the groves were beautiful beyond description. Nevertheless, he did not find it easy to live there.

For one thing, he was forced to share a pavilion with two other ellyn, also recently Reborn. Learning to live with others, after having been alone for so long, proved harder than he had thought. He did not know either of them. One was a Noldo named Artelemnar. He told Glorfindel that he had been a warrior under Celegorm and had died in his lord’s service. Glorfindel assumed he had died fighting in one of the battles against Morgoth. The other was a Sinda named Sador who had died when Maedhros and Maglor had attacked the elves at the Havens of Sirion. Sador had been quite young at the time, only sixty-eight years old. He told Glorfindel he did not know if any of his family had survived. Glorfindel felt sorry for the young ellon, bereft of parents and a younger sister.

Artelemnar refused to speak Sindarin to either Glorfindel or Sador now that he was back in Aman and no longer under Elu Thingol’s ban and insisted on calling them both by their Quenya names, Laurefindil and Voronwë, which they both hated. Glorfindel, in retaliation, would sometimes tease Artelemnar by calling him Celepharn instead. Sador, for his part, struggled to speak the High-Elven tongue but found it difficult and when he made a mistake Artelemnar wasn’t above laughing at him.

For that alone, Glorfindel disliked him and took Sador’s side, speaking Sindarin to him but encouraging him with gentle smiles to speak Quenya as often as possible, patiently correcting him without making the Sinda feel stupid, as Artelemnar was wont to do.

Glorfindel also still did not know what was expected of him once he left the confines of Lórien. Where was he to go, and what was he to do? He had been too young when he had left Aman to have had any real life to which he might return. He had no skills that anyone in Aman would appreciate or need.

"You can play the harp," Sador pointed out to him one day and it was true.

When Irmo and Estë had led him to his pavilion he had found a harp lying on his cot. It was beautifully wrought and Glorfindel had picked it up almost reverently. He had tried to play a simple melody but his fingers had forgotten too much and the best he could do was awkwardly pluck at the strings. Irmo had assured him that with practice he would regain his former mastery and arranged for one of the Lóriennildi to tutor him.

Still, it wasn’t enough, or so Glorfindel thought.

"I was a warrior," he explained to Sador one evening as the two sat under a tree outside their pavilion and watched the stars come out. "It’s all I’ve been since leaving Aman. It’s all I know."

Sador was quiet for a while, and when he spoke, he spoke almost in a whisper. "You know friendship and loyalty and... and love. You know what it feels like to die and to be reborn and have to learn all over again how to move your fingers. You know lots of things besides being a warrior."

Glorfindel stared at his friend for a long moment, amazed at the wisdom from this unassuming Sinda. "Perhaps," he finally conceded, "but none of these will find me work or a purpose."

"Are you so sure of that, son of Gondolin?"

Glorfindel looked up in surprise. "Olórin!" He leaped up and practically fell into the Maia’s waiting embrace, laughing with delight to see his friend.

Olórin laughed in turn as he hugged the ellon. "Ai, Glorfindel, you are a sight for sore eyes. Now come, introduce me to your friend."

Glorfindel complied and Sador shyly tried to greet the Maia in Quenya, though he feared he did not do it successfully. "Elen híla... lú...lúmenna... omentiemmo," he said slowly, almost cringing as he waited for some criticism about his dismal attempt at Quenya to fall from the Maia’s lips.

Olórin, however, smiled warmly and, clasping the Sinda by the shoulder, kissed him gently on the brow and said, "No in elenath híluvar am râd gîn." Sador smiled hugely and Glorfindel grinned, pleased that his new friend had at least tried his best.

Artelemnar, who had come out of the pavilion at Glorfindel’s cry and had heard Sador’s attempt at Quenya, sneered at the Sinda. "Can’t even get a simple greeting correct, can you?"

Sador looked at Glorfindel in dismay, and turned away, not wanting to embarrass his friend in front of the Maia, but Olórin took him gently by the shoulder and held him close. He ignored Artelemnar and spoke to Sador instead, stroking the ellon’s hair. "I think you did very well and better than most I know. Do not let Artelemnar’s words wound you. You are coming along just fine. Lord Irmo is very pleased with your progress."

Sador looked up at the Maia in surprise. "H-he is?"

"Oh yes," Olórin answered with a smile and kissed the young elf on the brow again before releasing him. Then he turned to Artelemnar, his expression darkening and the ellon took an uncertain step back. Olórin said nothing at first, merely holding the ellon in his gaze and the weight of the Maia’s authority fell upon Artelemnar and he blanched.

"We had hoped that you at least would have learned simple courtesy during your time in Mandos, my son, if nothing else," Olórin said quietly, though there was a sternness in his voice that Glorfindel had never heard before. "You are allowing your previous arrogance to rule you. It led to you committing the most heinous acts upon your fellow Elves when you joined in the Kinslayings at Alqualondë and Doriath. It led eventually to your own ignoble death. Take care it does not lead you to something even worse."

Both Glorfindel and Sador stared at Artelemnar in surprise. They knew something of each other’s history, of course, but no details. Glorfindel, for instance, had only told them he had died when Gondolin fell. Artelemnar was already dead by then and Sador had been an elfling of forty, living with his family in the Havens of Sirion after having fled Doriath. He had felt no need to give them any further details. It was not that he was ashamed or anything, but simply because it no longer mattered to him. Artelemnar’s history however shed a new light on the elf’s antipathy towards the Sinda.

"Y...you were at Doriath?" Sador asked in a strangled voice that was barely recognizable even to him.

"And if I was?" Artelemnar answered defiantly. "You Sindar rats deserved what you had coming to you for denying my lord Celegorm the Silmaril."

"Celepharn! You forget yourself," Glorfindel yelled, furious for his friend’s sake, if not his own.

Sador, on the other hand, could only stare at Artelemnar in white-faced shock. The memories of the horror and terror he had felt as an elfling fleeing before the wrath of the Noldor and their Dwarven allies and the newer memories of being skewered by an enraged Noldo as he tried to protect his little sister began to overwhelm him and Sador ran towards a stand of holly bushes where he became violently ill.

He felt Glorfindel kneeling beside him, holding him in the throes of his misery as he continued being sick. "I’m sorry... I’m sorry..." was all he could say as the last wave of nausea passed and he began crying.

"Hush, mellon nîn," Glorfindel said gently. "There’s nothing to be sorry about. Come, let’s get you cleaned up." He helped Sador rise and kept a firm grip on the younger elf who was still feeling weak. They made their way to the pavilion. There was no sign of either Olórin or Artelemnar. Glorfindel helped Sador out of his sick-stained clothes and into a nightshirt before ordering the ellon into bed. As early as it was, Sador did not complain and in truth a great weariness enfolded him and he wished nothing more than to sleep and forget.

Glorfindel took up his harp and sat by Sador’s cot, tuning the instrument to "Silmë ar Aldu", an ancient mode from before the Darkening of Valinor. He softly played the lullaby he had heard so many times in Mandos. It was the first piece of music he had learned to play here in Lórien and was his favorite. Sador’s body relaxed under the spell of Glorfindel’s playing and soon sleep took him.

Glorfindel played for a while longer and then set the harp gently down before making his way outside and stopped in surprise. He found himself face-to-face with the Lord of Lórien. Glorfindel bowed low and Irmo nodded his head in acknowledgment.

"Asleep?" the Vala asked.

Glorfindel nodded. "Artelemnar?"

Irmo shook his head. "He’s being seen to."

The Vala’s tone shook Glorfindel and he felt himself shuddering. Irmo took him into his arms and began rubbing his back to calm him. "Fear not, my Balrog-slayer. No harm will come to him. Artelemnar needs further lessoning before he can continue towards maturity."

"W-will he be Un-unhoused?" Glorfindel didn’t like Artelemnar all that much, but he didn’t want him to be punished that severely.

The Vala stepped back in surprise. "Good gracious, no, child. Even if we had such power, we certainly don’t have the authority. No, Artelemnar is safe from that fate, I assure you." Irmo smiled. "That isn’t to say, though, that he won’t wish he were Unhoused instead. Some lessons are harsher than others, I fear."

Glorfindel still felt troubled and it must have shown on his face, for Irmo sighed. "I promise you, Glorfindel, no harm will befall Artelemnar. Do you think someone like Olórin would ever be anything but kind, even to the most recalcitrant soul? You are Eru’s Children and we can do naught but love you and wish you only joy."

Irmo’s words reassured Glorfindel and the ellon nodded his understanding. "What will happen to him, sir?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing much," the Vala shrugged. "We have a place here in Lórien for those who may need some time alone for reflection. Artelemnar will be given that time, as long as he needs. When he is ready to rejoin the rest of you, he will. Now, let us not concern ourselves with what is not any of our business in the first place, shall we?" He gave the elf a piercing look and Glorfindel was suitably chastened.

"Forgive me..."

"Tush, child. Your concern even for someone for whom you do not care does you great credit and I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t expressed such feelings towards another. But the matter is out of your hands now."

Glorfindel nodded, taking a deep breath. "That’s better," Irmo said with a smile. "Now, go bring your harp out and let me hear what you can do."

Glorfindel bowed briefly and did as the Vala bade and soon he was sitting on a stool that Irmo had conveniently conjured for him. He suddenly felt shy and was unsure what would be considered suitable music to play before one of the Powers. He did not know many songs yet, and most were rather simple tunes like the lullaby he had played for Sador.

"Play what’s in your heart, child," Irmo said, divining his thoughts. "All music, however simple, is a reflection of the Great Song that brought everything into existence. The simplest melody sung or played from the heart is no less an acceptable tribute to that Song than the most complex piece ever composed."

Glorfindel nodded and after a brief hesitation decided to play the lullaby, seeing as how the harp was already tuned for it. As he played he found himself humming along and then he began singing the words, words he had heard only within his fëa as it lay at rest in the Halls of Mandos. He lost himself in the song, remembering the sense of security and love that tune always evoked within him and was unaware that tears fell from his face until a gentle hand wiped them away. He looked up into the face of the Lady Estë, who was smiling down at him. Irmo stood nearby, his expression inscrutable.

"That was beautiful, Glorfindel," Estë said, her smile deepening. "I had no idea you had such a lovely singing voice."

"Thank you, my lady," Glorfindel said, his voice hoarse with tears, feeling somewhat embarrassed. He was not sure why he was crying. It was just a stupid little lullaby after all. Not one of those great lays he had heard some of the Lóriennildi sing in the evening.

"You weep, child, because you must," came the unexpected reply from Irmo. "You weep for Sador who lies within dreaming of his little sister whom he tried to protect from Maedhros’ madness. You weep for a young life cut brutally short. You even weep for Artelemnar, for all the pain of guilt that consumes him, and I think you weep for yourself."

The Vala paused and stepped forward, standing next to his spouse, and took the harp out of the ellon’s hands. "Not all tears are an evil, Glorfindel. Weep and be renewed."

With that, the Vala began to play and Glorfindel cried out, the music piercing him to the very core of his fëa, the song a terrible beauty from which he cringed yet yearned to embrace. He never afterwards could recall the melodies the Vala brought forth from the harp, but he remembered the feelings they evoked, feelings of joy and sorrow and deep longing, but for what, he could not say. He remembered throwing off his clothes and dancing in the glade under the stars, alone or with Another, he wasn’t sure, only that he felt he could dance forever. In the end he found himself huddled in Estë’s lap, still naked, and weeping as if he would never stop. The Valië held him and rocked him as the music played on. Finally, his weeping stilled as Irmo brought the music to a close, all tears spent, and a great calm filled him, set him floating in a world of uncaring for himself, content to simply be.

He felt himself being lifted up into Irmo’s arms and then he was being lowered into his bed, the covers pulled up. He opened his eyes, though it was a struggle to do so, and saw both Valar standing above him, looking at him with such love that he wanted to weep again. Irmo placed a finger to the ellon’s lips and shook his head.

"No tears, now. Sleep and be comforted."

Glorfindel gave a great sigh and fell gratefully asleep, never knowing that the Lord of Lórien and his beloved spouse stayed the rest of that night in the pavilion, watching over the two ellyn who slept there under their care.

****

Lóriennildi: (Quenya) "Followers of Lórien" [Lórien + -hildi]. Elves of Aman in the service to Lord Irmo whose task it is to act as counselors to the Reborn and see to their needs, both physical and spiritual. The name is modeled after Yavannildi, the name given to the female elves who knew and kept the secret of the making of coimas (lembas). The Lóriennildi, however, could be of either gender: Lóriennildo (males) and Lóriennildë (females).

No in elenath híluvar am râd gîn: (Sindarin) "May all the stars shine upon your path" [literally, "May it be all the stars in the night sky will shine upon your path"].

Sador’s greeting to Olórin is incorrect on three counts: 1) he mutates síla, since in Sindarin verbs are mutated if they follow the subject, as is the case in Olórin’s greeting; 2) he does not elide the last vowel of lúmenna into the initial vowel of the next word, a normal practice in Quenya but rare in Sindarin; and, 3) he confuses the first person plural exclusive pronoun with the first person plural dual, a common mistake as Sindarin differentiates between exclusive and inclusive 'we' but not the dual 'we'. As everyone knows, the correct greeting is: Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo. Olórin, of course, ignores all this, awarding effort with courtesy by speaking his greeting in Sindarin.

Mellon nîn: (Sindarin) My friend.

Silmë ar Aldu: (Quenya) Starlight and the Two Trees.

Note on names: Sador means "Faithful One". The Quenya equivalent would be Voronwë. Sador was the name of Túrin’s faithful servant. Artelemnar means "Royal Silver-flame", a reference, of course to Telperion. When the Noldor came to Beleriand and adopted Sindarin names, Artelemnar changed his name to Celepharn, which means "Royal Silver". Celepharn is also the name of one of the kings of Arthedain. Glorfindel’s name would be rendered Laurefindil in Quenya.

Historical note: Sador was born in 470 in Doriath, a year before the Dagor Nirnaeth Arnediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. Doriath fell in 507 and so he was only 37 (15 in human years) when he and his family fled to the Havens with Elwing and the silmaril. When he died thirty-one years later, he was only 28 in human terms.

12: Lessons in Compassion

Glorfindel woke the next morning feeling refreshed, and discovered he no longer cared what the future held. He would face it when it came. For now, all that mattered was that he learn as much as he could of what he needed to know before his release. He and Sador spent many hours talking about their former lives and how they had died. Glorfindel held Sador in his arms while the ellon wept after telling the golden-haired elf about fleeing Doriath and then dying at the hands of one of Maedhros’ warriors.

"I-I didn’t even know how to use a s-sword," he stuttered between tears. "A-all I wanted to do was to pr-protect my sister." Sador looked up with hurt and confusion in his eyes. "Wh-why would anyone want to hurt a child? Ninniach was only thirty."

Glorfindel shook his head and held the ellon closer, sorrow filling his fëa. "I don’t know, meldonya. I don’t know."

They sat there in companionable silence for a long time until one of the Lóriennildi found them and reminded them they had to eat.

Over the days and weeks that followed, Glorfindel began to interact with the other Reborn. He discovered that they were all expected to attend lectures detailing the history of Aman after the Flight of the Noldor.

"You need to know who is who and why things are as they are here," one of their tutors explained. "Even those of you who were born here will find that much has changed since the Darkening."

Glorfindel learned of events in Middle-earth from the other Reborn who died after him, for the Lóriennildi refused to speak about it. Glorfindel asked Sador and a few others about the fate of the survivors from Gondolin and learned that Idril, Tuor and their son had indeed made it to the Havens of Sirion, but as to their ultimate fate, he could never get a satisfactory answer. Not even Irmo, when Glorfindel sought the Vala out one day and asked, was forthcoming.

"They are no longer your concern, Glorfindel. Your death severed all responsibility towards the House of Turgon. Let it go. Let them go. It will only cause you grief otherwise."

Glorfindel, however, was not convinced and when Olórin paid him a brief visit, he opened up to the Maia as he had not to any other.

"Lord Irmo says my responsibility towards my king and his family died with me on the slopes of the Echoriath. He says my duties lie elsewhere, but he does not say where. Do loyalty and service and oaths die with the hröa? Are they not eternal, like the fëa? If these do not survive death, why should anything survive, even love?"

"Your questions are weighty, and require an answer," Olórin said after a brief pause, "but I cannot answer them for you."

"Cannot or will not?" Glorfindel retorted, beginning to feel anger and frustration. It seemed as if the Powers were intent on denying him simple information about those whom he had loved and served. What harm was there in knowing their fate?

Olórin sighed. He had feared this day, they all had. Manwë, himself, had warned him it was coming.

"He will ask questions for which he is not ready to hear the answers," the Elder King had told him. "You must stall him as best as you may. Eventually, he will come to me and I will answer all his questions, but not before that."

"Cannot, child," Olórin answered. "If you would know the answers to your questions, you must go to Lord Manwë for them, but only when you are ready to be released. Show that you have matured enough and you may leave Lórien and journey to Taniquetil... if you can."

"If I can?" Glorfindel asked, perplexed.

Olórin smiled. "It is not always easy to reach Taniquetil, Glorfindel. And if you go, do not go alone."

With that the Maia took his leave and Glorfindel was left to ponder his words, yet, in the exigency of living, he soon forgot them or his wish to know more about the fate of Turgon’s family. In the meantime, the Lóriennildi encouraged him to explore the different arts and crafts in the hopes he would find some employment suitable to his temperament.

Sador tried to help, but feared he wasn’t the right person for the task. "My adar was a potter," he said one day. "I was his apprentice before I died. I think I would like to be a potter again. Even in Aman they need potters. Perhaps you could learn as well and we will go into business together."

Glorfindel had to laugh at that, the image of himself covered with clay trying to get something to form on the potter’s wheel was just too funny, for he knew his strengths and weaknesses. "I’m afraid I would make a dreadful potter, Sador, but I thank you for the offer. I think it’s a very good idea that you have, though. You should pursue it for yourself."

"Oh, I just thought it was something we could do together when we left here so we could still be friends." Sador said somewhat diffidently.

Glorfindel placed his hands on the ellon’s shoulders, his gaze intent. "We will always be friends, never doubt that, whatever we end up doing. You must not think for a moment that we would ever cease to be friends."

Sador looked mollified at Glorfindel’s words and the golden-haired elf realized just how incredibly young the Sinda was. He suddenly felt protective of the younger ellon, reminded of how he had felt towards Eluréd and Elurín. He hoped that when the time came, they would be released together so he could continue watching out for his young friend.

Glorfindel’s one regret was that he did not see any of the friends he remembered from his time in Mandos. Either they were still in the Halls of Waiting, or had already been Reborn and sent to live in Aman. He also heard rumors that Tol Eressëa was occupied again by the Noldor, Sindar and Nandor who had elected to return to the Undying Lands after the War of Wrath, but he could get no clear confirmation.

"Perhaps some of your family survived and moved there," Glorfindel told Sador, hoping to cheer the ellon up, but Sador merely shrugged, half-resigned to finding that he was alone among strangers.

"Not alone," Glorfindel told him. "You have me and as long as you have me, you’ll never be alone."

Days fled and Glorfindel found he did not mind the company of others as much as he had before. Often he and Sador joined the other Reborn in the evenings for singing and dancing, trading stories and jokes, or just watching the stars as they danced their stately and eternal pavane across the heavens. Glorfindel would bring his harp and the others would also bring various musical instruments or would just join in the singing and they would make merry into the night.

During the day, he was allowed to wander as he willed if he was not attending a class or speaking to one of the Lóriennildi. These elves were there to help in the transition to life in Aman, though sometimes Glorfindel chafed under their seeming condescension. The Lóriennildi were unfailingly polite and ever helpful, yet Glorfindel had the distinct impression that he and the other Reborn were looked down upon as somehow inferior by some of them because they had had the ill luck to die, surely a sign of Eru’s displeasure towards them. He feared that if these elves who served Lord Irmo in the task of helping the Reborn felt this way, what did that bode for their reception among the other Once-born, as he tended to think of them?

"At least you’re a Noldo," Sador had commented when Glorfindel had expressed his concern to his friend. "I’m a Sinda. My people refused the call to come to Aman. Your people called us Moriquendi, never knowing what an insult it was to us who had fought against the Dark before ever you and yours arrived on our shores to lord it over us. How do you think they’ll treat me?"

Glorfindel found his friend’s words disturbing and pondered them for a long time. He thought to seek counsel but in the end decided against it. What, after all, could anyone say? It would be as it would be. He was unlikely to change anyone’s opinion about it.

Unbeknown to him, others pondered those same questions and had the same concerns. Námo often took counsel with Manwë about the treatment of the Reborn by the other elves. Irmo had to admonish some of his servants more than once when he noticed their condescending attitude towards their charges. Varda was heard to comment somewhat acerbically that even in the Undying Lands Melkor’s taint could still be felt and wondered if the Once-born (Varda had found Glorfindel’s name for the elves of Aman too amusing not to use herself) had gotten off too easily.

"I’m tempted to send most of them to Mandos to see what it feels like. It might cure them of their arrogance," the Star-Kindler had said in a fit of pique.

Námo had given her a wry look. "Just give me sufficient warning before you do. I’ll need to do some housecleaning first. You know how fastidious some of these elves are."

That had brought gales of laughter from both Varda and Manwë and even Nienna had smiled at the jest. In the end, though, they knew the changes in attitude could only come from the Children themselves.

"It will be up to the son of Arafinwë and our favorite Balrog-slayer," Manwë said. "It is for this that they were destined to meet in the Halls of Waiting, so that when the time came, they would come to a solution together."

"And if they fail to find a solution?" Irmo had asked, for he was skeptical that any solution would be forthcoming.

Manwë merely smiled. "Even in failure they will have achieved something," and he would say no more about it.

****

While day and night sped by, Glorfindel did not bother to keep track and could not have said how long he remained in Lórien. His harping improved and he learned several skills he had never learned before: bee-keeping from Yavanna’s people, the crafting of fine jewelry from some of Aulë’s, even ribbon embroidery from Vairë’s handmaidens. Yet, his greatest skill, according to Lord Irmo when he spoke to Glorfindel about it one time, seemed to be the most difficult for him to accept.

"Your greatest skill is compassion, child," the Lord of Lórien said. "Use it to the fullest."

"How?" Glorfindel asked, puzzled and not a little annoyed. What good was compassion to him? It wouldn’t put food on his table. He couldn’t sell it on the streets of Tirion for lodgings. What was he supposed to do with it?

Irmo, however, merely smiled and shook his head. "That’s for you to decide. In the meantime, if you want lodgings and food, I suggest you increase your repertoire of songs for your harp. That will stand you in better stead. And I might also suggest you use some of that compassion on yourself."

Glorfindel squirmed at that, for he had been having difficulty coming to terms with what he considered his failure: he could not yet forgive himself for dying. Míriel, the Lóriennildë who was most often his counselor tried to help him come to terms with his feelings about this but was unsuccessful. It was Sador, oddly enough, who helped him.

"You didn’t fail, Glorfindel," the Sinda said. "You succeeded. Idril and Eärendil survived. If anyone failed it was I."

"You?"

Sador nodded. "You were a warrior. You fell upon the Balrog without thought for yourself, only for others. I think you went into battle knowing you would die, didn’t you?" Sador’s glance was shrewd and Glorfindel ceded the point with a reluctant nod.

"So you see, you knew the price for your actions before you took them. I...I think every warrior knows that the... the consequence of picking up a sword is that they could die."

Glorfindel nodded, looking thoughtful, realizing at last that what Sador had said was the truth. It was as if a great weight was finally lifted from his shoulders and he felt he could breathe properly now, the past finally laid to rest and put into perspective.

"But why do you say you are a failure?" he asked his friend, for he did not think of Sador as one.

Sador blushed and looked down. "I’m not a warrior. I couldn’t save anyone, not even myself."

Glorfindel put his arms around the younger ellon and whispered in his ear. "That’s not true, Sador. You’ve just saved me." Then he kissed him on the brow. "Ci hannon, mellon nîn. Uin enedh e-gûr nîn, ci hannon."

He looked up just then and found himself staring into the calm eyes of the Lord of Lórien. No words passed between them, but he knew.

It was time to leave.

****

Adar: (Sindarin) Father.

Ci hannon, mellon nîn. Uin enedh e-gûr nîn, ci hannon: (Sindarin): "Thank you, my friend. From the depths (literally, "core, center") of my heart, I thank you." Glorfindel, of course, uses the second person familiar when speaking to his friend.

Note: The reference to Glorfindel learning ribbon embroidery from Vaire’s handmaidens is taken from Nilmandra’s story, History Lesson: Second Age, chapter 7, "Healing". The reference to bee-keeping is from my story, Tâd Edhil a Firion, chapter 7, "Into the Taur of No Return".

13: iAndondi Entulessëo

When the summons reached Finrod, he was sitting in Arafinwë's court, listening to petitions. His atar had begun giving him greater responsibility in that regard after his talk with Lord Námo. At first Finrod had been reluctant and uncertain that he would be up to the task, but his amillë had given him encouragement and his atar had given him his orders. Now, he found that the memories of his days as King of Nargothrond helped. The elves who came to him, mostly common people with minor problems, found him wise in judgment and Arafinwë was well-pleased.

He was finishing up a minor dispute between two farmers when the door of the audience chamber opened and a guard came in and bowed.

"Yes, Calandil, what is it?"

"My lord, this message has just arrived for you," the guard said and handed Finrod a piece of parchment.

Finrod thanked the guard and dismissed him, examining the missive as he did. It was a single sheet of parchment folded over once with a seal of the Sun-in-Eclipse embedded in black wax. He felt himself trembling at the sight of the seal, so well known to him. Breaking it he began to read, unaware that he stood, his face going white. On the plain parchment, written in elegant Sindarin tengwar were two short sentences:

Tolo hi. Mellon gîn anglenna in Ennyn Aderthad.

It was signed simply: Námo.

Finrod closed his eyes.

"My lord, is there something amiss?" one of his attendants asked worriedly.

Finrod opened his eyes and all there could see the tears but his eyes shone not with sorrow, as they feared, but with joy, inexpressible and beyond endurance, for those who looked upon the firstborn son of the King of the Noldor were forced to look away, so bright was the Light of his Being.

"Nay," Finrod said, attempting to sound calm. "There is naught amiss. I fear I must leave now. Please forgive me." Finrod stepped down from the dais and walked decorously towards the door but as soon as he was in the corridor he began to run, heedless of what others might think. He made his way towards the family apartments where he knew his atar was in his study meeting with his advisors.

Arafinwë looked up in annoyance when the door to his study slammed opened but his expression turned quickly to alarm when he saw his son running in shouting, "He's coming, he's coming, he's coming, he's..."

"Findaráto! What has happened?" Arafinwë grabbed his son by his shoulders and shook him.

Finrod stopped his shouting and taking a deep breath he thrust the missive into his atar's hands. The King of the Noldor in Aman looked at the seal and his eyes widened in recognition. He glanced at the words but could not read them and was loath to admit it in front of his advisors, but...

"I cannot..."

"Á tulë si. Meldotya anatulë iAndondi Entulessëo," Finrod translated in a rush without thinking and then stopped, suddenly aware that he and his atar were not alone.

"I see," Arafinwë said somewhat wryly. "And the signature?"

"L-lord Námo," Finrod said more quietly.

Several eyebrows rose at that. One of the advisors turned to Finrod with a supercilious look. "And who is it that comes that the Lord of Mandos would deign to inform you, Prince? I cannot imagine why Lord Námo would even bother."

Finrod looked nonplused and was not sure how to respond, but his atar saved him the trouble. Arafinwë turned to the elf with a scowl. "I do not question Lord Námo's motives in this or anything else, Pelendur. Please keep your opinions on the matter to yourself."

Pelendur looked suitably chastened but Finrod was not paying any attention. He could only think of one thing.

"It's Glorfindel, Atar. I have to go to him. I have to leave now."

"Glorfindel?" another advisor asked in distain. "An odd-sounding name. Was he one of those, what do they call themselves, Sindar? I can't imagine one of the Noldor having such a strange name. I would think, my prince, that now that you have returned to us where you belong you would have severed your ties with these... Moriquendi."

Finrod was stunned, tears beginning to form. He had never realized that some of his atar's own advisors looked down upon the Sindar with such contempt. He, himself, when he first met his sundered kin, had found them industrious and brave, loyal and deserving of every respect. Four of the ten Companions who had followed him and Beren had been Sindar. They had died in agony yet had never revealed their lord's secret to Sauron, as loyal as the Noldor who had died beside them. He honored their memory and looked forward to the day when they were released from Mandos so he could show them his gratitude and ask for their forgiveness for leading them to their deaths.

Arafinwë sighed as he looked upon his firstborn struggling to retain his composure. Findaráto had come a long way since his conversation with the Lord of Mandos and he had begun to take his responsibilities more seriously, but there were still times when he seemed younger than he had been even as an elfling. He was not entirely sure he wanted this Glorfindel as a friend for his son but he knew that such things were best left to themselves. Findaráto would never abandon his loyalties once given, not even if Arafinwë ordered him to.

He put a comforting hand on his sons shoulder. "Why don't we go together then, yonya? I would like to meet your friend myself."

The look on his advisors faces was worth that small concession and the smile on his son's face was priceless.

****

In the end, the entire royal family decided to accompany Finrod to Lórien. Finrod wasn't sure he liked that but said nothing. His amillë, he did not mind, but Amarië... He still found it difficult to think of her as his betrothed. He remembered her, of course, and their love, but much of the emotional content of his former life had been stripped from him. Amarië had been understanding, or so she said, but Finrod was not so sure. They had agreed to give him more time to get reacquainted with life in Aman before speaking of marriage. Amarië had waited all this time, she could wait a little longer as far as Finrod was concerned.

Now the four of them were before the Gates of Return, wrapped in cloaks to ward off the gentle rain that was falling that day. They stood with several other families whose loved-ones were to be released. They were a little in awe of Arafinwë and Eärwen, but the royal couple soon put them at ease, asking after their families and congratulating them on the release of their kin.

"Do you also await for one of your family, my lord?" asked one of the elves waiting for a granddaughter he had never met, for she had been born in Endórë.

"Nay, good Valandil," the King said. "We are here for my son's sake. He comes to greet a friend."

"Oh, someone from his... when he lived in Endórë?"

Arafinwë shook his head, feeling almost amused. "I understand they met in Mandos."

There was nothing that could be said to that and Arafinwë shortly took his leave to rejoin his own family. Finrod stood there impatiently.

"Patience, Findaráto," Amarië said somewhat tartly. "Its not as if this Laurefindil were family. Would you feel this impatient if Aicanáro or Angaráto were being released?"

Finrod stared at the elleth in consternation. "His name is Glorfindel and he is as a brother to me, more so than Aegnor or Angrod ever were."

Amarië looked as if she'd been slapped in the face and Finrod instantly regretted his words but knew them to be true. He had trouble picturing his brothers or having any familial feelings towards them. Interestingly enough, he did not have that problem where his beloved sister, Galadriel, was concerned. He had hoped she would have returned to Aman after the War of Wrath, but understood why she didn't. He remembered some of the scandal her marriage to Celeborn had caused among the Noldor-in-Exile, but he had welcomed the Prince of Doriath as a brother and had nothing but fond memories of him. He hoped that they were well and content and sent a silent prayer to the Valar that it be so.

"I'm sorry, Amarië, that was thoughtless of me," Finrod finally said and Amarië nodded her acceptance of his apology but did not apologize in return, which Arafinwë, having overheard their conversation, found telling.

At that moment someone exclaimed, "Look! The Gates are opening."

Finrod turned to see the Gates swinging open of their own accord. It was a peculiarity of these Gates that looking through them one could only see a dense fog. He remembered that the fog had appeared on the other side of the Gates when he was walking through them but not on his side. He did not know why that was, and it intrigued him.

There was an expectant hush as the first dim figure was seen emerging from the fog. Finrod let go of a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding, disappointment filling him. It was not Glorfindel. It wasn't even an ellon, but an elleth, who stood hesitantly at the Gates, a pitiful bundle in her arms. One couple stepped out of the crowd and spoke quietly to the elleth. Finrod could not hear what the couple said, but he saw the elleth's eyes widen and then she flung her arms around them. They returned her embrace with fierce hugs of their own, their joy evident to all who were there.

"Their granddaughter, I take it," Arafinwë said quietly to Finrod and his son smiled, pleased that a family had been reunited.

Soon others began to emerge from the fog to be greeted joyfully by their kin. Some of the families began to leave, eager to be gone, but a few lingered, curious as to why the royal family was there. Finrod was beside himself with worry.

"Why isn't he here? Atar, could Lord Irmo have changed his mind?"

"Nay, yonya," Arafinwë placed a comforting hand on his son's shoulder. "Your friend will come, never fear."

Eärwen kissed him and smiled. "I'm sure Glorfindel will be along presently, my dear. You've been so good, wait just a little longer."

Finrod smiled at his amillë, grateful beyond words that she called his friend by his "right" name instead of trying to mangle it into Quenya. He ignored Amarië's sigh. Just then, two more figures began to emerge from the fog. Finrod felt confused, for no other families were waiting for a loved-one; only the royal family had not yet greeted anyone. He stared into the fog, willing his eyes to pierce the mist to see who came and then...

"GLORFI!"

"FINROD!"

They were running towards each other, the joy on their faces flaring in brightness to rival the light of Anar, heedless of anyone or anything but each other. They met and grasped hands and, laughing, flung each other about in a dance of pure delight that left the onlookers breathless, and not a few looked on in disapproval. The rain suddenly ceased and the clouds rolled back. Anar shone upon the two ellyn and a multitude of rainbows formed around them, though neither noticed. They had eyes only for each other and they danced with complete abandonment until they suddenly collapsed laughing onto the ground in a heap, mindless of the wet grass staining their clothes as they tumbled about. Slowly the rainbows melted as clouds hid the Sun again. Finrod and Glorfindel lay breathless on the ground, their arms wrapped around each other.

"I've waited so long," Finrod whispered as he stroked Glorfindel's hair.

"No longer than I have," Glorfindel laughed and gave his friend a shove. "Now get off me, you overgrown elfling, people will talk."

"People will talk anyway, so we might as well give them something to talk about," Finrod retorted, then smiled. "Welcome home, my brother."

"Ahem."

The ellyn looked up to see Arafinwë staring down at them with a look that alternated between annoyance and amusement.

"Perhaps you would care to introduce me to your friend, Findaráto."

Finrod and Glorfindel scrambled to their feet, half-heartedly trying to straighten their clothes and brushing the grass from their cloaks and hair.

"Sorry, Atar. Glorfindel this is my atar, Arafinwë."

Arafinwë raised an amused eyebrow at his son's cavalier introduction. "Sometimes known as the King of the Noldor," he said with a wink at Glorfindel, "but who cares?"

Glorfindel could only laugh. "Who cares, indeed, my lord?" He gave the king a respectful bow, placing his right hand over his heart. "I am pleased to finally meet the atar of my friend. He does you credit, my lord, and I am proud and humbled that he would befriend me in turn."

Arafinwë looked upon the golden-haired elf with approval. There was no subservience in the elf's attitude. His eyes were clear, clearer than most, the Light of the Two Trees evident. He held himself with simple dignity and Arafinwë suddenly saw his own son in a different light, for that same dignity could be seen in Findaráto, hidden underneath his son's insecurities and doubts. Here was one who would be good for Findaráto and help him to become the elf he was always meant to be.

Eärwen approached then, followed somewhat reluctantly by Amarië. She smiled at the two ellyn and held out her hands to Glorfindel, who bowed over them. "Welcome, my dear. I am glad my son has been reunited with his friend at last."

"Násië!" came a heart-felt reply and they turned to see Lord Námo standing there, a most peculiar expression on his face. All there bowed, the elves of Aman not a little unnerved. Arafinwë noticed, though, that none of the Reborn seemed unduly upset to see the Lord of Mandos. In fact some of them, including his own son, even smiled at him, and the King realized with a start that these elves had a more intimate knowledge of the Vala than even he did.

"Now perhaps your son will stop pestering me with his demands...er...petitions," Námo said, speaking to the King and his Queen. "And this one," pointing at Glorfindel who refused to look repentant, "this one will stop whining."

"I never whine!" Glorfindel protested, and several people gasped at the temerity of this unknown elf in speaking to the Lord of Mandos in such a fashion.

"Not according to my brother," the Lord of Mandos retorted, seemingly not at all upset. Then in a voice that sounded very much like Glorfindel's he continued, "Why can't I see Finrod now? When will we be together? Why do I have to wear clothes all the time?"

Finrod laughed and pointed at Glorfindel. "You, too?"

Glorfindel shrugged, his smile deepening, and the onlookers were surprised to see a slow smile gracing the Lord of Mandos' face as he looked upon the two ellyn. "Well, you have finally gotten your wish, my children. Use this time together wisely." Then, he took them into his embrace one at a time, kissing them on the brow. Both ellyn looked somewhat bemused but content. Námo glanced around at the stunned crowd and then gave Arafinwë and Eärwen a respectful nod before walking through the Gates, which closed silently behind him.

For a long moment no one moved, then Glorfindel collected himself and turned towards the person who had followed him out of the Gates. "Sador, come and meet my friend."

Sador reluctantly came forward, clutching his small bundle as well as Glorfindel's harp, which the ellon had thrust into his arms before rushing to greet Finrod.

Glorfindel motioned to Finrod. "This is my friend, Sador, originally from Doriath. We met in Lórien."

Sador bowed and muttered something in Quenya, looking embarrassed, but Finrod merely smiled and taking the ellon's hand, spoke in Sindarin, "If you are Glorfindel's friend, then you are my friend as well. Welcome, Sador, late of Doriath. Welcome to Aman."

Sador looked up with a tremulous smile and thanked the Noldo prince.

"Do you have family waiting for you, Sador?" Finrod asked gently, switching to Quenya and speaking slowly for Sador's sake.

Sador shook his head sadly. "Nay, lord, I fear I am alone."

"On the contrary," Finrod countered. "As long as you have Glorfindel and me as your friends you will never be alone. Now come and stay with us and I will have my atar make enquiries. There might be some distant kin living in Alqualondë with whom you could live."

"I... I don't think I want to live with strangers, however related they might be to me."

"I don't blame you, child," Arafinwë intervened. "It will be as my son has said. Until you are reunited with your own family, you must consider ours as a poor substitute."

Sador glanced at Glorfindel and Finrod with bemusement and Glorfindel gave him an encouraging squeeze. He smiled and leaned over to whisper rather loudly in Sador's ear, "I may be mistaken, but I think you're supposed to say 'thank you' right about now."

Sador blushed as everyone grinned and then tears began to fall as he tried to stammer his thanks. Arafinwë took the ellon in his arms and held him. "It is well, yonya. Hush, now. No tears. Welcome home."

A short while later the royal family, now numbering six, left the Gates of Return for the trip back to Tirion. Finrod noticed that Amarië refused to look at Glorfindel once they were introduced, though she spoke to him when he addressed her directly. Sador she ignored completely.

****

iAndondi Entulessëo: (Quenya) The Great Gates of Return.

Tolo hi. Mellon gîn anglenna in Ennyn Aderthad: (Sindarin) "Come now. Your friend approaches the Gates of Reunion."

The Sindarin name for these gates is different from the Quenya for two reasons: 1) there is no attested word for "return" in Sindarin and no attested word for "reunion" in Quenya, so I was forced to use these words in their own language without trying to reconstruct them in the other language; and, 2) on a sociolinguistic level, there is nothing to say that the Sindar would necessarily call these gates by the same name in translation as the Noldor, nor should they have to. Finrod, of course, translates this sentence for Arafinwë using the Quenya name for these gates.

Endórë: (Quenya) Middle-earth.

Násië: (Quenya) Amen.

Historical note: The only one of Finrod's Companions who is named is Edrahil with no indication of his race. Nor is there any other information about the other Companions. For the sake of this story, I have postulated that the Companions were a mixed group of Noldor and Sindar.

14: Adjustments

They arrived at the palace in Tirion in the early evening where a cold repast awaited them. Arafinwë noticed that Finrod was more relaxed and open than he had been since passing through the Gates of Return to be reunited with his parents. He laughed and joked with Glorfindel, smoothly including Sador in their banter until all three ellyn were teasing each other. Arafinwë and Eärwen found themselves grinning as well, the joy of the three Reborn infectious. Amarië also found herself smiling in amusement.

Perhaps, she thought to herself, having this Laur... no, this Glorfindel, around might not be a bad idea. Certainly, she realized, Findaráto’s attitude had changed remarkably now that he was reunited with his friend. Perhaps she could exploit that to her advantage.

As they ate and talked it became apparent that Glorfindel knew certain members of the King’s family yet Arafinwë was sure he had never set eyes on the ellon before this.

"I am a couple of decades younger than your daughter, my lord," Glorfindel explained. "I remember playing with her as an elfling, tagging along after Turucáno. Findaráto was already an adult by then, so I had nothing to do with him. Then, during the Crossing," and here both he and Finrod looked grim and Arafinwë wondered at that. He knew what the elf meant by the word, but he had never been able to learn the details of that journey. "I was in Turucáno’s retinue, but I often saw Galad... er... Artanis with Itarildë after Elenwë...."

Glorfindel could not go on and the others respected him by not pressing, though Amarië looked as if she wanted to ask further after Elenwë. Finrod sent her a quelling glance and she thought better of it.

Once the meal was over, Glorfindel admitted to feeling fatigued and Sador nodded in agreement. Finrod stood up. "I felt the same way when I first returned. I think I slept for days. I will show you your rooms. Everything has been prepared."

With that, Glorfindel and Sador bade the others good-night and with a bow to the King and his Queen followed Finrod out. He led them to a suite of rooms which were in the same wing as his own. "My rooms are actually just down the hall on your left."

After pointing out the necessary features of their suite, Finrod bade his friends good-night, leaving Glorfindel and Sador standing there looking at one another.

Sometime later, Arafinwë glanced inside the suite he had assigned to Glorfindel and Sador to find their beds were empty. Concerned, he moved down the hall to his son’s room and peeking in, after receiving no answer to his knock, he found Finrod and Glorfindel sleeping hand-in-hand while Sador sat beside them on the wide bed, stroking their hair and humming softly. He looked up when Arafinwë came in and smiled.

"They couldn’t sleep," he whispered in explanation, then slid down to lie next to Glorfindel, his arm around his friend protectively and fell asleep himself. Arafinwë stood there for a moment in surprise at the three slumbering ellyn, reminding him of puppies sleeping in a huddle. He chuckled at the image and pulled a blanket out of the press and wrapped it around the sleeping forms, kissing each softly on the forehead. None stirred, but Finrod smiled in his sleep. Then he sat in a chair, content to spend the night watching over his son.

No... sons. It seemed that Lord Námo could not give him back all his other children yet, so instead he had given him two orphans who needed his love and support. In retrospect he decided it was an equitable trade.

****

The three ellyn woke almost simultaneously. Glorfindel shared a smile with Finrod in greeting then started when he sat up and saw Arafinwë sitting in a chair watching them with an amused look on his face. Sador gave a small yelp and tried to hide under the covers, having quite forgotten seeing the King enter the bedroom the night before. Finrod, for his part, merely yawned and stretched.

"Good morning, Atar."

"Good morning, yonya. I trust you and your friends slept well?"

Finrod merely grinned as he climbed out of the bed and reached for a robe.

"Have you been sitting here all night, sir?" Glorfindel asked while simultaneously pulling the covers off Sador and pushing him out of the bed. Sador gave a half-muttered curse as he landed on the floor that raised more than one eyebrow in the room.

"Does your amillë know you talk like that?" Finrod asked with a grin and the others laughed while Sador climbed to his feet and tried to apologize.

Arafinwë waved a hand in dismissal and stood. "Breakfast is in half an hour. Don’t be late." With that the King left to attend to his own needs. Glorfindel and Sador made their way back to their own suite where they proceeded to make themselves presentable.

Finrod escorted them to the family’s private dining hall where Eärwen greeted them with a smile. Amarië smiled as well and gave them a courteous greeting, asking if they had all slept well, though she didn’t really bother to wait for an answer, going to the sideboard to fix a plate for herself. Glorfindel gave Finrod an appraising look and grinned when his friend grimaced and shrugged.

The meal was informal and relaxed. Glorfindel found himself remembering such meals with Turgon when the king would call his councillors to join him for breakfast and they would discuss affairs of state in an informal setting. It was strangely familiar and he found he was enjoying himself more than he expected. He glanced at Sador, who was looking somewhat ill at ease and gave him an encouraging smile.

"I have decided to suspend your normal duties for the next few days, Findaráto," Arafinwë said at one point. "You should take the time to show Glorfindel and Sador around and introduce them to some of your friends."

Finrod grimaced. "If I had any, I would."

"Perhaps if you made an effort, dear," Eärwen said quietly. There was no recrimination in her voice, merely motherly concern.

"They don’t want anything to do with me, Amillë, unless they think they can get something out of Atar through me."

Arafinwë shook his head. "An occupational hazard, yonya. Being King of the Noldor does have its downside. But not all of the younger members of this court are sycophants. You just haven’t given them a chance."

Finrod sighed, unconsciously shredding a piece of toast. Glorfindel reached over and slapped him gently on the hand. "Stop that, meldonya. Didn’t your amillë teach you not to play with your food?"

Finrod looked up at Glorfindel in surprise, the retort dying on his lips when he saw the twinkle of amusement in his friend’s eyes and laughed somewhat ruefully as he dropped what was left of the toast onto his plate. "Sorry, I didn’t realize..."

Glorfindel nodded. "You will take us on a tour and you will introduce us to whomever we meet with all the grace of a prince. Let’s worry about the rest later, shall we?"

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow at Glorfindel’s tone, but did not intervene. Here was one, he suspected, who would not let Findaráto get away with anything, including self-pity. Yes, this Glorfindel was definitely good for his son.

For his part, Finrod merely looked at his friend with an air of pretended insult. "Who died and left you in charge of my life?"

Glorfindel laughed and the sound of it was so joyous as to leave its hearers breathless with wonder. "I can’t believe Lord Námo let you out without a keeper. Whatever was he thinking? He should at least have sent me along to keep you in line."

Finrod sputtered. "As I recall, you were lying in Lord Námo’s arms weeping like an elfling when I left."

The golden-haired elf sniffed disdainfully. "A minor detail. I’m sure if Lord Námo had been thinking straight he would have waited until I was ready to leave with you before sending you from Mandos to plague Aman with your presence."

Now Finrod laughed. "I’m sure he’ll be delighted to listen to your critique of his handling of his charges. He might even thank you for it... just before he kills you and sends you back to Mandos for good."

Sador snorted at that. "Lord Námo probably threw a party for the other Valar the day he finally got rid of Glorfindel. I don’t think he’ll appreciate having to put up with Glorfindel’s whining again for the rest of Arda’s existence."

"I never whine!" the former Balrog slayer exclaimed, then all three were laughing uproariously.

Arafinwë exchanged a bemused look with Eärwen, not sure how to react to the easy manner in which these three spoke of Lord Námo or their time in the Halls of Mandos. Even joking about being sent back. He remembered the way some of his people had acted in the presence of his son when he first had returned to them. They had been, not frightened, but definitely uneasy around him and perhaps Findaráto still resented them for it.

Now, looking at his firstborn laughing as he threw a piece of toast at Glorfindel, who deftly caught it before stuffing it into his mouth, he realized that his son had not been pining for his friend so much as he had been trying to find acceptance from others. He had been suffering from loneliness and even shyness, his emotions too raw and near the surface as he attempted to reintegrate himself back into the life he had left so many centuries before. They all — and Arafinwë ruefully included himself — had treated Findaráto as an oddity for having died and been reborn when what his son had really needed was to feel normal. Though frankly there was nothing normal about the whole situation to begin with.

Arafinwë shook his head as if to clear it of such thoughts and smiled instead, deciding to enjoy the banter between the three ellyn and rejoice that his firstborn had been returned to him.

"Why were you crying in Lord Námo’s arms?" Amarië asked Glorfindel, but it was not simple curiosity that drove her to ask the question. Her tone suggested a hint of contempt.

"Hush, dear," Eärwen admonished. "That sort of thing is never spoken of."

Glorfindel was disinclined to answer, but surprisingly Finrod addressed his betrothed. "We’ve all ended up weeping in Lord Námo’s arms at least once during our time in Mandos, Amarië. Our fëar were like children and children often need comforting from the adults around them."

"Even you?" Amarië asked incredulously.

Finrod smiled. "Oh, yes, even I, and more than once that I recall. Lord Námo often calmed me by singing a lullaby."

He then began singing softly an ancient lullaby, his eyes going distant with memory. Glorfindel and Sador grinned at each other and by the second verse had joined in. Arafinwë sat there listening, trying to imagine the forbidding Lord of Mandos singing such a song to the fëar under his care. Somehow, that image comforted him as nothing else had and for the first time he truly believed that his other two sons were safe and happy in Mandos and that the Valar loved them as deeply as he, if not more so.

He never noticed the tears running down his face until Eärwen leaned over with a handkerchief and gently wiped them away.

****

Over the next few days Arafinwë noticed a change in attitude from several of his courtiers. Where they had been stiffly proper in their treatment of Findaráto, now they seemed to be more relaxed whenever his son was in their presence. He suspected that Glorfindel had much to do with it. The golden-haired elf held himself with an air of easy grace. He was not arrogant or prideful, but neither was he subservient. He was courteous to all, but he did not suffer fools gladly and he treated the lowest member of the King’s household with the same respect as he treated the King himself.

Sador, they safely ignored, and while the young elf did not seem to mind, both Finrod and Glorfindel were angered by the lack of respect the Sinda was receiving.

"I’m a potter and the son of a potter," Sador said after Finrod complained on his behalf to his atar during dinner one night. "I’m no hero and no Elf-lord to command respect. I am grateful for your friendship, Lord Finrod, but I do know my place."

"Your place?" Finrod retorted. "Your place should be beside your family, living in peace. Instead you died trying to protect your sister and spent the next several centuries in Mandos. Your place is where I say it is and I say it is beside me as my friend and if the rest of the court doesn’t like it they can go hang."

The Noldorin prince stormed out of the room, leaving everyone there nonplused, unable to look at each other. Finally, Arafinwë cleared his throat and spoke to Sador, who was downcast and feeling guilty for being the cause of so much trouble.

"Sador, look at me." The young ellon looked up into the face of the King, who smiled kindly at him. "My son, precipitous though he is, is correct. You have nothing for which you need be ashamed. You have lived a life and have died a death none of my people have ever experienced, nor will they. Son of a potter or no, you have my deepest respect."

And to the amazement of all, Sador not the least, the King of the Noldor stood and bowed to the young ellon. Glorfindel watched with a smile on his face.

****

Glorfindel went to find Finrod after that, telling Sador that perhaps he should look for the prince by himself.

"He might not like an audience," Glorfindel had said and Sador agreed, saying he would return to their suite and await him.

Glorfindel eventually found Finrod sitting in an oak tree out by one of the gardens surrounding the palace.

"Now, I would have thrown all my clothes off before climbing the tree," the golden-haired elf said as he ascended the tree to sit on the branch just below the one Finrod was on.

Finrod just snorted. "The last time I did that, Atar gave me a lecture that would have had Lord Námo on his knees quaking."

Glorfindel laughed lightly. "I’ll remember that the next time the urge takes me, then."

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted to be sure you were well, meldonya."

Finrod sighed. "I am well, but I am troubled."

"Tell me."

Finrod looked down at his friend, their eyes meeting. "What did we do to deserve so much contempt?"

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at that. "You mean the Noldor who fled Aman? Well, that’s easy..."

"No, I mean all of us. You, me, Sador..."

"Ah, now I see," Glorfindel said and shrugged. "Died?"

"Why would that..."

"Finrod," Glorfindel interrupted somewhat sharply. "Death is not a natural condition of the Firstborn as it is with the Secondborn. You and I and Sador and all the other Reborn are an embarrassment, a stain on the perfection that is Aman and the Once-born cannot handle it."

"Is that what you call them?" Finrod said with an amused snigger.

"Why? What do you call them?" Glorfindel asked, hiding a smile.

Finrod snorted. "Nothing good and my amillë would skin me alive if she ever heard the words I use to describe them."

"Huh. Well, in that case, you’re free to borrow mine if it keeps you safe from your amillë."

For a few moments the two friends sat in companionable silence.

"So what are we going to do about it?" Finrod finally asked.

"We? Where do you get the idea that 'we' will do anything?"

"What, the famous Balrog-slayer not up to the challenge?"

"Fine. ‘We’ then, but I’m including Sador in that ‘we’."

"I wouldn’t have it any other way." Finrod bent down and reached out a hand which Glorfindel took and pulled his friend up to his branch. "Just don’t whine about it, all right?"

"I never whine!" Glorfindel practically screamed and the tree rustled its branches in sleepy disapproval while the two friends laughed.

When Arafinwë’s guards finally tracked the two ellyn down after the King had sent his people out to look for them, they were amazed to find the two ellyn sitting in the oak, their arms wrapped around each other, fast asleep. When Arafinwë was summoned he gave a weary sigh and shook his head, but quietly dismissed the guards as he sat under the tree to watch over the two younger elves himself.

Some adjustments are going to be harder than others, Arafinwë thought sourly as he listened to the gentle breathing of the two above him and then smiled. Perhaps, he admitted to himself, but the alternative didn’t bear thinking about. He leaned against the oak trying to get comfortable. He didn’t really need to sit out here all night standing guard. This was, after all, Tirion, not some wild wood of Endórë where unknown dangers lurked. But he had decided he did not wish to leave the watching of his son to another. He had lost Findaráto once, he would not lose him again.

When Eärwen came out some time later to check on her menfolk it was to find the King of the Noldor fast asleep beneath the oak while high above her son and her son’s friend shared a tree branch for their own bed. Shaking her head in weary amusement, she nestled next to her husband and slipped into the Path of Dreams with a smile on her face.

The next morning when the chief gardener came at dawn to check on her plants she found the royal family asleep either beneath the old oak or in it and slipped quietly away to warn the guards who normally patrolled the area to keep everyone away from the gardens.

****

Turucáno: The Quenya form of the Sindarin Turgon.

Itarildë: The Quenya form of the Sindarin Idril.

15: An Unexpected Meeting

Sador woke that morning to the realization that Glorfindel had never returned, but was not upset. He accepted that his two friends had a special relationship and he was happy enough to be able to share in it in whatever way they were willing to let him. He made his way to the dining hall to break his fast to find that only Amarië was there to greet him. Where the King and Queen were, none could or would say. Amarië looked put out and barely spoke to him. He ate quickly and made his way out to wander through the gardens until such time as Glorfindel and Finrod found him.

He was curious as to why guards stood at watch around a particular garden but was disinclined to ask, shy and uncertain of his status in the King’s household. The one guard he spoke to, asking directions to a particular fountain he remembered seeing but could no longer recall where, had spoken to him courteously enough and had even offered to show him the most direct path.

"Thank you," Sador said with a short bow. "I think I remember the way now." The guard nodded and Sador continued on his way, moving quietly along the path to the fountain. It was neither the largest nor even the loveliest fountain he had seen here, but it was his favorite — a pair of elflings frolicking with dolphins whose blow holes were the fountain itself. For some reason it reminded him of the Havens at Sirion. He remembered watching his sister play on the beach with the other elflings....

It was not until a handkerchief was thrust under his nose that Sador was even aware that he was crying. He looked up to see Glorfindel and Finrod standing there. They both looked sympathetic and when they sat down on either side of him he blurted out, "I miss my sister," and began crying all over again, much to his disgust and dismay.

Finrod put an arm around the younger ellon and held him close. He whispered, "I miss my sister, too," and Sador felt a little better, knowing that there was one who understood what he was feeling.

He pulled himself out of Finrod’s embrace, wiping his nose. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean..."

Finrod placed a finger on the ellon’s lips. "No apology is necessary, my friend, to us least of all."

"Finrod is correct, Sador," Glorfindel said softly, stroking the ellon’s hair. "Apologies are not needed between us. We’ve all been through much and know better than others what each is feeling and experiencing as we try to reclaim our lives. Lord Irmo told me that not all tears were an evil and often they offer renewal to our spirits. Weep if you must, and know that your tears are safe with us."

And with that Sador allowed himself to let go and to mourn for all that he had lost. How long he sat there between his two friends weeping he could not say, though the sun was barely halfway up the sky when he began to take notice of his surroundings again, so it could not have been all that long. Glorfindel and Finrod had taken turns holding him in their arms, murmuring softly words of comfort that only his fëa heard.

"Why don’t you wash your face and then we will go somewhere less public and talk," Finrod said when the tears finally began to slow and Sador complied, stooping down to splash some water from the fountain. He was feeling less melancholy, but he was still somewhat subdued and he was disinclined to engage in the easy banter that he enjoyed between his friends and the other two ellyn respected him enough not to try to cajole him into a lighter mood.

They made their way to Finrod’s own study where cool fruit drinks awaited them. Finrod motioned for his two friends to make themselves comfortable and they complied. For a while, none spoke, simply sipping their drinks and relaxing in each other’s company. It was Sador who finally broke the silence, looking at Glorfindel, but pointing at Finrod with his glass.

"Where did you find him?"

Glorfindel smiled. "In a tree, of course."

Sador raised an eyebrow. "Naked?" he asked, for he knew that Finrod had shared Glorfindel’s proclivity for removing all clothing when first re-embodied.

"Of course not!" Finrod protested. "What do you take me for?"

Sador shrugged. "Well one golden-haired Noldo is much like another..." He leapt out of his chair even as the other two converged on him, for he had half expected the attack. Laughing, he deftly avoided capture and ran to the door, throwing it open. "Catch me!" he cried as he ran down the hall past startled servants and guards with Glorfindel and Finrod running after him shouting imprecations and laughing at the same time. Sador rounded a corner and slowed as he realized that he had reached a dead end. He was in a short corridor with only a single door at the other end.

By now the other two ellyn had caught up and were nearly upon him so he ran down the corridor and threw open the door just as Finrod and Glorfindel gave shouts of triumph and tackled him. All three fell into the room in a laughing heap to find several swords pointed at them. Finrod was the first to realize just where they had landed.

"Uh-oh, we are so dead," he said in a strained voice.

"Again?" Glorfindel asked from the bottom of the heap, for somehow Sador had managed to get on top of him. He could see enough of the room and its occupants to have a fair idea just where they were and knew they were in deep trouble.

Sador’s eyes had gone very wide and he went very still. The sight of all those swords and the grim looks on the faces of the guards nearly unnerved him as flashes of the last time a sword had been pointed his way crossed his mind and he gave a slight whimper and hid his face in Glorfindel’s chest. Finrod patted him on the back.

"It’s all right, Sador," he said soothingly. "They won’t hurt you. Come now, I think it best if we get off the floor."

The swords never wavered as the three ellyn attempted to untangle themselves and climb to their feet. Beyond the ring of swords they saw Arafinwë standing with several other elves, most of them Teleri by their looks. The King had a resigned look on his face; most of the others were trying to hide smiles. The Telerin lord standing next to Arafinwë with an amused expression on his face was silver-haired and Finrod felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of this particular elf. He bowed and the other two ellyn copied him.

"My apologies, Atar," Finrod said as he straightened. "Glorfindel and I were chasing Sador and we...er...well we..."

"I see," came the quiet reply from the King. "And may one enquire as to why my firstborn son and a lord of the Noldor are running down the halls of my palace chasing after my ward?"

Sador gave a startled gasp. Ward? He was a royal ward? He felt the blood drain from his face, unsure how he should react to the King’s words.

Glorfindel came to his rescue by reaching up and slapping the back of Finrod’s head.

"Ouch! What did you do that for? Sador’s the one who started it."

"But you’re the oldest and should’ve known better," Glorfindel retorted smugly and many there chuckled, for the tone was just like any adult reprimanding a child, one some of them had used on their own elflings.

Sador completed the tableau by sticking out his tongue at Finrod and the silver-haired Telerin lord burst out laughing, soon joined by the others. Arafinwë gave an unspoken signal and the swords were put away and the guards moved back to their original positions against the walls. The King beckoned for the three ellyn to approach.

"Findaráto will you not offer your grandfather a kinsman’s greeting?"

Finrod hesitated for only a moment before turning to the Telerin lord, "Welcome, Anatar," he said softly and allowed his grandfather to take him into his embrace. They gave each other the kiss of close kin and Olwë of Alqualondë smiled at his inyo, stroking his hair.

"I am glad to see you again, hinya. These eyes have longed to look upon my daughter’s children and now my prayers have been granted, at least in part."

"And these two are in my keeping as well," Arafinwë said as he beckoned for Glorfindel and Sador to step forward. "This is Laurefindil, who prefers to be called Glorfindel, and who was a lord of Ondolindë, which was ruled by my nephew, Turucáno. And this is Sador, once of Lestanórë, ruled by your own brother, Elwë. Glorfindel, Sador, this is Olwë of Alqualondë, King of the Teleri of Aman and Atar to my beloved Eärwen."

Olwë of Alqualondë nodded in greeting as the two ellyn bowed again even more deeply than before. He raised an eyebrow at Arafinwë, "Your keeping?"

Arafinwë gave his guest a wry look. "Yes. Lord Námo apparently has decided it would do me good to care for elflings once again." He gave a long-suffering sigh and a pointed look at the three ellyn standing there, but Olwë wasn’t fooled.

He had seen how saddened Arafinwë had been upon returning to Tirion without his children and even more so when he returned after the War of Wrath having learned that all but one of his children were dead and his one surviving child denied the right to return with the other Exiles.

He, himself, had been reeling still from his own grief at the death and destruction caused by Fëanáro and his following, but he never blamed Arafinwë for his half-brother’s madness. The two had ended up helping one another through their grief. Now Olwë saw that his son-in-law and fellow ruler looked happier than he had seen him in too long. The look of exasperated love on Arafinwë’s face as the Noldorin king spoke to Findaráto and his friends was plain to see and Olwë rejoiced that his son-in-law was at last finding healing for himself.

Olwë laughed. "Ah, yes. I recall that when some of my own people were released there were a number of so-called adults running around playing games. We weren’t sure what to think of it at first, but eventually we decided to accept the inevitable and enjoy it while it lasted."

"The inevitable?" Arafinwë asked with a raised eyebrow.

Olwë nodded and winked at Arafinwë. "Demands for bedtime stories and drinks of water, not to mention a refusal to eat anything green."

Arafinwë practically sniggered. "Removing all items of clothing without a by-your-leave and climbing trees naked," he rejoined and watched in parental delight as both Finrod and Glorfindel turned interesting shades of red.

Olwë, when he noticed that Sador did not react with embarrassment at Arafinwë’s words, gave the Sinda a questioning look. Sador returned the Telerin king’s look with a virtuous smile of his own. "I know how to keep my clothes on." The tone was that of a very smug elfling.

The two kings glanced at each other at that and burst out laughing and the others joined them, except, Arafinwë noticed, his son and Sador. Both were looking a bit pale, though he suspected for different reasons. Deciding to tackle the easier of the two, he turned to the young Sinda.

"What is wrong, yonya? Are you well?"

Sador looked at Arafinwë and swallowed nervously. He felt Glorfindel put a hand on his shoulder and give him a comforting squeeze. "It...it’s just that...I’m your ward?" he ended, the sense of confusion evident in his face and voice.

Arafinwë sighed and beckoned Sador closer. "You are past your majority, Sador, at least if we consider chronological reckoning, but do you really think you are ready to take on adult responsibilities, yet? You have been returned to innocence, an innocence not yet tempered with experience, and therefore with wisdom."

Sador still felt confused. "You mean... I’m...you think... I’m too stupid?" his tone was one of hurt and anguish and Sador suddenly felt the need to run away and climb his own tree, but Arafinwë held him close to him.

"Stupid? Not in the least. You’re very intelligent, but you’re not very wise, not yet, and there’s a difference between the two. I think Lord Námo released you into my care because he knew you would have no one to look after you otherwise."

"But I don’t need looking after," Sador protested and Glorfindel suddenly laughed.

"If anyone needs looking after, it’s you my young friend."

Now Sador turned to Glorfindel, his eyes brimming with tears and there was anger in his voice, anger that made him sound very young indeed, though he did not realize it. "How can you say that? I’m not the one climbing trees in the middle of the night and... and hiding!"

"No you’re not, but listen to you," Glorfindel admonished. "You sound like a fifteen year old."

That was the last straw and with a wordless cry Sador flung himself at Glorfindel only to be stopped by Arafinwë pulling him back into his embrace and holding him tightly, allowing the ellon to vent his anger and frustration on him. Sador was crying now, though the tears were those of embarrassment rather than anger. Arafinwë glanced at Olwë and rolled his eyes.

"And you thought this was going to be a peaceful visit with family."

Olwë laughed. "If I wanted peace, I would have stayed home." He nodded at Sador. "You have him in hand? Good. Now it’s your turn," and he glanced piercingly at Finrod who stared back at his grandfather with a sick expression on his face. Olwë noticed Glorfindel gazing at his friend with concern. "Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked gently, for Olwë of Alqualondë had noticed Findaráto’s reaction on seeing him. It was the first time they had laid eyes on one another since before the Kinslaying, and Olwë suspected a residual sense of guilt for what happened during the Rebellion lay on his grandson’s shoulders and needed to be addressed. He was surprised therefore at Findaráto’s words when he finally spoke.

"You look just like him!"

"Like whom, inyo?"

"Ce-Celeborn. You look like Celeborn."

Now it was Olwë’s turn to look puzzled but he noticed that young Sador had ceased his tears and turned in Arafinwë’s embrace to look at him more closely.

"Does he?" he asked curiously, his previous temper nearly forgotten. "I never saw Lord Celeborn or his lady. Do they truly look alike?"

"And just who is this Celeborn?" Olwë asked, but it was Arafinwë who answered, suddenly divining his son’s distress. Of course, knowing Finrod’s history with the court of Doriath....

"Celeborn is your brother Elmo’s grandson and my son-in-law."

Olwë stared at the King of the Noldor in shock. "My... great-nephew?"

"Last time I looked that was the proper designation," Arafinwë said with amusement. It was rare that anyone flummoxed the Telerin king and he was enjoying the sight.

Finrod nodded. "He was like a brother to me, though many among the Exiles resented him for ‘stealing’ Artanis away, as they thought. But frankly, if anyone was doing the stealing it was my sister. One only had to look at Celeborn to know that she had stolen his heart and put it in safe keeping for herself."

Olwë nodded, looking thoughtful. "That sounds like my inyë. So, I look like this great-nephew I have never seen?"

Finrod nodded but said nothing. Olwë gave the younger elf a wry smile. "Then I forgive you for your less than enthusiastic welcome, inyonya. I am sorry if I am the cause of any distress on your part."

"Nay, anatar, it is I who should apologize. It’s just... seeing you... it brought back memories."

"Bad memories?"

Finrod looked at his grandfather in surprise. "Oh no, good ones. Very good ones."

Olwë smiled and beckoned Finrod into his embrace into which the ellon went willingly. "Then perhaps you would care to share those memories with me during my visit." He then looked up at Sador, still in Arafinwë’s arms. "And perhaps, young Sador, you would share some memories of Lestanórë. I would like to hear of the kingdom my brother Elwë carved for himself."

Sador looked doubtful. "I... I was only an elfling when we were forced to flee Doriath. I don’t have very good memories of that time."

"But you have good memories of Doriath from before that don’t you?" Arafinwë asked gently.

Sador looked at the King, his eyes wide, for he had not thought of that. So many of his memories had centered around pain, horror and terror, he had almost forgotten that there had been love and laughter, as well. "Oh yes," he said simply.

Olwë nodded. "Then it’s settled. Why don’t we dispense with all this formality, my son, and go somewhere where we can share memories with these youngsters."

"Sounds good to me, and I know Eärwen would enjoy hearing about her kinsmen, as well."

"Hey! What about me?" Glorfindel asked, beginning to feel left out. "Doesn’t anyone want to hear about my memories, too?"

Finrod and Sador exchanged brief glances, then identical smiles wreathed their faces as they turned back to their friend.

"Don’t whine!" they said almost simultaneously.

"I never whine!" Glorfindel yelled and stamped his foot in frustration.

Arafinwë laughed and, keeping Sador in his embrace with one arm, drew the golden-haired elf into his embrace with the other. Olwë continued to hold Findaráto. One thing was for sure, Arafinwë thought with a smile as he rocked the two ellyn in his arms, life had just gotten a bit more interesting with these two now part of his household.

****

Manwë shared a smile with Námo and Varda as they stood on the balcony of the main audience chamber of the Valar on Taniquetil.

"I see everything’s going as planned," he said, looking at Námo.

"Yes," the Lord of Mandos said. "The healing has begun... for all of them."

Varda looked pensive. "Will it be enough, though?"

Námo shrugged. "It’s a start. Before Aman can be healed, its rulers must be healed first. Finrod, Glorfindel and Sador will lead the way. The rest is up to them."

Manwë nodded and then smirked. "Now, if they can just teach Glorfindel not to whine."

All three of them laughed and the sound of it pierced the circles of Arda and echoed in the Timeless Halls where Ilúvatar joined them in their laughter. For a moment that seemed eternal, all of Arda brightened and hearts everywhere were eased of worry and care, though they knew not the source of their sudden joy.

For a moment....

****

Lestanórë: The Quenya name for Doriath.

Anatar: Grandfather.

Inyo: Grandchild, grandson. The form indyo appears to be Vanyarin rather than Noldorin.

Inyë: Granddaughter.

inyonya: My grandson.

A note on family relationships: Celeborn’s history is unclear and he is known only as Elu Thingol’s kinsman in the received texts. For purposes of this story, I have made him the grandson of Elu’s and Olwë’s brother, Elmo, whose fate is presently unknown, though more than likely he died early in the wars against Morgoth.

16: Progress

Olwë’s visit proved beneficial on a number of levels.

He and Finrod were seen walking the gardens several times, deep in conversation. They spent many hours speaking about Endórë. Olwë was interested in hearing everything Finrod was willing to tell him about his brother, Elwë, and about Teleporno.

"You would like him Anatar," Finrod said one day as they walked the paths of the Queen’s rose garden. "When I first met Celeborn he held himself with such quiet dignity, his power so understated, that many of us dismissed him out of hand."

"Including you?" Olwë asked shrewdly.

Finrod blushed and nodded. "Including me. I admit that that was not my finest hour. It was only when Galad... I mean Artanis began to speak of him with words of love that I began to rethink my first impressions. My sister would never have fallen in love with anyone whom she did not think her equal in everything."

"No," Olwë mused, "Artanis had definite ideas about that."

Finrod grinned and Olwë found himself grinning as well. "So what, besides my inyë’s protestations of love, convinced you that my great-nephew was worthy of your respect?"

Finrod stopped and Olwë was forced to halt as well. The younger elf stared out across the garden without really seeing it, remembering. Olwë waited patiently, willing to stand there all day if necessary. Finally, Finrod came to himself and looked at his grandfather.

"He came to me and asked for my permission to court my sister."

Olwë raised an eyebrow at that. That one simple gesture on the part of a Sindarin prince and his inyo had offered him his love and respect before all. He stared at Finrod, seeing his grandson in a new light. It had taken great courage on both their parts, Teleporno’s and Findaráto’s, to bridge the chasm of culture and history, but they had, and he suspected, the world would never be the same for any of them again because a Noldorin king had welcomed a Sindarin prince as his brother.

"I am glad, then, for my granddaughter’s sake, that at least one of her brothers approved of her union."

"So am I," came Finrod’s heart-felt reply.

****

Later, Olwë broached a different subject with his grandson, not entirely sure how to go about it, but knowing it had to be addressed ere he left for Alqualondë. He had spoken first to Arafinwë to get a better idea of what Findaráto remembered of his previous life.

"All the memories are there, Atar," Arafinwë had said. "It’s the emotional content that is missing. It was stripped from him when he underwent judgment, I understand."

"Why?"

Arafinwë had shrugged, not really sure of the answer himself. "I suspect it has something to do with being returned to a state of innocence. My son tells me that until he was re-embodied he had no memory of his life before dying. He existed in an eternal Now without past or future."

Olwë had looked thoughtful. "Then you think I should not speak to him?"

"Nay, Atar. I think you need to speak to him, not for his sake, but for yours."

Olwë had given his son-in-law an appraising look. "When did you become so wise, yonya?"

Arafinwë had chuckled. "The day I married your daughter, I think."

They both had laughed at that.

Now, Olwë walked once more in the rose garden with Finrod. It was early evening and the scent of the roses lingered in the cooling air. "There is something that I must say, inyonya," the King of Alqualondë finally said after they had been walking in companionable silence for a while.

"What is it Anatar?"

"What happened in Alqualondë..."

Finrod froze, his face turning white under starlight and Olwë grabbed his arm to steady him.

"You remember." It was not a question.

Finrod nodded. "Yes, I remember." He looked into his grandfather’s eyes. "The Valar know I wish I didn’t."

Olwë nodded and pulled Finrod into his embrace. "As do I, inyonya. As do I. I want to tell you that I never blamed you or your atar for what happened there. The fault lies squarely with Fëanáro, no one else. I didn’t want you to feel guilt over what occurred."

Finrod shook his head. "I don’t feel any guilt, Anatar. I don’t really feel anything, except sadness for all the waste, for all the tears and grief. When I was first re-embodied Lord Námo told me that all judgments have been rendered and all debts paid. I have to believe that, all of us Reborn do. It’s the only way any of us can go on, in spite of our memories."

Olwë closed his eyes, tears beginning to form, as he thought what his beloved grandson had endured both before and after death. "Thank you," he whispered and Finrod pulled back to look at Olwë in surprise.

"For what?"

Olwë kissed Finrod’s brow and stroked his hair. "I’m not thanking you, child. I’m thanking Lord Námo for giving me back my grandson." Then he pulled Finrod back into his embrace and held him as if he would never let him go. Finrod, for his part, felt indescribably happy and safe in his anatar’s arms.

"Thank you", Olwë whispered again, sending the thought winging into the night.

*You are most welcome, child.* Olwë looked up but saw no one and decided he’d just imagined that voice speaking to him.

****

Sador also benefited from Olwë’s visit. At first the young Sinda felt uncomfortable and shy around the self-assured Telerin lord, but Olwë’s easy manner and deprecating humor soon put the ellon at ease and he found that he enjoyed being in the king’s presence. Olwë, for his part, was extremely interested in hearing about his brother Elwë’s kingdom and the Maia Queen who had captured his heart.

"We searched long and long for him, you know," he said to Sador as they sat under an arbor and talked. "But eventually I had to make the decision to leave with my people. Lord Ulmo was growing impatient. I did not wish to leave without knowing of my brother’s fate, but I had no choice."

Sador could not think of what to say to that so he remained silent. Olwë looked at the young ellon under lowered lashes. He and Arafinwë had had many discussions over goblets of wine about Sador and what should be done for him.

"With your leave, Atar," Arafinwë had said, "I would like to continue holding his wardship, even though I know that technically speaking he should be sent to Tol Eressëa or even Alqualondë to live with whatever kin might be found there."

Olwë had shaken his head. "I think if the Valar had wished that, they would have sent someone to greet him when he was released. I do not think it coincidence that he walked through the Gates with Glorfindel. Those two were meant to be together."

Arafinwë had nodded. "I agree."

In the end, it was decided that Sador would remain in Tirion under Arafinwë’s care. "I have in mind certain plans for our young Sinda," Arafinwë told Olwë, though what those plans were, he did not immediately say.

Now, looking at the ellon sitting in the shade of the arbor with him he knew that they had made the right decision. Sinda or no, Sador belonged here in Tirion. "Thank you for sharing your memories of... Doriath, Sador," Olwë finally said, speaking haltingly in Sindarin, stumbling a bit over the unfamiliar words. He had decided that it was time he paid more attention to his Sindarin subjects and resolved to learn something of their language. It had been his brother’s language after all. Glorfindel and Finrod had been pleased to give him his first lessons. "I hope someday you will come and visit me in Alqualondë, " he ended, switching to Quenya, for he had exhausted his store of Sindarin with that one simple sentence.

Sador bowed. "Le hannon, my lord. I would like that," answering in Sindarin, pleased that this ancient lord of the Teleri would deign to learn the language spoken by the elves of Ennorath.

"There is another matter I wish to discuss with you before I leave," Olwë then said and Sador gave him a polite nod. "If you wish, I will make enquiries among my people for any news of your family. It is possible that some who returned to Tol Eressëa will have remembered them."

Sador’s eyes lit up with delight. "It would please me very much, lord."

"I cannot promise to have news, but I will do what I can."

Sador simply nodded but the look of hope on the ellon’s face was enough for Olwë to make a promise to himself: whatever it took, whoever he must importune, be it Manwë himself, he would discover the truth and if it were in his power he would see this young ellon reunited with his family.

****

Arafinwë, meanwhile, had made arrangements for Tirion’s best potter to come to the palace and interview Sador. He knew that the Sinda wished to pursue his atar’s craft and Arafinwë was amenable to the idea.

Thus, on an otherwise ordinary day, an extraordinary event occurred in Tirion that had half the city talking (the other half were too shocked otherwise): Netilmírë Cemenariel, who had refused to go to Taniquetil at the summons of the Valar, stating she had more important things to do than curry favor from people who had no real need of her wares, deigned to leave her workshop to answer the King’s summons.

Many who saw her walk up the malinornë-lined colonnade towards the palace recalled when a Maia had been summarily sent packing by this most cantankerous elf. They often wondered why the Wrath of Mandos hadn’t fallen on her at her refusal to attend the Valar, little suspecting that the said Lord of Mandos had laughed himself silly when the Maia had returned with Netilmírë’s answer, then had turned to Manwë with a wicked smile.

"I win that one, brother."

Manwë had had the grace to concede defeat. "She refuses the Valar; let us see if she refuses a king."

Now, walking up to the palace gate and announcing herself, Netilmírë wondered at her decision. She had been half-inclined to dismiss the King’s messenger as she had dismissed the Maia, but something stayed her and curiosity overcame her initial antipathy. She did not take apprentices anymore. The last one... she shook her head at the memory. Ezelmiril had been so gifted and the waste of it all. Still, the king’s message had intrigued her enough that she took greater care to wash the clay from under her fingernails and donned her best gown, one she had not worn in... well, in ages, to be honest. She even braided her chestnut brown hair in the style of the day, something she hadn’t bothered with for too long.

She was escorted, not to an audience chamber, but to a workshop where she found the King and a young ellon staring at a brand-new potter’s wheel as if not quite sure what to do with it. A tub of blue clay favored by the potters of Tirion stood nearby.

"It doesn’t bite, you know," she could not help saying, smiling as both elves started at her voice. She gave a low curtsey. "My lord king summoned me."

Arafinwë collected himself, refusing to be baited. "Thank you Mistress Netilmírë, I appreciate you taking the time to indulge me," he said with a short bow, dismissing the escort silently.

"I am my lord’s to command," she said without a trace of irony.

Arafinwë had to smile at that. "Mine, but not the Valar?"

The Master of the Potter’s Guild had the grace to blush, but otherwise did not respond.

"This is Sador, recently returned from Mandos, and my ward," Arafinwë said, making the introductions.

So, this is one of the Reborn, she thought, as the ellon stumbled through a greeting. He didn’t look too promising. His fingers twisted nervously in the hem of his tunic and his Quenya was barely adequate. She wasn’t sure how she could communicate with him effectively enough to teach him anything. Deciding not to beat around the bush — not her style anyway — she pointed to the wheel, virgin of any clay.

"Show me what you can do."

Sador glanced at the King, who nodded encouragingly, then went to the tub of clay and began the process of preparing it for shaping, finally placing it on the wheel. Netilmírë made no comments and her expression could have been carved in stone, but her eyes never left Sador’s and noted every movement, every hesitation. Arafinwë stood to one side fascinated as he watched his young ward sit before the wheel.

Sador turned to Netilmírë. "What should I make?"

The Master of the Potter’s Guild shook her head. "What the clay tells you to make, of course."

The Sinda stared at the Master Potter for a moment before nodding. It was something he remembered his adar saying to him once, early in his apprenticeship, before they were forced to flee Doriath. He stared at the lump of clay for a moment longer before starting the wheel, dipping his hands in water. As soon as he touched the clay and felt it being shaped all thought of anything else fled and he became one with his burgeoning creation. How long he sat there, shaping the clay into a thing of beauty, he did not know, but suddenly he knew, without knowing how he knew, that it was finished and he stopped, staring at the vase that stood before him.

It was not tall, perhaps two hands high, but there was a delicacy to it that even Arafinwë recognized. The lip of the vase was flared and indented to give it the look of petals opening. Sador took a deep breath and looked up into the eyes of the one person who would determine his future.

Netilmírë had watched the ellon at the wheel, noting all his errors of execution, hoping to be able to say he was not worthy of being her or anyone else’s apprentice, but in the end, when the wheel stopped and she saw what lay there, she knew she could not. She raised her eyes to the King who stood impassively by, waiting to hear her judgment.

"The usual terms?" she asked without preamble.

Arafinwë shook his head. "He will come to you two days a week and every fourth week you may have him for the entire time, but he will spend the nights here."

Both Netilmírë and Sador had raised their eyebrows at that.

"I cannot pay him his full wages then," Netilmírë said. "The Guild rules are quite specific about that."

"Sador will never lack for money, Mistress," the King rejoined. "Put aside what his wages would be for the time he spends with you as is normal and when he has finished his apprenticeship you may give him what he is owed."

The Master Potter nodded. "May I ask why..."

Arafinwë glanced at Sador then smiled. "I have decided that my ward will receive training in diplomacy so he may eventually act as my son’s aide. It is my wish that Sador become a member of my court, that is, if you are amenable to the idea, yonya."

Sador could only sit there and nod, too stunned to do more. Arafinwë looked at Netilmírë. "Are we agreed, Mistress?"

But Netilmírë was not finished. "If you have already decided that Sador will be a member of your court, what need does he have of me?"

"The need of every artist, Netilmírë," came the quiet reply from the King. "His soul aches to create beauty and you are best equipped to help him there. With all the ages of Arda before us, can we not engage in more than one occupation? Someday I hope to leave the governance of the Noldor to my son and retire to Lórien where I plan to sit at Lord Irmo’s feet and learn what he would teach me, but that day is far off. Meanwhile, my son needs people he can rely on and so Sador will learn the art of diplomacy and politics, but I will not deny him his gift for creating beauty either."

Netilmírë stared at the King for several long moments, processing what she had heard, then nodded. "He may come to me on the second and fifth days of the week. I will have the necessary papers filed with the Guild."

When the news that Netilmírë Cemenariel had actually agreed to take on an apprentice, and a Reborn Sinda at that, silence fell upon Tirion for the shock of it, but high on Taniquetil, Námo and Manwë smiled at one another, pleased that things were coming together at last.

****

Glorfindel, meanwhile, remained in the background, keeping a watch on his two friends, glad that wounds were beginning to heal for both of them and for the King’s family. He had rejoiced at Sador’s news about the apprenticeship as well as Arafinwë’s wish for him to eventually become Finrod’s diplomatic aide. Finrod, in full agreement with his atar, had declared that they must celebrate, which they did by getting uproariously drunk, though no one seemed to mind.

Of course, not everyone was pleased that the Sinda would be training as a diplomatic aide to the prince and one or two of the younger courtiers were stupid enough to wonder out loud in Glorfindel’s and Finrod’s hearing why Sador didn’t just stick to being a potter and leave diplomacy for those born to it.

"What does ‘being born to it’, as you put it, have to do with anything?" Finrod had asked, beginning to get angry.

"That anyone of noble blood would stoop to get their hands dirty by engaging in a trade is just ridiculous," one of them opined with obvious contempt.

Finrod was ready to lambast the offender but Glorfindel held him back and asked his friend in a nonchalant manner, "Did they teach you any skills in Lórien?"

At first Finrod was unsure what Glorfindel was asking and then light dawned and he nodded. "Well, the harp, of course, but while I was there I learned how to weave baskets."

"Baskets?" Glorfindel asked, intrigued in spite of himself.

"Oh yes," Finrod nodded enthusiastically. "Did you know there’s a certain method of weaving to assure that the basket does not fall apart? If you don’t do it just right you have a real mess on your hands."

Glorfindel gave a sideways glance at the ellyn listening open-mouthed to their prince extolling the virtues of weaving baskets and hid a grin. "Anything else?"

"Hmm. Lord Aulë’s people taught me how to make horseshoes and tackle. I wanted to make a sword but Lord Aulë said horseshoes were more practical and they wouldn’t let me ride a horse until I had learned how to shoe one. What about you?"

"Well, I learned ribbon embroidery from Vairë’s handmaidens and bee-keeping from Yavanna’s people. Let me see... oh, and I can make jewelry, too, though I really don’t have the soul for it. Still, Lord Aulë was pleased with my efforts. He said learning to manipulate such small instruments would help my coordination immensely."

They turned to Sador with an unspoken question and the ellon shrugged. "All I wanted to do was be a potter."

Glorfindel and Finrod smiled at that. "That’s all right, meldonya," Finrod said. "You just be the best potter you can be. I’ll leave the bee-keeping to Glorfindel."

After that, no one said anything disparaging about Sador in Finrod’s presence again, and not a few ellyn began to reconsider their prince, the image of the firstborn son of their King happily weaving baskets too incongruous not to make an impression on them.

****

Teleporno: Telerin Quenya form of Celeborn.

Malinornë: Quenya form mallorn.

17: An Elleth Scorned

Amarië had had it!

Bad enough, she thought, as she stormed out of the dining room, that Findaráto practically ignored her, but now to find out that that...Sinda was going to become his diplomatic aide? That was too much. How could Findaráto even consider a... a lowborn...potter as his equal? It was all Glorfindel’s fault and she had had to bite her tongue to stop herself from openly accusing him of manipulating Arafinwë into giving that damn Sinda the position. She had tried to pretend that she was happy for Sador but in the end she could not keep up the front and so she had fled. Now she raced out of the palace and into one of the gardens, too incensed to know or care where she was going.

And on top of that, she fumed, when, the night before, she had broached the subject of their betrothal — again! — Findaráto had dismissed her with false endearments, saying he needed more time. TIME! How much time did he need?

"As much time as you are willing to give him."

Amarië froze. That voice had come from behind her but she was sure she had been alone in the garden, angrily plucking the petals off an unoffending rose, and that voice sounded strangely familiar to her. She turned slowly around and her eyes widened and then she screamed.

And could not stop. She screamed and ran blindly, heedless of where she was going, only knowing she had to get away, get away from HIM.

Námo watched the elleth run through the garden and sighed. Maybe it’s the clothes, he thought wryly and heard his beloved spouse’s laughter in his mind. *I keep telling you, my love, black is really not your color.*

The Lord of Mandos mentally stuck his tongue out and more than one Vala’s laughter echoed in his mind as he set off to retrieve this errant daughter.

Amarië stopped running but only because she had crashed into a wall in her blind panic. Now she lay there in a huddle weeping, blood pouring from a head wound. She felt dizzy and disoriented and she feared she would be sick. She felt hands lift her up and she shuddered, knowing whose they were, but the hands and the voice that accompanied them were gentle and loving and her initial fright faded until she was merely whimpering in pain and confusion.

"Hush now. There is no need for tears, child," Námo said softly, placing a hand on the head wound. It was shallow but had bled copiously and the elleth was covered with blood. He closed the wound and took her to a nearby fountain where he washed the blood off her face and hands, all the time speaking calmly, allowing her time to adjust.

"You’ve been behaving rather badly, I fear, child," Námo said, and Amarië had blushed at the gentle reprimand. "Findaráto loves you, but you need to give him time to realize it."

"B...but why doesn’t he realize it now?" she wailed.

Námo shook his head, sitting on the edge of the fountain with the elleth and put his arm around her. "Because he can’t, child. The connections are not there, but they will be if you are patient. Someday Findaráto will know that he loves you and will come to you, but you have to be patient."

"Patient?" Amarië leapt up, anger flooding her. "Patient? When have I not been patient? I stayed here waiting and waiting and he never came back. I turned down suitors, saying in my folly that Findaráto would not find me faithless. I was the soul of patience for all those long centuries waiting for him and when he finally returns..."

She stopped, unable to continue her diatribe, the poison of her disappointment too great.

"And when he finally returned," Námo commented quietly, "you did not recognize him. Even worse, he did not recognize you."

Amarië gave a sob and crumpled to the ground before Námo’s feet. "I should have gone with him."

"No, child. You were not meant to," the Lord of Mandos countered, softly stroking her hair, the blood that had stained it gone. "You were meant to remain behind, to be a symbol for your people."

"Sy-symbol?"

"You said yourself... the soul of patience."

Amarië felt the blood rush from her face as she stared at the Lord of Mandos in disbelief and found herself leaping to her feet again, her face contorted in anger. "Is that all I am to you? To everyone? A symbol? Something to be placed on a pedestal and admired but never once think of the woman behind the symbol or her needs? Is that all I am to you? IS IT?" By now she was practically screaming in rage and without thinking of what she was doing she slapped the Vala in the face.

Silence fell as Vala and Elda stared at one another, Námo with pity, Amarië with horror. She was trembling now, not from rage, but from fear, her mind going blank and she sank to the ground with a moan waiting for her doom to fall upon her. She covered her face with her hands and rocked back and forth, despair settling coldly within her fëa.

"Amarië, stand up and face me," Námo commanded, his voice soft, but it brooked no argument. Amarië tried to refuse, but couldn’t and with much reluctance gathered herself together and stood, her head bowed.

Námo allowed the silence between them to lengthen until Amarië was forced to look up. Her green-flecked eyes were dark with shame and even remorse and Námo was pleased. It meant there was hope for her yet.

He stood up and she stepped back, uncertain of what would happen. The Lord of Mandos put out his hand and she stared at it rather stupidly, not sure what was required of her.

"Take my hand, Amarië," Námo said quietly and with great reluctance the elleth complied. They began walking away from the fountain.

"Wh-where are we going, lord?" she asked with some trepidation.

Námo looked down at her with a smile that did not seem very friendly to her. "Why, to Mandos, child, where else?"

She did not remember stopping and pulling her hand out of his. She did not even remember screaming. She did remember the Lord of Mandos scooping her up like an elfling into his arms. And then she remembered no more.

****

When she came to she found herself still in a garden, but this one was different. She was lying on a sward, a light blanket around her. There was a pillow beneath her head. She gazed about her, not ready to move. Though the profusion of flowers and trees made it impossible to guess its actual size, Amarië had the impression the garden wasn’t very large. There was a small single-room cottage at one end of a dirt path that wound through the garden. No one else seemed to be about.

She sat up slowly and belatedly realized she was naked under the blanket. She snatched the blanket up, clutching it closely to her as she stood, her legs feeling a bit wobbly.

"He-hello?" she called out, though not too loudly.

"Ah, awake at last, are we?"

Amarië spun around with a gasp to find herself staring into the calm eyes of a Valië. Vairë, spouse to Námo, stood there dressed in quiet tones of blue and grey. In her arms was a gown. Amarië recognized it as hers. Vairë held it out to her.

"My spouse thought you would prefer not to have to wear blood-stained clothes and asked me to clean it for you," the Valië said in explanation. "Now, why don’t you get dressed, dear? Don’t worry," she added with a knowing smile at Amarië’s expression of dismay. "There is no one here who can see you."

Amarië nodded and began to dress, Vairë helping her with the ties. Then she led the elleth to a nearby bench and, producing a comb, began to rebraid Amarië’s hair, all the while speaking gently, as if to a frightened child.

"I’m afraid my beloved has an odd sense of humor, but you must not mind him. He enjoys his little jokes, though few appreciate them. Now, don’t you start fretting, dear. It’s not what you think."

"But, I’m in Mandos, aren’t I?" Amarië whispered, her voice hoarse with fear.

Vairë stopped her braiding and bent down to look into Amarië’s eyes. "Yes, dear, you are. But again, it’s not what you think."

But Amarië wasn’t sure what that meant. "Am...am I... dead?" she finally stuttered and she thought she might faint again. Then a Presence made itself known to her and she looked up into the dark visage of the Lord of Mandos.

"Dead? Hardly, Amarië," Námo said, not unkindly. "At least not in the physical sense of the word. You are here in spirit. Your hröa lies elsewhere carefully tended by my Maiar until such time as you are ready to return to it."

Amarië wrinkled her brow in confusion. "If I am here only in the fëa, why does everything seem solid? Even my clothes? In fact, why is my fëa even wearing clothes?"

Námo gave her a wink, much to Amarië’s shock. "Proprieties, my dear. We must always observe the proprieties." He paused and lifted an eyebrow. "Unless, of course, you would prefer standing around naked?" and he gave her a grin that, had it been on any Elda’s face, would have been insulting but on the Vala’s was merely teasing.

Amarië had the grace to blush.

"As for everything seeming to be solid," he added, "that is a consequence of being in our presence. We lend your fëa the sense of solidity that only your hröa knows."

Vairë finished the last braid as Námo spoke to the elleth and bent down again to plant a kiss on Amarië’s brow. "I will leave you now," she said softly, then she straightened and the expression of love that passed between the two Valar was too terrible for Amarië to comprehend and she had to look away. Between one blink of an eye and the next Vairë was gone and she was alone once again with the Lord of Mandos.

She felt, rather than saw, him sit down next to her, placing an arm around her shoulders and drawing her into his embrace. "I want you to listen to me very carefully, child," Námo’s voice was barely above a whisper. "You have a choice: to continue down this path of hate and anger, or to let it go and accept what is in the hope of what might be."

"I love him so much," she moaned, "why can’t he see that?"

"Is it love, or is it something else that he sees when he looks at you?"

"Wh-what do you mean, lord?"

Instead of answering, Námo stood, drawing the elleth with him. "Come. Let me show you something."

They stepped along the path and Námo led her towards a large oak. There was someone standing underneath it with various items of clothing in his hands. Without knowing how she knew, she realized this must be a Maia. At that moment he was staring up into the tree with some exasperation tinged with amusement and... love. She glanced at Námo with an unspoken question. The Vala smiled.

"His name is Olórin and he is one of my servants. He cannot see or hear us, for this is but an image of the past."

"I... I don’t understand."

"I have brought you here into the past. Your hröa could not make the journey, only your fëa, which is why your body lies in safety in one of my brother Irmo’s groves. Now, watch and listen and learn."

Amarië turned to where the Maia was still standing under the tree. He appeared to be speaking to someone she couldn’t see.

"Are you coming down or must I come up?" Olórin asked with some amusement. "I should warn you that if I have to come up there you won’t like it."

Amarië heard a sigh from somewhere in the tree and then she saw an ellon climb down to stand dejectedly in front of the Maia. Amarië felt her eyes widen and she had to turn around in embarrassment. It was Findaráto standing there and he was naked.

Námo looked at her in amusement and gently stroked her hair. "Don’t worry, hinya, your Findaráto cannot see you. Remember, this is the past. It has already happened and you can do nothing to change it. Look now." He turned her around and she was glad to see that the Maia had convinced the ellon to dress. Findaráto was rather clumsy and Olórin had to help him. Her betrothed could not even manage to put his boots on the right feet and Olórin patiently knelt and helped him, all the while speaking in soft admonishments.

"You need to keep your clothes on, child. It will not do to be found naked. It’s simply not done."

"But I don’t like clothes," the ellon protested and Amarië had to stifle a giggle. He sounded so like an elfling instead of a grown Elf.

"He is an elfling in every way that matters," Námo explained. "His fëa has been returned to its primal state of innocence and he’s learning all over again how to be an adult. It’s not an easy process and it will take years to complete."

Amarië looked on this past Findaráto and wondered. "Where are we, exactly?"

"We’re in one of the gardens of the Reborn. Findaráto has only recently been re-embodied and is learning again to integrate himself to the physical world."

She watched as Olórin finished dressing the ellon. "You cannot always hide in a tree, child, whenever things don’t go your way."

Findaráto looked petulant. "I don’t like being Reborn. Why do I have to be Reborn? It hurts too much. Why can't I go back to Mandos?"

Amarië glanced at Námo in surprise and the Lord of Mandos merely shook his head, motioning her to remain quiet.

"Not wanting to be Reborn?" Olórin exclaimed in surprise. "Why, that’s just plain ridiculous. Just think of all you will miss otherwise."

"Like what?" the ellon asked, unconvinced.

"Like this," Olórin replied and pointed down the path. Amarië looked to where the Maia was pointing and gasped in delight. Hundreds of butterflies in every shade and hue imaginable floated in the air in an elegant dance that left the viewers stunned. Amarië glanced at Findaráto and saw how transfixed he was, the expression on his face one of wonder and delight, as if he were seeing butterflies for the first time.

"As indeed he is, daughter," Námo spoke softly. "As indeed he is."

Now Amarië saw that Findaráto was weeping and the sound of his sobs was so heart wrenching that she wanted to go to him and comfort him, but knew she could not. Instead, she saw the Maia wrap his arms around her beloved and stroke his hair, crooning softly.

"Now you see what you would have missed if you hadn’t been Reborn or if you had remained hiding in the tree."

"B-but it hurts so much...and I c-can’t do anything...right."

"Hush now. Do not be so hard on yourself, hinya," the Maia said gently. "Of course it hurts, sometimes, but that’s just to remind us that we are alive. As for the rest... I’m not angry."

"Y-you’re not?"

"No. Accidents are bound to happen. You’re still trying to integrate yourself to your surroundings. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Now why don’t you come into the cottage and I’ll fix you your favorite treat."

Findaráto’s eyes lit up. "With raisins and cinnamon?" he asked excitedly as they reached the cottage.

Olórin smiled and nodded. "I’ll even cut up some apples to put into it."

Whatever Findaráto replied was lost as the door closed behind them. Amarië gave Námo a questioning look. The Vala smiled. "Porridge."

Amarië’s eyes widened. "But Findaráto hates porridge, always has."

"Not any more," Námo laughed. "It’s his favorite food, at least in this moment in time."

"I’ve never seen him eat it since he returned to us, though."

Námo shrugged. "Perhaps because everyone remembers the old Findaráto and no one’s bothered to cook it, knowing how much he hated it before. And Findaráto feels too much a stranger in his own home to make demands for favorite dishes."

Now Amarië was pensive, seeing things in a new light. Findaráto had seemed so young, almost like an elfling. She couldn’t quite grasp that concept, but she began to realize that the Findaráto she had watched leaving Tirion all those centuries ago was not the same one whom she had met outside the Gates of Renewal.

"He’s never going to be the same, is he?" she asked sadly and she began to weep for all that she had seemingly lost.

Námo took her into his arms and rubbed her back. "No, child. He’s never going to be the same, but he will continue to be Findaráto. You fell in love with him once, you can fall in love with him again."

Amarië stepped back, confused. "What do you mean? I still love him. Why do you say that? It’s he who has stopped loving me. I’ve never stopped loving him."

"Truly?" the Vala raised a skeptical eyebrow.

The elleth looked on the Lord of Mandos in confusion and then something inside her broke apart or broke open, some part of her she had not been aware was there, hidden behind respectability and duty and... pain. "He abandoned me," she whispered. "He did not love me enough to stay. He abandoned me." Her voice became ragged and then something deep inside her demanded release and she began pounding on Námo’s chest screaming. "HE ABANDONED ME...ABANDONED ME... ME!!!"

Námo suddenly swung her into his arms and held her through her rage, allowing her to get it all out, like pus from a lanced boil, all the poison of her hatred, sense of worthlessness and disappointment seeping out. He gave her permission to let go and she somehow sensed that and accepted the gift.

Finally, her rage spent, she felt herself empty of all emotions. A sense of uncaring washed over her. It didn’t matter anymore if Findaráto loved her or not. He probably never loved her anyway.

"Not true, daughter," Námo said. "Findaráto loved you more than you can know, but it was not his destiny to remain in Aman at that time. I speak truly. If Findaráto had turned back or if you had managed to convince him not to leave in the first place, your love for one another would have been poisoned by his sense of shame and guilt and eventually resentment. Now, there is no need for guilt or shame between you and your love can blossom and grow, if you give it a chance."

"He abandoned me," was all she could say as Námo rocked her in his arms.

"Yes, he did. The question remains, Amarië, will you abandon him?" Then the Lord of Mandos began singing a lullaby, one that Amarië recognized as that which Findaráto had told her Námo had sung to him while in Mandos and in spite of herself she snuggled further into the Vala’s arms and fell asleep.

****

When she woke a second time, she found herself back in the palace garden. She was lying on a bench under an arbor, shaded from the sun. Someone was standing over her but she could not see who it was.

"Amarië, are you well?"

"Gl-glorfindel?"

He reached out a hand and she took it, allowing him to help her rise. "What happened? How long was I gone?"

He gave her a quizzical look. "What do you mean? You stormed out of the dining hall about a half an hour ago. Why were you so angry?"

Amarië shook her head. Why had she been so angry? "I don’t remember. I’m sorry. I think I’ve been acting rather badly of late. Forgive me."

Glorfindel stared at her for a moment. When he looked into her eyes he saw something that he hadn’t expected to see. For the first time since meeting her, Amarië’s eyes were clear and a light shone through them that had not been there before. Whatever had happened had only been for the best, he thought.

"Would you like to go back inside? The family is still at breakfast." he finally asked.

Amarië smiled up at the ellon. "Yes. That would be nice."

They began walking back towards the palace. Amarië was quiet and Glorfindel left her with her thoughts. As they reached the portico leading into the royal family’s private apartments she stopped, then looked at the golden-haired ellon with a smile.

"Would you mind if we went to the kitchens first? I want to ask the cooks to make some porridge."

"Porridge?" he asked incredulously. What was the elleth up to now?

Amarië nodded. "With raisins and cinnamon and apple slices. It’s Findaráto’s favorite dish, you know."

He didn’t, but he only nodded and allowed her to lead him to the kitchens. The expressions on the cooks’ faces when Amarië made her request was worth the detour.

18: Reflections Before Sleep

Glorfindel settled into his bed, grateful for the respite. It had been a busy week and he had much to think about.

Amarië for one.

Something had happened to the elleth between the time she stormed out of the dining hall several mornings ago and when he finally found her lying on a bench in one of the gardens. He only wished he knew what....

When she brought the bowl of porridge into the dining hall and placed it in front of Finrod, you could have heard a pin drop.

And when she kissed him on the brow, saying, "I understand this is your favorite dish now," you could have heard two pins drop.

The look on Finrod’s face was indescribable and he stared hard at his betrothed who merely sat beside him and picked up a spoon. "Don’t let it go cold, my love."

Then, to the amazement of his family, Finrod grinned, took the spoon from Amarië and began eating the porridge with such relish that Glorfindel grinned.

When Eärwen stuttered, "But you hate porridge, dear," Glorfindel could no longer hold in his mirth and he burst out laughing.

Arafinwë gave him a wry look and turned to his queen. "Apparently not, melda."

Finrod, for his part, ignored everyone until every spoonful had been eaten. When he realized the bowl was empty his expression was almost wistful, and he held it up, looking at Amarië. "More?"

Amarië actually giggled and then took the proffered bowl, planting a kiss on Finrod’s brow. "Why don’t we go to the kitchens and find out?" she whispered suggestively and Glorfindel saw his friend’s eyes widen with the implications of her words. They rose almost as one, never taking their eyes off one another, forgetting even to ask for Arafinwë’s leave as they exited the dining hall.

Glorfindel continued grinning and Sador flashed him a knowing smile and a wink. Eärwen, however, still looked perplexed.

"But he’s always hated porridge," she said plaintively to no one in particular.

Arafinwë had no choice but to laugh. Yes, life was certainly becoming more interesting again and his joy that it was so knew no bounds.

Later, Amarië surprised them all again by apologizing to Sador for her earlier rudeness and congratulated him both on his apprenticeship and on his joining Arafinwë’s court.

"I know you will be a good aide to my Findaráto," she said with a smile. "And perhaps if we are ever married you will gift us with one of your works, a bowl or a vase, maybe."

"Do you doubt that you and he will marry, Amarië?" Glorfindel asked, curious as to this turn-about in the elleth’s attitude.

Amarië looked down, suddenly uncertain. "I can only hope that one day we will both realize that we are in love with each other again."

It did not escape anyone’s notice that Finrod had taken Amarië’s hand but otherwise had not contradicted her words.

In the meantime, Glorfindel found he was being called upon to act as an advisor to Arafinwë on the matter of the Reborn. He was not sure he wanted the role, but could see no easy, or polite, way to get out of it.

"We elves of Aman have too long ignored the situation concerning the Reborn," Arafinwë told him and Finrod as they sat in the king’s study one day. Sador was not present, having been excused so he could be fitted for the livery required as Findaráto’s aide. Glorfindel, when the subject was broached, had refused to be fitted for livery at all.

"My fealty is still to Turgon, lord," Glorfindel had said flatly.

"Might I point out," Arafinwë had replied with some exasperation, "that my nephew is in no position to accept or refuse anyone’s fealty."

"Nevertheless, lord," Glorfindel had retorted somewhat heatedly, "I will not foreswear my oath for another, even for the High King himself."

Arafinwë had finally relented, though with great reluctance. "Your loyalty does you credit, youngster. I accept your decision, loath though I am to do so." He had sighed then, looking somewhat sad. "If I cannot have your fealty, may I still have your friendship?"

Glorfindel had stared at the King for a long moment and then had knelt gracefully before him, holding out his hands. "You will always have that, my lord, and my love, for you are the atar of my dearest friend, and therefore, you are my atar as well, for mine is lost to me and I have no other kin."

Arafinwë had pulled the ellon into his embrace and had held him tightly. It would have been difficult to tell whose tears were whose, so mingled did they become.

Now, the three of them sat in the King’s study to discuss the problem of the Reborn.

"There is no problem, Atar," Finrod said, "except in the minds of the...the Once-born."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow at that. "Is that what you call us?" he asked, not sure if he should be amused or affronted.

Finrod grinned somewhat slyly. "Well, that’s what Glorfindel calls them. I call them..."

"I’m sure His Majesty doesn’t need to know what you call them, meldonya," Glorfindel interrupted with a laugh. "It might get back to your amillë and then you’ll be wishing you were still in Mandos."

Finrod blushed and Arafinwë grinned. He could well imagine just what his firstborn called the elves of Aman. "I hope your amillë and I aren’t included in your... imprecations."

"Oh, no, Atar," Finrod said in shock. "I didn’t mean to imply..."

Arafinwë held up a hand. "Peace, hinya, I am only joking. But to get back to the original purpose of this meeting..."

The discussion was long and somewhat heated at times. Arafinwë did his best to see things from his son’s perspective, but it was sometimes difficult. Glorfindel finally gave an explanation that made sense to him, though it brought them no closer to a solution.

"The problem lies not with the Reborn, my lord, for we are not at fault," Glorfindel said. "The elves of Aman, the ones who remained or turned back, look upon those of us who died as an aberration, and hold us in contempt. I deem not even the elves who settled on Tol Eressëa after the War of Wrath are looked upon in that manner."

Arafinwë had reluctantly agreed. The elves, Noldor, Sindar and Nandor alike, who had accepted the Valar’s pardon and returned to Tol Eressëa had been left to govern themselves, and few from Aman proper traveled there save to visit with kin, but otherwise, they were accepted by his people as the Reborn apparently were not.

"The elves of Tol Eressëa, Olwë tells me," Arafinwë said, "are more accepting of the Reborn."

"And why shouldn’t they be, Atar?" Findaráto countered. "Most of those who are Reborn died in Endórë. The elves who once dwelt there are well acquainted with seeing death in its many grisly forms. To have a loved one returned to them whole and happy after seeing what was done to them before..."

Findaráto did not complete his thought but his atar understood what he meant and nodded. "Then why cannot those of us who remained behind be so welcoming?" He hated to include himself in that category but had to admit that even with his own son he had been less than accepting at times.

Glorfindel answered with a sympathetic smile. "I think some of them believe we deserved death, especially we who were once Exiles, for our rebellion against the Valar. They resent the fact that we’ve been allowed to return to life. They think death is a fitting punishment and see no reason why it should be rescinded, but they do not understand that death isn’t the punishment, it’s the cure."

"The cure? The cure for what?" Arafinwë asked in confusion.

"The cure for our own arrogance, Atar," Finrod answered quietly. "Death has nothing to do with judgment, although judgment is rendered to those who die." He paused and Arafinwë noticed his son looking pale. Finrod stared into a memory known only to him and when he spoke it was in a whisper. "You do not understand what it is like, to stand naked within the Rithil-Anamo before all the Valar. I little remember what happened, I just know that I lay there in that Ring forced to see what the Valar cared to show me. That’s the worst thing about it —you have no choice but to watch, for you cannot blink or look away. How can you? Your fëa has no eyes."

"And screaming does no good," Glorfindel added, much to Arafinwë’s surprise. His voice was just as soft as Findaráto’s and Arafinwë felt anguish for whatever pain their memories caused them. "You scream and scream but the images don’t stop and the Valar don’t... I remember Estë holding me at one point and then Námo... I remember Manwë..."

But whatever he remembered was left unsaid and Arafinwë found himself weeping and he thought to comfort his son and Glorfindel, thinking that they too were anguished by such memories, but to his surprise he found them comforting him. Through his own tears he saw that they were dried-eyed, identical looks of concern on their faces. Concern for him, he realized, not for themselves. Findaráto knelt beside him and wrapped his arms around him while Glorfindel stood beside the king and awkwardly stroked his hair.

"Hush, Atar," Findaráto whispered. "It is well. Do not weep so. It is over with and we have learned to live with it, to accept it as the price we paid for our deaths."

"I’m sorry, hinya. I’m so sorry you had to endure that," Arafinwë cried.

"But we’re not," came his son’s unexpected reply. "Do you not yet understand, Atar? We’re not sorry we suffered through judgment. We have moved beyond ourselves because of it. We have learned to forgive ourselves. It is the Once-born who cannot forgive. They demand judgment, little knowing just what that means."

"The Once-born look upon us as failures," Glorfindel added. "They believe our dying was only meet and a sign of Eru’s displeasure. They don’t understand that death was Eru’s greatest gift to us."

Arafinwë looked up at the ellon in shock and then glanced at Findaráto who nodded.

"Death was Eru’s means of giving us a second chance. Atar, Námo told us that all judgments have been rendered and all debts paid. If the Valar and Eru have forgiven us, have welcomed us back into their graces, how can our people do any less? Indeed, how can they dare not to?"

When Finrod and Glorfindel departed Arafinwë’s study sometime later, no solution had been found, but the king was left with a great deal to think about....

****

Glorfindel felt himself slipping further into the Path of Dreams, but before sleep took him completely he returned again to the problem, as he saw it, that was Amarië. He didn’t trust her and he feared for Finrod. He should do something about it, he decided, yawning...

It was his last conscious thought.

****

Melda: Beloved.

19: Return to the Maze

Glorfindel found himself wandering Irmo’s maze. He did not know if this was reality or not but remembering his previous sojourn in the maze, he chose a path and stuck to it until he eventually found himself walking through an arch into the center. As before, Námo and Irmo were sitting under a pavilion waiting for him.

Námo smiled as Glorfindel approached and bowed to the Valar. "I see you’ve learned at least one lesson well."

"I try," Glorfindel said and there was no levity in his voice, only sincerity, and the Valar recognized it and nodded in acknowledgment.

"Good," Irmo replied. "It is all we ever ask of you. Now sit and let us talk."

Glorfindel sat and Námo handed him a goblet of wine. Taking a tentative sip, he found that it was fruity and intoxicating and the elf feared it would go to his head, dream or no. Námo shook his head. "This is not a dream, not exactly, and the wine will not affect you adversely."

"If this isn’t a dream, what is it?" Glorfindel asked as he took another sip, enjoying the wine’s delightful taste, his spirit feeling refreshed.

The Valar exchanged glances and Irmo nodded. Námo turned back to Glorfindel. "This is an alternate reality from what you know. We’ve brought you here because... well... because we can."

The Vala looked almost sheepish to Glorfindel’s eyes and he had to hide a smile. "So, you’re saying that even the Valar like to show off?"

The Fëanturi laughed. "Of course," Irmo responded. "We can be as vain as any of Eru’s Children. Elves aren’t the only ones who like showing off and mortals are even worse."

"I wouldn’t know," Glorfindel replied with a smile, taking another sip of the wine. He had only known three mortals personally and only Tuor well enough to call him a friend. He had had few if any dealings with the Edain who had fought in the Dagor Nirnaeth Arnediad when Turgon had led his army out of Gondolin. His knowledge of the Secondborn was scanty, which is to say nonexistent. Even Sador had had more dealings with them, living as he had in the mixed settlement of Elves and Men at the Havens of Sirion. And then there was Finrod...

"No, I suppose you wouldn’t," Irmo agreed.

"Why have you brought me here?"

Námo raised an eyebrow. "Do we need a reason?"

Now Glorfindel grinned in earnest. "Are we stalling, my lord?"

Námo laughed and Irmo joined him. When the laughter died down, Námo gave the golden-haired elf an appraising look. "Ask your questions, son of Gondolin. I cannot guarantee that I will answer them or, if I do, you will like what you hear."

Glorfindel nodded in acknowledgment of the warning and asked the first thing that came to his mind. "What happened to Amarië?"

Námo stared at the ellon for quite some time before he spoke. "She received judgment of a different kind than what you experienced, but it was judgment nonetheless."

Glorfindel stared into his goblet, suddenly feeling uncertain. "What will happen to her?"

"Nothing, child," Námo replied. "You need not fear for Amarië. Why are you so concerned?"

Glorfindel looked up, anger etched into his face, and suddenly he was standing, throwing the goblet down onto the table, its contents splashing all over, staining the white tablecloth red. "Finrod is my friend. Anything that involves him is my concern, including his future wife."

"Then you are arrogating for yourself more power and responsibility than you have any right to." Námo’s voice hardened and the temperature around him dropped perceptibly. Glorfindel found himself shaking, not from cold, but from the anger that still boiled within him.

"You said I was to be his friend!" he yelled, heedless of the Valar’s darkening looks. "How can I be his friend if I can’t protect him, especially from someone like Amarië?"

"His friend, yes," Námo agreed, his expression still stern and the temperature dropped even further. "Not his keeper. He doesn’t need you or anyone else to play that role. Amarië is not your concern and never has been. Do not forget your place, Glorfindel. Balrog-slayer or no, you have neither the authority nor the right to be anything other than Finrod’s friend."

It was like a slap in the face and Glorfindel felt himself going cold with shock and then hot with shame. "Th-then why am...am I here? Why am I even ne-needed?"

"Don’t you like being Finrod’s friend?" Námo asked softly and his expression became darker.

Glorfindel began feeling faint. "Yes... but..."

"But?" and the Vala’s tone was so forbidding, Glorfindel cried out in fear and fell to his knees, shaken to his very core. It was almost as if he were back within the Rithil-Anamo again and he started to stammer an apology but Námo was not through with him.

"Stand up, Glorfindel," the Lord of Mandos commanded, his tone unyielding. "Now."

Glorfindel scrambled to his feet, fear driving him to obey, though he wished with every fiber of his being to refuse the Vala’s command. He kept his eyes on the ground, his right hand clutching the arm of his chair for support.

"Look at me, Glorfindel." Námo’s tone had softened somewhat but was still colder than the snows of the Helcaraxë. Glorfindel slowly complied, but when he looked into the Vala’s eyes...

He was not aware that he was even bending over being violently ill until he felt a cold cloth on the back of his neck and the world came back into focus again. Someone held him up as the last spasms tore through him. He felt dizzy and if it were not for the hands holding him he thought he might end up lying in his own vomit. He felt himself being lifted up and found himself in Irmo’s arms, then he was being lowered to an upright position. It took several minutes for his brain to register the fact that he was sitting in Irmo’s lap. He closed his eyes, his breathing ragged as he tried to calm himself.

"Drink this," came the command and Glorfindel opened his eyes to see Námo standing over him with a goblet in his hand. The memory of the last few minutes swept over him and he thought he was going to be ill again as he attempted to scramble from Námo’s reach but Irmo’s hands held him firmly from behind and he could not break free. He gave a strangled whimper, fear washing over him as Námo watched him dispassionately.

"Steady, child," Irmo said as he held Glorfindel to him. "Hush now. It is well... Do not fear... Shhh...Take a deep breath... That’s it... Again." The Lord of Lórien’s voice was soothing and soon Glorfindel ceased to struggle and found himself calming. He stared listlessly as Námo bent over and placed the goblet to his lips.

"Drink, child," Námo said not unkindly and Glorfindel reluctantly opened his mouth and allowed the Vala to pour the liquid down his throat. It was not wine, as he had assumed, but water, sweeter than any he had ever drunk before and he felt his fëa being renewed. He took the last swallow and moaned, twisting in Irmo’s embrace so that his head was pillowed against the Vala’s chest, his knees drawn up and for a time he slept.

When he came to it was to find that nothing had changed. Irmo was still supporting him in his embrace and Námo was still standing over him, though his hand was now empty of the goblet. He looked up at the Lord of Mandos and felt... nothing, neither fear nor joy nor sorrow. It was as if he’d been cleansed of all emotions. He lay there waiting and was not aware that he did not care that he was waiting.

Námo sat in his own chair and bent over to stroke Glorfindel’s hair. The touch of the Vala’s hand sent shivers through the elf’s body, but whether they were shivers of fear or delight he could not say. He closed his eyes and sighed. Soon the Vala’s ministrations brought him back to himself and he felt connected again to the world around him.

Opening his eyes again he saw an expression of concern on Námo’s face. "I’m sorry, yonya. Your fëa fled far from my wrath and I had to search long to bring it back. How do you feel?"

Glorfindel attempted to sit up and Irmo helped him but did not let him go, for which the elf was grateful, for he still felt weak and light-headed. "It is I who should apologize, lord, for... for incurring your wrath in the first place. I am well now."

Námo smiled and Glorfindel, gave a cry, not of fear, but of joy for the forgiveness he felt in that smile. He tried to reach for the Vala and Námo pulled him onto his lap and held him close, softly singing the lullaby that had so soothed the elf when he had been in Mandos. Glorfindel never felt more loved and would have gladly lain in Námo’s arms until Arda was Renewed, but eventually the Vala stopped singing, though he continued to hold the ellon in his embrace.

"We need to have an understanding, you and I," Námo said quietly. "I will always love you, though I may be forced to correct you if you stray, as any loving parent would. But even I can never love you to the degree in which Ilúvatar holds you in his embrace. My love for you, even Manwë’s love for you, is as a pale weak thing compared to the love Ilúvatar has for you. For all of us. Never forget that."

Glorfindel did not try to answer, only nodded. Námo continued in the same soft voice.

"Finrod will always and ever be your friend and you shall always and ever be his. That is all the honor and purpose you ever need in this life. Nothing more is being asked of you at this time. Accept the role that has been given to you and try not to seek to claim other roles which you have not been given permission to assume."

Now Glorfindel dared to speak. "But..."

"Hush," Námo countered. "Have you not heard what I have said, child? Do not be swayed by false values of glory. Your friendship with Finrod is of greater worth than all the crowns of all the kingdoms of Arda. Do you know why you turned down Arafinwë’s offer to join his court in an official capacity?"

"I gave my oath to Turgon," Glorfindel answered.

"That is partly the reason." Glorfindel turned his head to look at Irmo. The Vala reached up and stroked the ellon’s hair. "The other reason is because we do not wish for you to do so at this time."

Glorfindel sat up and looked between the two Valar in confusion. "Why?"

Námo shook his head. "The reason for that must remain with us for the time being. Do not fret, child," the Vala said soothingly at the stricken look on Glorfindel’s face. "We are not manipulating you or preventing you from exercising your free will. Search your heart and you will see that it is so. We can never coerce, only inspire, and your own heart tells you that taking oath to Arafinwë at this time is not the right course for you, though you do not understand why. Trust that we, and Eru, wish nothing but the best for you in all things. Can you do that, child? Can you keep estel in your heart, whatever the outcome?"

Glorfindel thought for a moment, then sighed, leaning against Námo again. "I will try, lord."

"And that is all Ilúvatar ever asks of his Children," Námo said as he kissed the ellon on the brow. "Now, go to sleep, hinya."

****

When Glorfindel next awoke, he was back in his own bed and it was morning. He had just enough time to realize that Finrod was standing over him with a wicked grin on his face before the ellon poured a bowl of very cold water over him.

"FINROD! YOU ARE SO DEAD!"

Arafinwë and Eärwen, walking hand-in-hand as they made their way to the family dining hall, stepped nimbly aside as their firstborn son ran past them laughing followed by a dripping and very naked Glorfindel screaming maledictions in several languages.

Husband and wife stared down the hall at the retreating figures and then looked at each other. "Just like old times, isn’t it dear?" Arafinwë said, his eyes twinkling. Eärwen reached up and gave her husband a less than chaste kiss in answer and Arafinwë responded in kind. When they finally broke apart he noticed Sador leaning against the door of his suite grinning hugely.

"And what are you so smug about, hinya?"

"Glorfi’s chasing Finrod around the rose garden," the ellon said with obvious relish.

"And...?" Arafinwë prompted, knowing there had to be a punch line in there somewhere.

Sador’s grin became wider, if that were possible. "But he doesn’t know that I’m the one who supplied Finrod with the bowl."

King and Queen looked at each other and started laughing. Yes, just like old times, indeed, Arafinwë thought and bent down to kiss his wife again.

****

Dagor Nirnaeth Arnediad: The Battle of Unnumbered Tears.

Estel: Hope (in the religious sense); trust; possibly even faith; a temper of mind, steadily fixed in purpose, difficult to dissuade, and unlikely to fall into despair or abandon its purpose.

20: Aftermath

Over the next several days Glorfindel found himself feeling somewhat detached from his surroundings after his...encounter with Lord Námo. He was quieter than usual, moodier and disinclined to participate fully in court life. Finrod noticed but kept his own counsel. Glorfindel had a haunted look to him, a look which any of the Reborn would have recognized: Lord Námo had had words with the ellon and they had not been pleasant ones. While his own encounter with Lord Námo had not been as pleasant as he would have wished, Finrod knew from speaking with other Reborn elves that the experience was generally more harrowing than fatal, and the effects tended to fade with time. Finrod did not pry, knowing better.

Arafinwë, however, did not.

"What has gotten into you Glorfindel?" the King asked with some exasperation during one particular meeting with his advisors. Both Findaráto and Glorfindel were there, along with several other younger courtiers. Arafinwë liked to include the younger members of his court in some of the decision-making processes, treating the experience as a learning tool, asking the ellyn and ellith questions along the way. He had requested Glorfindel’s opinion on a small matter of diplomacy and the ellon had demurred.

Glorfindel flinched slightly at the King’s tone. "Nothing, my lord. I don’t think I am the right person to answer your question in this matter."

"Which I find odd," Arafinwë retorted, "considering you were quite vocal in your opinions on this very subject only a week ago."

"And that was then, my lord," Glorfindel replied without thinking. As soon as he spoke he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

Arafinwë stared at Glorfindel, his expression grim. Finrod held his breath, as did everyone else. He knew better than to intervene. Glorfindel would not appreciate it and his atar would not allow it. The other courtiers were wise enough to remain still, not wishing to draw attention to themselves. Finrod noticed, though, that not a few of them had expressions bordering on glee at Glorfindel’s discomfort, and grimaced.

Glorfindel was apologizing to Arafinwë. "With your leave, lord, I wish to be excused. I fear I’m not..."

Now Arafinwë’s anger and disappointment was turning to concern. Elves rarely suffered any complaints, but Glorfindel looked decidedly pale.

"Are you well, Glorfindel? Should I send for a healer?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Nay, lord, that is not necessary. What ails me... no healer can cure. I beg you, though..."

Arafinwë looked at the ellon in confusion. What could possibly be ailing him that even the finest healers of the land could not alleviate? He turned to his son. "Findaráto, would you..."

"NO!"

Everyone stared at Glorfindel, who was now acting agitated and Arafinwë became alarmed.

"Glorfindel?"

The sense of panic in the ellon’s voice was evident to all. "Please, no, my lord. I just need..."

"Glorfindel, stop that at once!" Finrod demanded, deciding it was time to step in. Glorfindel went stock still, his eyes going wide and he finally broke down and began to weep quietly where he stood.

The older courtiers looked rather nonplused as they stood there watching Glorfindel weep, though one or two raised an eyebrow at their prince. The younger courtiers weren’t sure how to react and one or two were heard to stifle embarrassed giggles. Arafinwë simply stared at his son in shock, for he had never heard him speak with such authority before.

Finrod ignored them all and concentrated on Glorfindel. He wrapped an arm around his friend to console him. "I know you are in shock, hánonya," he said gently, "but I assure you the condition is neither fatal nor permanent."

"Shock?" Arafinwë asked in a perplexed tone.

Finrod nodded, never taking his eyes off Glorfindel. "Lord Námo’s little...talks tend to have that effect."

More than one elf there flinched at his words. Finrod continued ignoring everyone but Glorfindel.

"How bad was it, hanno?" he asked quietly, stroking Glorfindel’s hair.

Glorfindel flushed and would not look at his friend. He swallowed hard and replied in a strained voice, "I threw up."

Arafinwë felt his jaw drop and simply stared at the ellon. Finrod nodded. "I hear that’s a typical reaction."

Now Glorfindel looked up, surprised. "You’ve never...?"

Finrod shook his head. "Not in the way you mean. The one talk we had was actually quite pleasant for the most part. I only hope I am never so stupid as to warrant another visit by him, though. I suspect the next time Lord Námo won’t be quite so...good-natured."

There were many eyebrows raised at that, and not a few shivered at the image the prince’s words evoked.

"Sleep is the best cure for how you feel, Glorfindel," Finrod continued.

"I-I’m sorry.. I didn’t..."

"Hush now," the prince crooned as he gave Glorfindel a hug. "It is well. Go now. I will check on you later. Calandil will see you to your room." Finrod motioned to one of his atar’s guards and Calandil left his post to stand before him.

"Please escort Lord Glorfindel to his room, Calandil, and... make sure he’s not disturbed." Finrod gave the guard a knowing look and Calandil bowed.

"It will be as you say, my prince."

Glorfindel glanced at Arafinwë who nodded his permission and after a moment’s hesitation the ellon bowed and turned to leave. Finrod stopped him for a brief moment to whisper in his ear words that none there heard, then he kissed Glorfindel on the brow before nodding to Calandil. Glorfindel allowed the guard to take his arm and lead him out.

For several moments after the door closed behind them no one moved, then Arafinwë cleared his throat.

"Findaráto, why would Lord Námo...?

Finrod turned to his atar and Arafinwë stopped and found himself taking a step back. Several others there found themselves doing the same. Finrod’s expression was cold and his eyes glittered dangerously with a light that few had ever seen. Arafinwë was suddenly reminded of his audience with the Elder King and Lord Námo shortly after turning back from Fëanáro’s madness. Both Valar had had that same light in their eyes, Námo especially. Even after all this time, Arafinwë could still remember how sick he’d felt afterwards.

When Finrod spoke, it was barely above a whisper. "If you love me, Atar, you will never ever ask that question again. What is said between Lord Námo and another, and more importantly, why it was said, is between them. Even I will never ask Glorfindel for the details of his encounter, though he may tell me of his own accord."

Arafinwë nodded, surprised that he did not feel more anger at being chastised before his courtiers by his own son. "Forgive me, yonya, I spoke without thinking."

Finrod nodded, the light of Mandos (as Arafinwë was beginning to think of it) dying from his eyes and the ellon smiled, though it was not warm. "I am sorry also, Atar. I should have recognized Glorfindel’s symptoms earlier. I might have been able to prevent what happened here."

Arafinwë nodded, but did not reply. Instead he rounded on his court, his expression growing stern. His eyes swept the room and one or two of the elves blanched.

"What happened here goes no further than this room and..." he paused, his eyes lighting on several of the younger members of the court, all of whom paled further, though none had the willpower to look away. "And if I ever catch any of you taking delight in another’s misery again, you will wish it were indeed Lord Námo who speaks to you about it, because I will not be so merciful. Are we clear on this?"

There were faint murmurs of assent and many bows before Arafinwë gave a weary sigh and dismissed the court and the guards. Soon, he and Findaráto were alone. The king looked at his firstborn and smiled faintly.

"Not exactly how I’d planned this session."

Finrod chuckled.

"I’m proud of you, my son," Arafinwë said simply. "You handled yourself well." He held out his arms and Finrod went to him willingly, enjoying the feel of his atar’s embrace around him and the love that flowed from him.

"Why don’t we go see how our favorite Balrog-slayer is doing, shall we?" Arafinwë finally asked as he released his son from his embrace and Finrod nodded.

"Tye-melin, atarinya," he whispered.

"Inyë tye-melë, yonya."

****

When Arafinwë and Finrod approached Glorfindel’s rooms they found Calandil standing guard outside.

"Young Sador was here when we arrived, sire," the guard said. "He took charge of Lord Glorfindel and saw him settled."

"Sador is here?" Arafinwë asked in surprise, turning to Findaráto. "Is he not with Netilmírë today?"

His son simply shrugged. "I had assumed so."

Arafinwë thanked the guard and dismissed him. Father and son entered the suite to find Glorfindel fast asleep, his eyes closed, which did not surprise either of them. Sador was sitting on the bed next to him, stroking his hair and humming softly. It was a familiar scene. The ellon looked up and put a finger to his lips.

"I just got him to sleep, my lord," he whispered.

Arafinwë smiled regretfully. "I fear I must ruin all your hard work, yonya. I must speak with Glorfindel now."

Sador sighed and rolled his eyes. Arafinwë and Findaráto exchanged amused glances as Sador leaned over the sleeping Glorfindel and kissed him on the brow. "Glorfindel, wake up, hánonya. Atar Arafinwë wishes to speak with you."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow and glanced at Findaráto, who smiled and leaned over so only his atar could hear him. "Well you did say he was your ward, my lord. You’re the closest thing to an atar he has now."

The king gave his son an appraising look then nodded, turning his attention to the now waking Glorfindel.

The ellon sighed and reluctantly opened his eyes, struggling to sit up. Finrod came to his other side and helped him while Sador slid gracefully out of the bed so Arafinwë could sit on the edge. As Sador moved away, Arafinwë placed a hand on his arm to stop him.

"Should you not be with Netilmírë today?"

Sador nodded. "And I was earlier, but then I began to feel restless and agitated for some reason and I had the strongest sense that I was needed here. Mistress Netilmírë gave me leave to return when I told her what I was feeling. I was here waiting, though I scarcely knew for what, when Calandil arrived with Glorfindel looking as if the wrath of Mandos had fallen on him with a vengeance."

Findaráto glanced up sharply. "Not even remotely funny, hanno."

"But true nonetheless," Glorfindel whispered, a wry smile on his face. He glanced at Sador who was looking suitably chastened by Finrod’s words. "Thank you for being here, hánonya. I am grateful for whichever Vala inspired you to return when you did."

"How are you feeling, Glorfindel?" Arafinwë asked. Now that he knew what to look for he could see that Glorfindel was indeed suffering from shock. The ellon was leaning against Findaráto’s shoulder, looking pale, though his eyes were clearer than they had been earlier.

"Tired, my lord," Glorfindel said, punctuating his reply with a yawn.

"Then I won’t stay long. My son has told me in no uncertain terms that I should never ask you what passed between you and Lord Námo."

Glorfindel’s eyes shut tight as he curled into a ball and whimpered. Finrod held him close and Arafinwë reached out with a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Hush now, hinya. Do not fear. I will not speak of it again. No one will. I just want you to know that you are to take as much time as you need to recover from the... ordeal. I do not begin to understand the relationship you children have with the Lord of Mandos, but I almost envy you."

Three pairs of eyebrows shot up in identical expressions of disbelief and Arafinwë gave a light laugh. "I said ‘almost’."

Findaráto and Sador both snorted, trying to stifle their laughter and even Glorfindel smiled. The King nodded, satisfied with what he saw.

"I will leave you now. Sador may stay, but I fear I must take Findaráto with me for a time. I will send him to you in a few hours. In the meantime, I think you should try to sleep. Do not feel the necessity of being social. If you wish, I will have your meals sent here until such time as you feel able to join us."

"Thank you, my lord," Glorfindel replied.

Arafinwë stood up. Findaráto joined him even as Sador slid back onto the bed. Father and son started to leave, then Arafinwë stopped and turned around. "And if you ever feel the need for some solitude, I find that the herb garden by the kitchens is rarely visited. The scent of the asëa aranion that grows there is particularly soothing to the fëa."

Glorfindel nodded his acknowledgment. "I thank you again, my lord, both for your understanding and your suggestion."

Arafinwë stared at the ellon for another moment. "Yonya," he said softly and with great feeling, "don’t you think it’s about time you followed your two brothers’ example and just call me ‘Atar’?"

Before Glorfindel could respond, Arafinwë turned around and strode out the door. Finrod followed in his wake, grinning hugely.

****

Hánonya: My brother.

Hanno: Brother. A colloquial form of háno.

Tye-melin, atarinya: I love thee, my father.

Inyë tye-melë, yonya: I too, love thee, my son.

21: Netilmírë

Life continued apace and routines were established. Glorfindel recovered after a few days and returned to court. He felt awkward and embarrassed at first, but Arafinwë put him at ease, treating him as he always had. The one time anyone attempted to importune Glorfindel with questions about what had happened, Arafinwë made it abundantly clear that he would not tolerate such a thing and no one ever broached the subject again. Eventually, it was forgotten, much to Glorfindel’s relief.

Twice a week Sador would rise early and make his way to Netilmírë’s workshop. At first the Master Potter would not let him near the wheel. Instead, she had him sweeping the floors and taking inventory of her supplies.

"By rights," she told him that first day, "you should be a master yourself, but as it is, I will treat you as I would any other new apprentice. I understand that your studies were interrupted..."

Sador shrugged. In his nervousness at being there, he tended to mix Sindarin with Quenya but Netilmírë seemed to understand him. "I wasn’t even forty when we were forced to flee Doriath. I had only just begun my apprenticeship with my adar. Then the next several years were spent simply in trying to survive. It was a long time before I was able to resume my studies. Then, the Fëanorionnath fell on us and..."

He stopped and Netilmírë closed her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them again, she asked, "How old were you? I mean when you... er..."

"Died?" Sador supplied with a wry grin.

She flinched at the word but nodded.

"Hmm. Let me see. I had celebrated my sixty-eighth begetting day just a month earlier."

She stared at him in shock. Sixty-eight? He’d been only sixty-eight when some kinslayer had snuffed his life out at the end of a sword... and apparently without a qualm when he did it?

Sador looked at Netilmírë with concern, noting her sudden paleness. "Are you well, Mistress? Is there ought I can do for you?"

Netilmírë shook her head. "You seem so calm about it," was all she could say.

Sador gave her a long look, then shrugged. "I’ve had centuries in Mandos to get used to the idea." Then he picked up a besom and began sweeping the floors as his mistress had directed.

Netilmírë watched him silently, deep in thought.

****

The day Sador was forced to leave early, driven by need, Netilmírë stared after the retreating ellon with a wistful look. She hadn’t realized until then how quickly she had begun to look forward to Sador’s visits and how much she enjoyed planning a lesson. Today’s lesson had gone untaught and Netilmírë felt disappointed and... and...

"I believe the word you’re looking for my dear is ‘lonely’."

Netilmírë gave a startled gasp and spun around, her heart in her throat. "Who...?"

"Forgive me, my dear. I did not mean to startle you. I am Olórin, a servant to Lord Námo." The Maia bowed.

Netilmírë could only stand there stupidly, her heart racing, not sure what she should do next.

Olórin gave her a comforting smile. "Tea, perhaps?"

Tea. Yes, of course. Make some tea. Grateful for something as ordinary as preparing tea for a guest to occupy her mind she stumbled to the hearth and tried to put the kettle on the fire but her fingers were suddenly too clumsy.

"Allow me, child." Olórin gently took the kettle from her hands. "Why don’t you sit here and tell me what you think of young Sador while I make the tea?"

Netilmírë sat there watching in amazement as the Maia puttered about as if he knew his way around a kitchen.

"Which I do," he said with a twinkle in his eyes and winked. "One of my many talents. Now tell me about Sador."

"He...he’s very enthusiastic."

"Hmm. That describes most elflings I’ve known. Could you perhaps be a little more specific?"

"Why are you here?" she countered.

"I asked first, dear."

Netilmírë raised an eyebrow. The Maia was still smiling but something told her that in a contest of wills, she would be the definite loser. Though, come to think of it, she wouldn’t mind losing to this particular Maia. When Olórin raised an eyebrow at her, she suddenly felt herself blushing furiously. The Maia burst out laughing. It was a lovely laugh, Netilmírë decided, and kind. She knew Olórin was laughing more at himself than at her and started giggling like an elleth with her first serious crush.

"Ah, I think the tea is ready," the Maia said and for several moments he concentrated on getting the tea things together. Then he seated himself next to her and they sat in silence for a few minutes sipping their tea, or at least Netilmírë did. Olórin merely sat there watching her from the corner of his eye.

The Maia’s expression was somewhat wistful. "They miss you, you know."

Netilmírë wrinkled her brow. "They?"

The Maia nodded. "Lady Yavanna and Lord Aulë. They miss you."

The Master Potter put her cup down and stared across the room, her expression remote. "I can’t honestly say that I miss them, not after..."

"No? What a pity."

Netilmírë looked sharply at the Maia and rose, becoming incensed. "Why don’t we stop with the games and just tell me why you’re here so I can send you packing like I did the last Maia who had the temerity to importune me and waste my time."

For a long moment Olórin did not move, merely stared at the elleth fuming in front of him. His expression was compassionate, but there was a steely light in his eyes that Netilmírë had not seen before, and she was suddenly afraid. "Sit down, child," the Maia said. His voice was almost conversational in tone, but Netilmírë found herself sitting in spite of herself and she felt the blood drain from her face.

"Understand this, Netilmírë," Olórin finally said, looking at her directly, which made her feel faint, but she found she could not look away. "We do not play games, ever. If it seems that way to you, it is because we do not need to explain ourselves, nor do we necessarily play by the rules you Eldar have fashioned for yourselves. We play by our own rules, rules laid down from a Time Before Time when Arda was naught but a formless wasteland and the stars of Eä were newly come from Varda’s mind. Do not mistake me. My masters will never do anything against your free will, but neither will they be gainsaid."

He broke eye contact then to give her time to collect herself, producing a rather large handkerchief for her, which she accepted gratefully, for by this time she was crying. When she was sufficiently recovered, he continued, speaking less harshly.

"You’ve never forgiven them have you?"

Netilmírë shook her head. "They could have stopped it, but they didn’t. The Valar just let them go... my husband ... and Ezelmiril..."

"Ah, yes, Ezelmiril. Which brings me back to my original question: What do you think of Sador?"

Netilmírë stared at the Maia for a long moment. "You’re not going to give me an explanation are you?"

Olórin shook his head sympathetically. "No, dear. Explanations are useless at this point. What happened, happened. You and I can do nothing about it. What the Valar did or did not do is irrelevant. It is over and other issues take precedence."

Netilmírë stood up, her expression bordering on rage. "How can you be so cold? So cruel? Why won’t you answer me?"

"Coldness or cruelty have nothing to do with it, child. I..."

"Don’t call me that! I am not a child!" Even as she spoke, knowing to whom she spoke, she knew how ridiculous she sounded, but could not stop herself.

For several strained minutes neither spoke. Olórin sat there, allowing the elf to calm herself.

"Sit down, Netilmírë," he said quietly. There was no reproach or anger in his tone, only compassion and a patience that was too deep and too eternal for her to fully grasp or appreciate.

"I told you the Valar do not owe you an explanation, but I will give you one. Your husband Voronwë’s death should never have happened, but it did. The Valar could no more prevent it than they could prevent the deaths of the Two Trees. Some things are beyond even their control."

"Then what good are they?" she snarled.

"Many have asked that same question, including, I might add, the Valar themselves."

Netilmírë gave Olórin a startled glance. The Maia nodded. "Oh yes, my dear. Even the Valar can doubt themselves. Themselves," he stressed. "never Eru. And there lies the difference. You stopped trusting even Eru to set things right in time, including reuniting you with your family."

"I miss them so much." She started crying and Olórin finally stood up and took her into his arms.

"I know you do."

"Why did he have to go to Alqualondë? He should have been with me. But no, he had to go and visit a friend. They say he died defending the ships. The ships! Ships can be rebuilt. Lives cannot. He died for nothing." There was deep bitterness in her voice.

"No, Netilmírë," Olórin countered, stroking her hair. "No one ever dies for nothing even if we cannot see it. Voronwë died beside his childhood friend. He died trying to protect Eärnur, not the ships."

Netilmírë broke out of Olórin’s embrace. "He still has not been released from Mandos. Neither has Eärnur. Both were innocent of any wrongdoing, but Findaráto, who rebelled against the Valar themselves, gets released while my husband languishes..." she gave a bitter laugh. "I suppose rank does have its privileges after all, doesn’t it?"

"Not so!" Olórin stepped back, his eyes blazing. "Has it never occurred to you Netilmírë that Voronwë has not been returned to you because you haven’t ever forgiven him for dying in the first place? Why would he want to return to one so full of bitterness towards him?"

She stood there in shock, her mind gone numb. No, that can’t be! He would never...

She fell to her knees and began rocking herself in her misery. "It’s m-my fault," she stuttered. "He’s dead be-because of me." The tears came and she could not stop, crumpling completely to the floor. "Oh, Valar, help me, what have I done? Oh, Voronwë forgive me."

"Ah, child, whatever are we going to do with you?"

She looked up through her tears, startled, for it was not the Maia who spoke. Indeed, he was no longer there. Standing before her was Another and she tried to climb to her feet to give him a proper curtsey, but her legs became entangled with her skirts and she nearly fell on her face in her panic. Strong arms caught her and brought her to her feet. She felt herself reddening with embarrassment and could not look up for her shame.

"Tsk, tsk. None of that, my Little Jewel," Aulë said, his chestnut-brown eyes merry, though full of compassion for this suffering Child. He and Yavanna had longed to console their former pupil in her loss and bring her what comfort they could but her refusal of Manwë’s summons had prevented them from making the overture. Even now Aulë would not be here save that his brother Námo had offered his servant Olórin to ‘run interference’ as Námo had put it with a slight smile.

"As soon as Voronwë entered Mandos, his entire family became my concern," Námo had said when Aulë had questioned his willingness to intervene. "Unfortunately, other events had to occur before I could be in a position to help. Let me send Olórin, my brother. He’s very good at what he does."

Aulë could not dispute Námo in that. With great subtlety the Maia had been able to bring Netilmírë to a place where her fëa was open to the Valar at last and now he was here.

"Sérë, yeldenya," Aulë said as he cradled her in his brawny arms. "All is well. Too long have you allowed your heart to dwell in darkness. Too long have I waited to comfort you and you would not allow me to. Please, hinya, let me help."

Netilmírë began crying in earnest again and Aulë held her through it all, crooning softly as she clung to him. Finally the tears slowed and she became calm, nearly falling asleep. Aulë smiled down at her and kissed the top of her head, then picked her up and carried her to her bedroom, laying her on the bed.

"That’s it, my beloved Netilmírë, sleep and be refreshed," the Vala said as he pulled a blanket about her. "When you awaken, perhaps you will tell me all about your new apprentice. I understand he’s quite promising."

Netilmírë gave a weak smile. "He’s very enthusiastic, my lord."

"Ah, that describes most elflings I’ve known, including you," Aulë retorted with a wink. "Perhaps you could be more specific?"

Netilmírë giggled, then started laughing and Aulë joined her. When she at last fell asleep it was with a lighter heart and a smile on her face.

****

Besom: a broom consisting of twigs tied to a long wooden shaft. From Old English bes(e)ma.

Fëanorionnath: (Sindarin) The sons of Fëanor; meaning, in this case, Maedhros and Maglor, who are the only ones still alive when the Havens at Sirion are attacked.

Arda: (Quenya) The world; technically speaking, our solar system as a whole.

Eä: (Quenya) The Universe.

Sérë, yeldenya: (Quenya) "Peace, my daughter".

22: Bathtime and Bedtime Stories

Sador noticed a change in Netilmírë when he returned the following week to the workshop. Where she had been somewhat emotionally distant before, she seemed warmer now. He even heard her humming softly to herself as she worked, something she had never done before in his presence. She had always seemed to approach her work with such grim determination, as if the clay were her enemy and she needed to conquer it. Sador had found it difficult to be completely at ease around her.

Now, however, he found himself humming along. The tune was vaguely familiar to him but he couldn’t quite place it and decided he must have heard it while in Mandos. It never occurred to him to wonder how Netilmírë knew it.

Netilmírë, for her part, was still feeling bemused by the encounter with Olórin and then with Aulë and she often found herself stopping in the midst of her days to reflect on that visit and the one after that....

When she woke, she felt somewhat disoriented. Lord Aulë was no longer there; she was alone. The sunlight streaming through her bedroom window was the deep golden shade of late afternoon and at first she had no memory of why she was in bed. She remembered watching Sador climb the hill towards the palace that morning... was it this morning? She lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece everything together but her thoughts seemed to move too slowly and she could feel herself becoming disturbed, even a bit frightened, at her mind’s inability to function properly.

"Perhaps a soothing warm bath will help, dear."

Netilmírë sat up with a gasp, clutching the bedcovers. Someone sat down at the edge of the bed and embraced her. It took the elleth several seconds to recognize who it was.

"There, there, child. It is well. Take a deep breath... that’s it. And another..."

Yavanna pulled away to look into the elf’s eyes, her smile warm and inviting. Netilmírë noticed that a wreath of wildflowers crowned the Valië’s chestnut hair. She wore a cornflower blue gown shot with gold and trimmed with an interlacing of vines that almost looked real to her eyes.

"L-lady, what are you...?"

"Hush now, daughter," the Earth-Queen said. "Time for that later. Come. Your bath awaits you." Yavanna stood up and gently pulled the covers off the elleth and helped her out of bed. Netilmírë felt dizzy. What was wrong with her?

"Nothing is wrong, dear," Yavanna said soothingly. "Your fëa has suffered a shock, is all. A soothing bath will put everything to rights and afterwards we’ll talk."

The Valië led her towards the bathing room but when they entered Netilmírë stopped cold. This was not her bathing chamber. For one thing it was too large. For another...

She started to back away, but Yavanna was behind her gently pushing her forward. The room was easily twice the size of her own bathing chamber, floored in white marble, with dark green quartz veining it. Fluted columns made from the same green-veined marble graced the room. A profusion of plants in a riot of hues and shades, flowering and not, filled the spaces between the columns and somewhere birds twittered. The bath itself was a sunken pool in the middle of the chamber and the warm steamy air was filled with the perfume of lavender, lovage, rose, and even peppermint, as well as the cleaner scent of asëa aranion.

"This isn’t my bathing chamber," Netilmírë protested, her tone bemused.

Yavanna laughed. "No, dear, it’s mine. Now, you’ll find everything you need. Take your time, dear. I’ll be waiting for you when you’re finished."

With that the Valië left her to herself. At first she was unsure what to do, but the bath was inviting and soon she was slipping into the warm water. She found all the paraphernalia necessary to wash herself and soon she was relaxing, feeling refreshed and at ease for the first time in a long time.

Suddenly, for no reason she could fathom, she was crying, great wrenching sobs that tore through her. She realized dimly what was happening: she was finally grieving. For too long she had denied herself the pleasure of grief, for she had found no safe place in which to indulge in it and so had locked it away, ignored it, denied it even existed.

Now, she realized, Yavanna had brought her to that one place her soul recognized as ‘safe’ and she was being given permission to grieve for as long and as deeply as she needed to. The gift being offered her was more precious than any Silmaril and she could not fathom the depths of love by which such a gift or its giving had been wrought.

In the midst of her tears she felt the presence of the Valië in her mind. *Grieve, my daughter. Let your tears cleanse you even as the waters of the bath cleanse your body. Lay your grief to rest and know peace at last, my child.*

And then Netilmírë found herself, not in a small bathing pool, but in a large pond. The fluted columns could still be dimly seen if she looked hard enough but there was no ceiling, only the azure canopy of the sky and Anar shining down. She realized the water was still warm and inviting and soon she was swimming, long lazy strokes that gave her pure pleasure.

How long she swam or simply floated at times, she never knew. The Sun did not seem to move all the time she was there. Eventually, though, she knew she had had her fill and desired to leave the water. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she was back in the bathing pool climbing out and finding a large towel in which to dry herself off.

Looking about, though, she could no longer find her clothes. Instead there was a soft nightgown that evoked memories of her childhood. Deciding it was better than wrapping herself in the towel she put it on then dressed her hair simply. When she was ready she opened the door of the bathing chamber into...

Well, it looked like her bedroom, but she was sure that the bed that took up half the room was not the one Voronwë had built with his own hands for their wedding night. And she was pretty sure that she had put Ezelmiril’s stuffed toys away a long time ago. She glanced around. Yes, there were similarities, but the differences were telling. This was definitely not her bedroom, yet it spoke to her of comfort and safety and she climbed willingly into the canopied bed, idly putting an arm around one of the larger stuffed toys that was sitting at the head of the bed even as she pulled the covers over her. It was almost like being an elfling again.

"And a prettier elfling there never was," Aulë laughed as he appeared at the end of the bed with Yavanna by his side. "You are looking better than you have looked for a very long time, Netilmírë," Aulë continued, a pleased smile on his face. "I am glad you finally allowed us into your heart once again, daughter."

"My lord, why am I here? What is going on?"

Aulë came around and sat on the edge of the bed, while Yavanna did the same on the other side. It reminded Netilmírë of her own parents doing the same when she was small.

"You must forgive us, my dear. We couldn’t resist indulging in our own little fantasy," Aulë explained. "I do not call you ‘daughter’ from a whim. You have ever been as a daughter to us, from the first time you entered our domain, wide-eyed and eager, and quite covered with clay, though even we were never able to figure out where you had found any. The nearest clay pits were miles away."

The Vala laughed at the memory and Yavanna smiled indulgently. Netilmírë blushed, for she had forgotten that. Come to think of it, where did she find the clay? She couldn’t remember and gave herself a mental shrug. Clutching the stuffed toy a little tighter she gave the two Valar a sly look.

"Does this mean I get a bedtime story and a glass of water?"

Both Valar laughed and Yavanna took the elleth into her arms and hugged her. Aulë reached out and ruffled her hair much as her own atto had done.

"I tell you what, we’ll supply the water, you give us a story," the Vala countered.

"What story?" Netilmírë asked somewhat hesitantly.

"Tell us about your newest apprentice," Yavanna said.

Netilmírë raised an eyebrow at that but complied as Aulë handed her a goblet of, not water, but miruvórë. "King Arafinwë summoned me to attend him, telling me he wished to have an ellon apprenticed to me. I was going to refuse, but something stayed me and I agreed to come."

"Do you regret it?" Yavanna asked.

Netilmírë looked surprised. "Oh no! Sador is quite gifted and will make a wonderful potter, or he will when I finish with him." She gave them a sly look and a mischievous giggle and the two Valar grinned.

Then she sobered somewhat, a pensive look replacing the expression of mischief. "Why do I feel so... so protective of him, Atto Aulë?" she asked, reverting to her name for the Vala when she was barely ten.

Aulë stroked her hair, invoking an involuntary purr of pleasure from the elleth. "The reasons will become clearer in time. Continue teaching him and supporting him. He has not had an easy life and he still suffers for it."

She felt tears forming and she sniffed. "He was only sixty-eight, Atto. He was only..."

Aulë took her into his arms and rocked her. "Yes, my daughter. He was very young, but others there were who were even younger when they died. Treat him gently, child, as gently as we’ve treated you. I do not think you will regret it."

After another brief hug from both Valar, Netilmírë found herself feeling sleepy and before long she was lying back into soft pillows, the coverlet tucked around her.

"’Night, Atto Aulë, ’night Emmë..." She was asleep before she could complete the words.

Yavanna bent down and kissed this Child whom Ilúvatar had given into her care. "Good night, my darling. Sleep well."

****

Námo was waiting for them when they emerged from the bedroom where Netilmírë would sleep for the night, though she would waken in her own bed in her own home when morning came.

Aulë went to his brother Vala and took him by the shoulders and kissed him on the brow. "Thank you, brother," he said simply and stepped back.

"I only wish I could have helped you earlier." Námo’s expression was sad.

Yavanna shook her head. "Nay, brother, words cannot express what my spouse and I feel. With your help our beloved daughter has returned to us." She opened her arms and Námo welcomed her embrace. Aulë joined them and for a time that was timeless the three Valar were as one with their love for one another, now joined by a Fourth, whose love embraced them all, including the elleth sleeping peacefully in the other room.

****

Words are Quenya.

Atto: Hypocoristic form of Atar: Father.

Emmë: Hypocoristic form of Amillë: Mother. A variant of ammë.

23: Initiation

"The delegation from Tol Eressëa has arrived."

Glorfindel looked up from his book to see Finrod standing at the door of Arafinwë’s library. Placing a thin strip of silk into the book to mark his page, he closed it and stood up.

"Let’s go greet them then."

The two ellyn made their way to the formal audience chamber where Arafinwë often greeted embassies. Both were in formal dress. Finrod had on a tunic of deep blue watered silk over which he wore a tabard of white velvet stiffly embroidered with his atar’s device: a diamond-shaped panel, also white, with an eight-rayed golden star on a blue roundel, the rays extending beyond the roundel to the edge of the panel. On both sleeves of the tabard was embroidered Finrod’s personal device of a harp and torch set in a teal-blue diamond-shaped panel. He wore a circlet of gold with a single emerald on his head. His hair was carefully braided in gems, mostly diamonds and emeralds, with Sindarin warrior braids in the front and his house braid flowing down his back. The warrior braids were done in the pattern for Nargothrond.

Glorfindel was also richly dressed, but his watered silk tunic was the green of a field in spring over which he wore a tabard of blue velvet embroidered along the hem and neck with small golden flowers. In the center was a shield-shaped panel the same shade of green as his tunic charged with a rayed sun, the formal emblem of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin. He wore no circlet on his head, but his golden locks were as carefully braided as Finrod’s.

If anything, Glorfindel’s hair was even more intricately braided than Finrod’s, for he had included not only warrior braids denoting his allegiance to Gondolin and his house braid, entwined with the usual mix of emeralds, sapphires and gold and silver beads, but also two braids behind the warrior braids entwined with diamonds, rubies and gold beads, the ‘colors’ of the king’s House. His king. In addition, he had two eagle feathers braided into his hair in memory of the Lord of Eagles who had carried his broken body to its final resting place.

The feathers had been a gift from Finrod, who had discovered them lying on the path of one of the gardens one day, and knew to whom they had belonged. He had looked up in hopes of seeing Thorondor, King of Eagles, but there was no sign. Still, Finrod had no doubt for whom the feathers had been meant. When he had given them to Glorfindel that night at dinner, the ellon had burst into tears and it was some time before Finrod and his parents could calm him.

"You look positively barbaric," Finrod had told him when they had seen each other earlier. Glorfindel had laughed.

"I certainly hope so. Do you know how long it took me to get this effect?" and he twirled around so his braids flashed in the morning sun.

Indeed, the Noldor who saw the two ellyn that day looked somewhat askance at them, for, while it was common for ellyn to braid their hair, it was usually into a single braid in the particular pattern of their house. The addition of the warrior braids that these two sported was unknown to the elves of Aman, they having been a custom of the Sindar and Nandor of Beleriand.

As they reached the door that led to the audience chamber they found Sador waiting for them. Glorfindel looked upon the younger ellon with approval. His dress was less ornate than theirs but quite fine. The Sinda wore a tunic of grey watered silk. His velvet tabard was also grey though several shades darker than his tunic. Upon the tabard were two panels embroidered with emblems. On the right was the one for Arafinwë and on the left was the one for Findaráto. The Sinda wore no warrior braids, only a single house braid plainly adorned with different colored clay beads.

Sador bowed to the two Noldor as they approached. "You look splendid my lords," he said with a smile. "Let’s hope we can keep you that way for the rest of the day."

Finrod gave Glorfindel a jaundiced look. "Was that a challenge I heard from our young Sindarin friend?"

"Sounded like it to me," Glorfindel agreed with a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

"I do so love challenges," Finrod said, his eyes taking on their own gleam of mischief.

Sador’s grin was unrepentant. "Don’t look at me. That sentiment comes from Atar. I overheard him and Lord Rialcar laying bets on how long before either of you ends up without a stitch on."

Lord Rialcar was one of Arafinwë’s most trusted councillors. His only son, Laurendil, had recently sailed from Endórë and resided now in Tol Eressëa. Glorfindel understood the Noldo was part of the delegation whom they would shortly meet. Finrod, in particular, was eager to meet with him, for Laurendil had been the captain of Orod-nuin-elenath Company, one of a group of the King of Nargothrond’s rangers who had patrolled the fiefdom of Ladros in the forested highlands of Dorthonion before the Dagor Bragollach. Finrod had held the lordship of Dorthonion, and in particular, Ladros, though his brothers Angrod and Aegnor had ruled there in his name.

Finrod sighed and Glorfindel had a put-upon expression on his face.

"I don’t think we’re ever going to live that down, do you?" Finrod asked Glorfindel.

"Probably not," he frowned, then gave Finrod a sly look. "I’d hate to disappoint them, though."

Sador snorted at that and the two Noldor looked at him. "What’s so amusing?" Glorfindel asked in his haughtiest tone.

Sador merely grinned. "Lord Rialcar thinks one of you’ll be naked before noon. Atar has more faith in you. He’s betting you’ll be able to keep decent at least until the welcoming feast."

The two Noldor exchanged glances and something passed between them for they both nodded once before turning back to Sador. Finrod grinned as he faced his new diplomatic aide. "Shall we go?"

Sador gave them both an appraising look but said nothing, merely bowed, then opened the door leading into the audience chamber. As the three ellyn entered, they saw that most of the Noldorin councillors were there, as were Arafinwë and Eärwen, both dressed formally, standing together near the throne dais. The King of the Noldor saw his firstborn and the two he now thought of as his foster sons and beckoned them forward, smiling.

"You two look positively barbaric," he said with a laugh and both Finrod and Glorfindel obliged him by spinning around, letting the gems from their braids catch the light.

The others in the room stared at them unabashedly. Some of the older courtiers who had fought in the War of Wrath smiled at the sight, well remembering their own encounters with the Sindar. Many of the younger courtiers, however, were not sure how to react, though one or two seemed to have envious looks on their faces. Arafinwë noticed the reactions of his court and hid a smile. He would not be surprised to see the younger set sporting warrior braids in the near future and almost looked forward to having to tell them that such braids were earned and they would have to undo them. He had learned that much from his son and Glorfindel.

The Queen laughed and turned to Sador standing to one side. "You look lovely, too, dear. That tabard fits you well."

Glorfindel and Finrod had stopped twirling by then. "Yes, he does, my lady," Glorfindel said, "but he’s not completely dressed."

"You’re right, brother. I should have realized," Finrod said, with feigned shock, for he and Glorfindel had planned this earlier, though they had told no one, not even Arafinwë. He took a bemused Sador by the arm. "Where are your warrior braids, penneth?"

Sador raised an eyebrow at that and shook his head in denial. "I-I don’t deserve..."

"Nonsense," Finrod stated flatly. "You fought against my cousins’ armies, twice. Don’t think I don’t know about what you did in Doriath, young Sador. You’ve earned those braids and you will wear them."

"B-but I died!" was the only thing Sador could think of in protest.

Both Finrod and Glorfindel laughed, their faces lit with not only humor but with joy. "So did we," they said almost simultaneously and laughed even harder.

Arafinwë glanced at his son in consternation. He had no idea what was going on and was none too pleased with Findaráto at that moment. "What are you talking about, Findaráto?" he spoke somewhat sharply. "What did Sador do in Doriath? I understand he was only an elfling at the time."

Finrod shook his head. "Later, Atar. Can you stall the embassy long enough for Glorfindel and me to finish getting this youngling properly dressed? It won’t take long with both of us doing it."

Arafinwë glanced at his wife with a bemused look but she merely raised an eyebrow and gave a small shrug. He sighed, wondering what his atar-in-law’s reaction would have been. Probably he would have laughed himself silly, then done exactly what you’re about to do, he thought wryly.

"I think I can manage that. Calandil," he motioned to his chief guard. "My regrets to Lord Laurendil and his people, but there will be a brief delay. Have some refreshments brought to the delegation."

Calandil bowed and left to fulfill his lord’s orders, while Arawfinwë and the rest of his court stood and watched as Glorfindel and Finrod began deftly braiding Sador’s side locks in spite of the ellon’s protestations.

"Do you remember what Doriathrin warrior braids look like?" Glorfindel asked Finrod, ignoring Sador completely.

Finrod nodded. "I should, considering how often I visited my sister in Doriath. Celeborn showed me once how the braiding was done. When I founded Nargothrond, I designed my own pattern based on the Doriathrin one for the warriors who served me. I even brought the right colored beads and gems. Here. There’s enough for us both." He reached into a pouch under his tabard and handed Glorfindel a handful of silver beads, along with pearls, black opals and ithilhern. Then he preceded to give the ellon instructions.

"You start with a twist to the left and then insert a silver bead and a pearl, then two twists to the right followed by another to the left. Insert an opal between two moonstones, then..."

The court stood there fascinated as they watched their prince finish off one braid and carefully inspect the one Glorfindel was doing, pointing out where there should have been a right twist instead of a left at one point. The error was quickly corrected and in short order Sador stood there, the pearls, opals and moonstones in his hair glittering in the light of the sun. He looked stunned and Arafinwë had unobtrusively come behind him to place a comforting hand on the ellon’s back for support.

"Now, for the finishing touch," Finrod said and motioned to a page who approached with a small box. The page also carried three strips of white linen across his arm. While the page held the box Finrod opened it and pulled out a beautifully wrought knife made of silver and mithril.

Glorfindel recognized it and gave a short whistle. "Wherever did you find one?" he asked in an awed tone and many there looked upon him and the knife in wonder, for they did not understand its significance. All there saw Sador turn white at the sight of the knife, and try to back away, but Arafinwë blocked him and Glorfindel grabbed his arm to hold him.

Finrod shrugged. "I made it myself, when I was in Lórien. I did not know why at the time, for I did not think it would be needed. Yet..."

Glorfindel nodded and held out his right hand. Then to the utter surprise of the Noldor, Finrod grabbed the proffered hand and neatly sliced the palm so that a thin bead of blood welled. Glorfindel never flinched. Before anyone could react Finrod flipped the knife into his left hand and did the same to his own right hand. Both warriors then placed their bleeding hands on the braids they had just done and wiped the blood from their hands onto the braids, staining both hair and gems.

"Sereg e-maethor af finnil e-maethor," Finrod intoned and Glorfindel echoed him. Then for the sake of those listening, Finrod repeated the words in Quenya: "Sercë ohtar’ ohtaro findin. Wear them well, son of Doriath."

Finrod then took one of the strips of linen which the page held out to him, wiped the blade clean of blood and returned it to the box. The page handed the two warriors the other strips of linen to wrap around their hands. When that was done, Finrod placed his hands on either side of Sador’s face and gave him the three kisses of the warrior, one each on eyes and mouth, before stepping back to allow Glorfindel to do the same. Sador never moved but there were tears streaming down his face.

Eärwen fished out a handkerchief and handed it to the ellon who nodded his thanks. Glorfindel and Finrod stood there beaming. "Maethor onnen, gwador onen," Glorfindel said.

Finrod nodded. "Onnen ah onen," he said and then translated it into Quenya. "Ohtar ontaina, otorno antaina."

"Ontain' ar antaina," Glorfindel repeated.

That seemed to be the end of the ceremony, for Finrod looked at Arafinwë and said, "I think we’ve kept our guests waiting long enough, Atar."

"But what about Sador’s braids, dear?" Eärwen asked in distress, for they were obviously bloodstained, though both Glorfindel and Finrod had been careful not to get any blood on the ellon’s clothes. "Whatever will Lord Laurendil and the other members of the embassy say?"

Finrod’s smile was enigmatic. "Why don’t we wait and see?"

****

Orod-nuin-elenath: (Sindarin) Mountain-under-stars; the name of one of Finrod’s company of rangers patrolling Dorthonion.

Dagor Bragollach: (Sindarin) Battle of Sudden Flame, First Age 455, in which the Siege of Angband was broken and much of northern Beleriand, especially Dorthonion, was overrun by Morgoth’s troops and lost to the elves. Dorthonion afterwards became known as Taur-na-Fuin, or "Forest-under-Nightshade", the original "Mirkwood".

Penneth: (Sindarin) Young one.

Ithilhern: (Sindarin) Moonstones; the singular would be ithilharn. The Quenya equivalent would be isilsar/isilsardi.

Sereg e-maethor af finnil e-maethor: (Sindarin) "Warrior’s blood for warrior’s braids". The Quenya translates the same way.

Maethor onnen, gwador onen: (Sindarin) "A warrior is born, a (sworn) brother is given". The Quenya translates the same way.

Onnen ah onen: (Sindarin) "Born and given". The Quenya translates the same way.

A note on Sador’s warrior initiation ceremony: The knife of silver and mithril was called the sigil e-hereg or "blood knife" and was made for the sole purpose of "blooding" the new warrior with the blood from the two oldest warriors present. Traditionally, the new warrior would not wash the blood out of his hair until the following sunset.

24: The Embassy from Tol Eressëa

The court arranged itself accordingly; Arafinwë and Eärwen stood on the dais before their thrones, while Finrod stood just below and to Arafinwë’s right with Sador standing next to him and Glorfindel just beyond. At a signal from Arafinwë his master of ceremonies announced, "Your Majesties, Lord Laurendil Rialcarion, and the embassy from Tol Eressëa." The doors opposite the thrones opened and the delegation entered.

Glorfindel saw a tall Noldo stride into the room behind whom came a mixed group of Noldor and Sindar. Not all of them were ellyn but those who were sported warrior’s braids, including Laurendil. The former captain of the Dorthonion rangers took in the scene before him and without breaking stride moved to stand before Finrod, ignoring Arafinwë altogether and knelt before the former King of Nargothrond. The courtiers gasped at the affront. Neither Arafinwë nor Finrod moved. Many in the delegation, recognizing Finrod, followed Laurendil’s example.

Laurendil kept his eyes on the floor as he gave his greeting. "Aran Meletyalda, I regret I no longer have a sword to offer you but know that you still have my life." Then he looked up and there were tears in his eyes, tears and great sorrow. "I-I would have come with you, aranya, on your last quest if I...forgive me for my cowardice...I failed you and..."

Finrod finally moved and stooped to raise the Noldo up and gave him the kiss of liege to vassal. "You did not fail me, Laurendil. Never think that. Hush now. What is past is past and cannot be undone. Rejoice instead that we are reunited once again." Then he smiled at the Noldo who had once been his subject and Laurendil attempted to smile back as he wiped the tears from his eyes and collected himself. "That’s better. Now why don’t you introduce me to your people?"

The other members of the delegation were still kneeling and as Finrod moved among them they all attempted to take his hand and kiss it, awe and joy at the sight of him warring in their expressions. Not a few uttered tearful apologies, for they had been from Nargothrond and had turned against him at the end. Yet he never spoke in condemnation but greeted them graciously and even had a personal word or two for some of them whom he remembered with fondness.

The King’s court stood there in shocked silence at the tableau: their prince surrounded by kneeling elves, all hoping to receive forgiveness from a one-time king of a drowned kingdom. They saw Findaráto with new eyes as the dignity of his rank and the weight of his authority became evident from the way the members of the delegation responded to his presence, even those who were Sindar. It was obvious to all there that they were as much in awe of the prince as any of the Tol Eressëan Noldor, if not more so, and the courtiers became thoughtful.

At last, Finrod bade the members of the delegation to rise and, taking Laurendil by the hand, led the Noldo before the King. "Atar, may I present Lord Laurendil Rialcarion, once a captain of my rangers and a loyal friend to our House."

Laurendil bowed before Arafinwë. "Forgive me, my lord. I fear the shock of seeing my ki... I mean, Prince Findaráto again overwhelmed me. I meant no insult to you or your court."

"Did you not know that Findaráto would be here, Lord Laurendil?" Arafinwë asked. He had been just as shocked as the others at the sight of this proud Noldo kneeling before his son, and even more shocked at the way Findaráto had acted. For the first time Arafinwë honestly believed that his firstborn had been a true king among the Exiles, worthy of fealty given and received.

The head of the delegation nodded, looking rueful. "Yes, lord, but... I knew it in my mind, but my heart...." and he broke down again and Finrod put a comforting arm around him and held him close.

"Hush now, captain. I expect better from you. The last time I saw you weep it was because you were cutting up onions for our stew," he said teasingly.

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow in question and Finrod smiled. "I was traveling through Dorthonion, visiting my brothers and checking on our defenses. I joined Laurendil’s patrol in Ladros for a time and I witnessed Eregil, one of the scouts, tricking his superior into cutting the onions for a stew one night even though it was Eregil’s turn to prepare the meal."

Laurendil smiled through his tears. "He even managed somehow to convince you to peel the carrots."

Arafinwë and Eärwen both had incredulous looks on their faces and Finrod laughed gaily. "It was an interesting experience to say the least and I was not offended, though I fear many in the camp were scandalized at the sight of their king with a peeler in his hand instead of a sword. Certainly my brothers were."

Laurendil sniggered. "I made sure Eregil spent the next season in the coldest, remotest outpost I could find for his pains." He shook his head at the memory. "Poor lad, he never made it out of the Dagor Bragollach."

"Many did not," Glorfindel said, coming to stand next to Finrod. "Well met, my lord. I am Glorfindel, formerly of Gondolin."

The Noldo gave him a startled look and awe swept across his face as he bowed low. "My lord, I am honored to meet you at last." And to the surprise of many of the Noldor of Arafinwë’s court, every member of the delegation bowed to the Balrog-slayer and one or two even went so far as to kneel and kiss the hem of his tabard. Glorfindel took it in his stride, little though he liked it, and urged the elves to rise, giving them a warrior’s embrace.

All this time, Sador stood quietly where Finrod had left him, watching as his two gwedyr were honored by the Noldor and Sindar from Tol Eressëa. As was only right. He was so pleased to see Finrod being accorded the respect his own people denied him and was glad that he had been there to witness it. So he was somewhat taken aback when Finrod came and pulled him towards the crowd of elves standing around Glorfindel.

"And this is our otorno, Sador, who comes from Doriath," Finrod said by way of introduction. Several of the delegation, warriors and daughters of warriors, saw the blood drying on the ellon’s braids and recognized its significance. Laurendil looked at his former king with a raised eyebrow.

"Glorfindel and I initiated him just before your arrival," Finrod explained. "It is the reason for the slight delay to your audience."

"Which reminds me, Findaráto," Arafinwë said somewhat dryly. "You still haven’t explained why you waited until now to initiate Sador into your... warrior society."

Finrod looked at his atar with a slight frown. "Do you disapprove, Atar?"

"Disapprove?" The King shook his head. "I do not have enough information to approve or disapprove anything, yonya. Perhaps you will enlighten me. Us," he amended, nodding to his court. "It is my understanding that only proven warriors are permitted to wear these braids." He flicked a finger towards Finrod’s own braids and noticed with amusement the looks of disgust on some of his younger courtiers. No doubt some of them had thought to imitate his son with their own braids, but he already had decided he would squash that idea from the very beginning. "Of course, Aman has no need for warriors..."

"At the moment."

Arafinwë glanced in surprise at Laurendil, who bowed. "Forgive me, my lord, if I speak out of turn, but it has been my experience that just because a need is not acknowledged does not mean it does not exist. Aman may indeed never know war, and I pray that it is so, but as one of my rangers was very fond of saying, ‘If wishes were orcs, we’d all be in a lot of trouble’."

Several chuckled at that and the King smiled. "True, Laurendil, too true." Then he turned his attention to Sador, his gaze thoughtful. "What did you do, yonya, in Lestanórë, to have earned these braids of yours?"

Sador shook his head, his face white. "Nothing, m-my lord. I swear..."

Finrod took him by the shoulders and shook him. "Hush, now. That isn’t what we have heard. You saved several elflings from death, an elfling yourself, defending them against my unlamented cousins’ troops. I believe you accounted for three of the kinslayers."

Sador noticed the looks of respect on the faces of the Tol Eressëan elves as Finrod recounted his supposed deeds, and the looks of disbelief on the faces of the courtiers. He shook his head, trying to get them to see. "B-but it was all a mi-mistake!"

"A mistake to defend children from madmen?" Glorfindel asked in surprise.

"No... I mean... I didn’t mean to...I was just so scared... and...." He couldn’t help it. He started crying and tried to pull away from Finrod’s grasp, hoping to flee and hide his shame. He wasn’t a warrior, whatever his gwedyr said. But Finrod refused to release him and simply held him close. He heard the prince give Lord Laurendil and the other elves an explanation.

"...only sixty-eight when Maedhros and Maglor attacked Sirion. He died trying to protect his little sister."

"That means he wasn’t even forty when Doriath..." Laurendil began then stopped, looking at the Sinda still weeping in Finrod’s arms. He gave his former liege a questioning look and Finrod nodded. Laurendil turned to one of the elleth in his company, a Sinda herself. "Manwen..."

The elleth nodded, knowing what Laurendil wished, and smiled, giving the Noldo lord a respectful curtsey. "Of course, my lord." She moved to Sador’s side and gave Finrod a smile before turning her attention to the Sinda, stroking his hair. "I remember that day very clearly," she began softly, almost to herself. "There was so much confusion, and fear and blood. It was everywhere and I think it was weeks before I could smell anything else." She paused, still stroking Sador’s hair. "What do you remember?"

At first Sador said nothing, merely sniffed dejectedly in embarrassment, though none there seemed to be condemnatory in their attitude towards him. When he did speak it was in a whisper, though all there heard his words. "I was tossing a ball with my friends in one of the courtyards when we heard screaming and then people were running. There was panic everywhere and then... then there were warriors, but they weren’t our... their eyes..."

He stopped, unable to go on, and no one moved. Finrod rubbed Sador’s back and Manwen continued stroking his hair. Finally he continued, straightening up in Finrod’s embrace and staring directly into Glorfindel’s eyes, as if he were telling the story only to him. And perhaps that’s not far from the truth, Glorfindel surmised.

"My friends all scattered. Most, I never saw again. I couldn’t move." He stopped and took a few deep breaths before continuing. "There were some elflings in the courtyard, maybe five or six, the oldest I don’t think was even twenty. They were huddled in a group by a fountain, too scared to move... to hide. The warriors saw them and...I remember throwing the ball and hitting one of them, hoping to distract them. I remember yelling and running at them. I don’t know why I did that... it was so bloody stupid. I wasn’t even armed, except with a small knife. Then one of the attackers was on me and I managed somehow to get under his sword reach and stab him. Not very hard or even in a vulnerable spot, but it surprised him. Surprised him enough that I was able to yank the sword out of his hand. It was so heavy and I felt so clumsy with it. Somehow I managed to hit him with it."

He had to stop again, the memory of his first kill overwhelming him. He had managed to forget but now it was all coming back. "H-his head... rolled and..." He had to close his eyes then and will himself not to be sick. Glorfindel moved and took him fully into his embrace and held him as another wave of weeping swept over the Sinda.

Finrod took up the tale. "I heard from someone who was there that Sador managed to take two more of the kinslayers down, then herded all of the children from the courtyard and led them to safety into the forests of Region. It took them the better part of three days to find other refugees fleeing from Doriath."

"From whom did you hear this, Findaráto?" Arafinwë asked, looking upon Sador with new eyes. "I don’t recall anyone from Lestanórë..."

Finrod gave his atar a wry look. "I heard it from Lord Námo, Atar. He felt Glorfindel and I should know."

Sador pulled out of Glorfindel’s embrace to stare wide-eyed at Finrod. "L-lord Námo told you?"

"Yes, and we’re glad he did," Glorfindel answered instead, shaking the Sinda by the shoulders. "You should have told us, hanno."

"But I didn’t even mean to kill him... don’t you see? I just wanted him to go away. I don’t even remember killing the other two at all. I just remember running through the forests with one of the elflings in my arms. I-I’m not a warrior... I don’t deserve..."

Laurendil started laughing, which stunned everyone, including Sador. "Forgive me, youngling. I am just remembering the day I was initiated as a warrior by my Sindarin companions not long after arriving in Beleriand. I believe I kept telling everyone that I didn’t mean to kill the orc that was attacking me, I just wanted it to go away."

Sador stared at the Noldo for a moment and saw the truth in his eyes and the humor of what he had just said and started to giggle. Before long he was laughing and Finrod and Glorfindel and many of the other elves joined him.

"It’s true, though...I really d-did just want him to... to go away," Sador said between fits of laughter.

"True or not, Sador," Finrod replied. "The fact remains that you ran towards death, not away from it. You picked up a sword to defend those who could not defend themselves and brought them to safety. That is all a warrior can do. That is all a warrior is — someone who defends those who cannot defend themselves against the evil that assails them."

Sador gave a sigh, looking at his feet. "I couldn’t save Ninniach."

"Just as I couldn’t save Gondolin," Glorfindel said.

"Or I Nargothrond," Laurendil added. "But each of us saved what we could, and that has to be enough or we would never lift up our swords again. The fact that you were untrained in warfare and an elfling yourself makes your feat all the more incredible, otornya. So do I name you," he said at Sador’s startled expression. "My king has called you his brother. How can I do any less?"

And with that, Laurendil took Sador by the shoulders and offered him the three kisses of a warrior, then started to remove a small knife from his belt, but Finrod stopped him with a gesture, beckoning for the page still holding the box to step forward. Finrod lifted the lid and Laurendil gasped.

"You have a sigil e-hereg! How..."

"I made it soon after being re-embodied, though I did not know why at the time, not knowing I would have a need for it."

Laurendil took the knife with his left hand and with one sure movement sliced his right palm, then taking hold of first one than the other of Sador’s braids, wiped his blood on them. "Maethor onnen, gwador onen," he said then moved aside. Immediately one of the Sindarin ellyn from Tol Eressëa stepped forward, took the knife from Laurendil and did the same thing. One by one all the warriors took a turn until the last had completed the ritual. Finrod, meanwhile, had ordered additional strips of linen to be brought for the warriors to wrap their hands.

All this time none of the Amanian elves made a sound or movement. It was as if they were frozen in place. Only when Finrod was returning the now cleaned knife to its box did Arafinwë stir. He looked at Sador, his braids red with blood, still looking pale, but his eyes were calm and there was a new sense of dignity in his stance. Glorfindel was grinning and speaking animatedly with one or two of the ellyn from the delegation in rapid Sindarin, while Laurendil stood beside Findaráto, both of them with their arms around Sador, the three of them speaking softly about their lives in Beleriand, speaking of people and places about which he, Arafinwë, knew nothing. He finally cleared his throat to get their attention.

"Why do I get the feeling that I’ve just lost control of my own court?" he asked no one in particular. Findaráto blushed and Glorfindel laughed.

"That’s because you have, my lord," the former Balrog-slayer said, suddenly twirling around to let his braids fly, the gems sparkling in the sun. "But we will gladly return it to you, if you wish."

"Why thank you, yonya," Arafinwë said somewhat sarcastically, though the smile that accompanied the words belied the tone. The last few moments had been informative on many levels, as well as being entertaining.

His son laughed, as did Sador, while Laurendil looked upon them with bemusement, not sure how to respond. "Please forgive me, lord king," he finally said with a bow to Arafinwë, "I did not mean to..."

Arafinwë waved a hand in dismissal. "I do not blame you, Lord Laurendil, nor any of your people. Come. Let us dispense with formality. Time enough for that when we sit down to speak of your mission. Let us assume we have exchanged the proper greetings and protocol has been observed and move on." He dismissed the court with a nod and waved Laurendil to walk with him and the queen. "We will retire and take our ease before tonight’s feast. I wish to hear more about this warrior tradition you have. What is the significance of the knife? Glorfindel did not believe there was even one in existence in Aman and was very surprised when my son produced one...."

They left the room with Findaráto, Glorfindel, Sador and the rest of the Tol Eressëan elves trailing behind them.

****

Aran Meletyalda : (Quenya) Your majesty; literally "king your mighty".

Aranya: (Quenya) My king.

Gwedyr: (Sindarin) Plural of gwador: (sworn) brother. The Quenya otorno has the same meaning.

Otornya: (Quenya) My (sworn) brother; contracted from otornonya, cf. yonya. 

25: Feasts and Follies

Amarië stood back to admire her work. The feast hall was exquisitely decorated. Everything was perfect, right down to the floral arrangements on the high table. She smiled and nodded to no one in particular, proud of the job she’d done. Amarië had decided not to attend the formal audience to greet the embassy from Tol Eressëa, for in truth, she found such functions tedious. Of course, she knew she would have to endure such things once she and Findaráto were married (if they ever were), but at the moment she could enjoy all the advantages of being a member of the royal family without having to suffer any of the disadvantages. So she had offered to oversee the feast that evening and Eärwen had gratefully accepted.

Now it was nearly time for her to get ready. She decided to detour to the kitchens one more time to check on things there before going to her bath.

****

The feast was something of a disappointment for Amarië after all her hard work. Oh, the food was as superb as ever; the cooks had outdone themselves with the savories and subtleties which graced the high table and had everyone asking for more. Everyone complimented her on the decorations and the table settings and praised her for her choice of musicians who entertained the company as they ate.

But it was all for nothing, as far as she was concerned.

As soon as the elves from Tol Eressëa entered the feast hall, they had literally taken it over. She was surprised to see Sador in their midst and even more surprised to see him sporting those ridiculous front braids that Findaráto and Glorfindel always wore. And then when she realized that those braids were covered with blood....

She searched for Findaráto in the crowd, hoping for an explanation, but had to settle for asking her closest friend Ercassë, who had attended the audience as one of Arafinwë’s junior courtiers. Her account sounded somewhat muddled and she wasn’t sure what this Lord Laurendil offering to kill himself in front of Findaráto had anything to do with Sador’s braids. She finally cornered Glorfindel between the second and third removes when he stepped outside for some air. She found him sitting alone on a garden bench. He was inclined to brush her off, but seeing the genuine interest in her eyes, gave her a brief sketch of what had happened.

"And he can’t wash his braids until tomorrow night?" was all she could think to say when the former Balrog-slayer had filled her in.

Glorfindel grinned at the fastidiousness of her tone, but elected to keep his opinions to himself. "I don’t think Sador is going to mind. And there’s a ritual that goes with that, too, though it’s more private."

Amarië glanced at the elf with a questioning look. "Finrod will teach Sador the proper pattern for the braids and instruct him on the warrior’s code as he bathes," Glorfindel explained and started laughing. "At least he gets to do it in a warm bath. I ended up having Gilvor instruct me while sitting in a very cold stream that fed Lake Linaewen in Nevrast. That was before Turgon removed to Gondolin," he added when Amarië looked blankly at the reference to Turgon’s first kingdom.

Amarië nodded, though she truly had no head for geography and didn’t care where Nevrast was or how cold the streams feeding Lake Linaewen were. However, she thanked Glorfindel for the information and went back inside the hall to find that all her carefully planned entertainments had come to naught — the Sindar were singing.

Not only that, but they apparently were singing some rather bawdy songs, not the sort one usually hears in a formal feast presided over by the King of the Noldor. To make matters worse, Findaráto seemed to know the songs too and was happily translating them into Quenya for the benefit of those unfamiliar with Sindarin. Amarië felt her face grow warm as she listened to the words, though she tried her best to ignore them.

She wondered how any of them dared to sing such songs in the presence of the King and half expected him to politely but firmly reprimand the singers, but when she saw Arafinwë laughing at a particularly ribald verse, she felt herself beginning to cry. She had worked so hard...

Amarië wanted to scream but forced herself to remain calm and keep her temper. She still remembered her encounter with Him and had no desire for a repeat performance. She remained unfailingly polite and smiled graciously at all and sundry. One of the Noldor from Tol Eressëa began a new song, which began innocuously enough — something about a Mortal fruit vendor selling an Elf some cherries.

"Oh! I know that one!" Sador exclaimed from the high table where he was seated between Lord Laurendil and Lady Manwen, who, it turned out, was his wife. Amarië had been somewhat taken aback when Lord Laurendil had insisted that Sador join him at the high table, forcing her to shift the seating around a bit at the last minute. Favored by the King or not, Sador should have been seated at the table just below the dais, as protocol demanded, but the elves from Tol Eressëa apparently had never heard of the word.

Laurendil gave the younger elf an amused look. "And how do you know this particular song, youngling?"

Sador sniffed disdainfully. "I’m not that young, my lord. I was well past my majority when I died. I heard the song when I was living at the Havens. Some of the Edain among us sang it often." Then he smiled slyly. "I even know the words to verse thirty-one."

At that revelation the entire delegation broke out in laughter and Amarië noticed that Findaráto was laughing the loudest.

"Verse thirty-one?" Arafinwë asked in confusion. "What’s verse thirty-one?"

Findaráto laughed even harder when he heard his atar’s question but was finally able to gasp out an explanation, of a sort. "Anatomically impossible but very inventive nonetheless."

Laurendil chimed in, grinning hugely. "The Edain are nothing if not inventive."

That set Findaráto laughing again, as who should know better than he the inventiveness of Mortals? "I remember the first time I heard that song," he gasped, his face merry with the memory. "Barahir... young Beren’s father... sang it to me and when he got to verse thirty-one I was so flabbergasted I just stared at him with my mouth hanging open. I must have looked ridiculous. And...and all I could think to say when he finished the verse was ‘Is that what you Mortals do with turnips? We Eldar simply eat them!’" and then he was caught up in another fit of laughter, tears running down his face, and the Tol Eressëan elves joined him.

Amarië noticed that the elves of Tirion wore bemused looks on their faces, though some of them were laughing out of sympathy. She was surprised to see that Glorfindel had the same look of bemusement; apparently, living in hidden Gondolin had had its disadvantages... if one considers not knowing the words to the mysterious verse thirty-one a disadvantage.

"I was never so confounded in my entire life," Findaráto added when he had calmed down somewhat, wiping the tears from his eyes, "and it took a Mortal to do it, too."

"So, do we get to hear this song, yonya?" Arafinwë asked, but Findaráto shook his head and even Lord Laurendil was shaking his.

"I think not, Atar, at least not here. Perhaps I will have Sador give you a private recitation," and Findaráto flashed a wicked grin at his gwador, who blushed but otherwise did not protest.

Arafinwë chuckled. "I look forward to it."

Then, Glorfindel suddenly stood up, grabbed Findaráto by the hand and dragged him to the center of the hall where all could see them. Everyone gave them a somewhat mystified look.

"I think it’s high time all bets were off," Glorfindel exclaimed loudly and then he and Findaráto doffed their boots and their tabards and began dancing a madly twirling dance that reminded Amarië of when these two had been reunited at the Gates of Return. There was only one difference...

She gasped along with everyone else when the two ellyn began flinging off other pieces of clothing. Somehow they even managed to remove their breeches without breaking a step until the two of them were twirling about dressed only in their warrior braids. Everyone sat there in stunned silence, except for Arafinwë, who had begun laughing.

As suddenly as they had begun, the two elves stopped and stood facing the high table, their hands on their hips, identical grins gracing their faces, and neither with a single stitch on.

"You lose the bet, Atar!" Findaráto exclaimed with a laugh. "You and Lord Rialcar both lose the bet." Suddenly everyone in the hall started laughing, even those from Tol Eressëa as Sador quickly filled them in on the joke.

That was the final straw! Amarië strove to keep her temper, but failed miserably. She moved to stand before the high table, stamped her foot in frustration, her face dark with fury and nearly screamed, "Finrod Felagund! You put your clothes on right now or so help me my next tapestry will show you in all your... your glory and I will hang it in the front portico of the palace for all of Tirion to see!"

Most of the elves started laughing and some even sniggered at Amarië’s threat, but Findaráto just stood there, his mouth open and his eyes wide. "Wh-what did you call me?"

Amarië stared at her betrothed in confusion, her anger suddenly gone. "Wh-what...?"

Now the hall began to quiet as the elves sensed a different sort of drama unfolding between the erstwhile lovers. Finrod stepped quietly before Amarië, looking up at her. "What did you call me?" he asked softly.

"F-finrod," she stammered, suddenly afraid. "I-I called you Finrod Fe-felagund. That is your name isn’t it?"

"One of them," Finrod conceded.

For a long moment after they just stared at one another, and suddenly Finrod smiled and then he laughed and before she realized what he meant to do he swooped her up into his arms and was planting a most delicious and highly unchaste kiss on her lips. She started to protest but instead wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back just as unchastely, astonished at how good it felt to be in his naked embrace.

Neither she nor Finrod paid any heed to the collective gasp from the watching elves, or Eärwen’s rather plaintive, "At least wait until you’re married, dears."

Glorfindel gave a loud sigh that sounded to many as if he were about to suffer a major respiratory attack. "Why does he get to kiss all the pretty ellith?" he protested, throwing Finrod’s tunic at him, though the ellon was still too busy kissing Amarië to notice.

"Stop whining," Sador said, flinging a tomato that landed squarely in Glorfindel’s face. "And put your clothes on. You look ridiculous."

****

High on Taniquetil, several of the Valar were laughing at Olórin’s description of the audience with the elves of Tol Eressëa and the feast that followed.

He had come among the elves guised as one of them, though none there recognized him and instantly forgot his existence as soon as they left his presence. He had witnessed Sador’s initiation with approval. Lord Námo had been right to tell Finrod and Glorfindel the truth about Sador’s past. He had watched how Amarië handled the unexpected disruptions to her carefully laid-out plans for the feast and had been pleased with her efforts to keep her temper. He had grinned at Finrod’s description on hearing ‘The Elf and the Fruit Vendor’ for the first time and had watched with amusement Amarië’s tantrum when Glorfindel and Finrod had removed all their clothes before the entire court.

"Why did you tell Findaráto and Glorfindel about Sador?" Vairë asked her beloved spouse at one point and Námo smiled upon her, amusement in his eyes.

"Because Sador wouldn’t, even when Irmo insisted he should."

"But that’s interfering with Sador’s right of free will not to tell," Vairë protested. "Isn’t it?" She turned to Manwë, who shook his head.

"Eru himself wished it so," the Elder King explained.

Námo nodded. "I...accosted Finrod and Glorfindel a few days ago." He chuckled at the memory of finding the ellyn in the baths together. Sador had just left. Their expressions when he had appeared standing in the middle of the bathing pool as naked as they had been priceless. "I told them about what happened in Doriath. It was their idea to initiate him into their warrior society."

"And that will be important for many in the days and even years to come," Manwë added, though he declined to explain further and none there pressed him.

"So did they ever sing ‘The Elf and the Fruit Vendor’?" Varda suddenly asked Olórin, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

Olórin laughed. "Nay, Lady. Findaráto decided that prudence was the better part of valor and offered to give Arafinwë a more private recitation, or rather, offered to have young Sador give it."

That set everyone laughing.

"Pity."

They all looked at Varda in surprise, including Manwë. The Star-Kindler gave them all a virtuous smile. "I’m rather fond of verse thirty-one."

And to the utter amazement of the other Valar and Olórin, the proper Queen of the Valar began singing the very raucous and quite explicit words of verse thirty-one. By the time she reached the end of the first stanza, the others had laughingly joined her.

26: The Cost of Kingship

The elves of Tol Eressëa had come to Tirion for one reason and one reason only, though it was not the reason they had given.

Laurendil met with Arafinwë and Finrod two days later. They sat in the smaller council chamber with Glorfindel, Sador and Lord Rialcar on one side and Laurendil’s wife, Manwen, and two others from the embassy on the other, a Sinda named Arodeth and a Noldo named Elemmacar who preferred to be called Gilvagor.

"The truth of the matter is, we’re bored," Laurendil said when all were seated.

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Bored?"

Laurendil looked somewhat sheepish but held his ground. "You have to understand, my lord. Many of us have spent the last millennium at war and our Sindarin kin were at it for even longer. I frankly find it difficult to remember what it is like to live in the peace of Aman. Even now I find myself reaching for my sword at the slightest unidentifiable sound." He paused, his expression grim. "I must confess that when I first returned to Tol Eressëa I slept with one of my long knives by my side."

Arafinwë looked surprised, as did Lord Rialcar, who grimaced at the thought of what his beloved son had seen and done to drive him to such things. Finrod and Glorfindel, on the other hand, only nodded.

"I learned early on never to sleep without my sword by my side," Finrod commented.

Glorfindel smiled, though there was no warmth to it. "When I was first re-embodied and began to remember my former life I felt... uneasy without a weapon at my side while I slept."

Arafinwë and Rialcar exchanged startled glances. "But why...?" the King began.

Finrod laughed. "Old habits die hard, Atar, even after death."

Glorfindel nodded. "Olórin finally let me have a very blunt kitchen knife that wouldn’t have sliced butter to put under my pillow. Even though I knew that knife couldn’t hurt anyone I still felt immensely more at ease knowing it was there."

"And now?" Lord Rialcar asked, though he was looking at his son rather than at Glorfindel.

"Now, I don’t need it." Glorfindel said with a shrug and Rialcar was relieved to see Laurendil nod as well.

"The point is, my lord," Laurendil continued, "most of us don’t know what to do with ourselves anymore. I’ve known nothing but warfare for so long, I can’t think past the next battle, the next patrol, or even the next meal taken on the run."

There was silence for a while as Arafinwë pondered the Noldo’s words, then the King nodded. "You need a purpose, something to justify your existence."

There were nods all around from the Tol Eressëan elves.

"I used to be a healer," Manwen said. "I learned my craft from Lord Elrond Peredhel himself." Several pairs of eyebrows rose at the elleth’s words and Glorfindel felt a thrill run through him, though he could not understand why. "There was always a need for healers in Middle-earth," Manwen continued. "There isn’t any need here."

"Not true, lady," Finrod interjected. "Even here in Aman harm can come to us. And there are the Reborn and those who come from Endórë sick to their fëa with weariness who must be treated. You might consider going to Lórien and asking permission to join the Lóriennildi. Such skills as you have will always be welcomed by my Lord Irmo and the Lady Estë."

"That may be true, aranya," Laurendil said, using Finrod’s former title without thinking, "but what of the rest of us? All we know is how to be warriors."

Glorfindel cast a quick smile at Sador who smiled back. "That’s not all you know, Laurendil," the Balrog-slayer said and the former captain of the Dorthonion rangers looked baffled. "You know how to be loyal," nodding towards Finrod, "and you know how to love," nodding to Manwen, who blushed, "you know how to lead and inspire others. There are many things you know, you just have to remember."

"Have you thought of taking up a trade or a craft?" Sador asked somewhat hesitantly. He was not sure he really belonged there but Finrod had insisted, as, surprisingly, had Laurendil. His hair was cleaned of blood and carefully braided. Finrod had spent half the night before patiently teaching him the intricacies of braiding his hair in the correct pattern. Now he sat there feeling a little out of his depth.

Laurendil looked at the young Sinda thoughtfully. The tale of what had happened to Sador was nothing new, for he knew too many with similar tales. He found the young ellon engaging and quite intelligent, once you got past his shyness, and did not dismiss his words lightly.

"Some have done so, for in truth, not all of us were warriors, even among the Noldor."

"What did you do before you left Aman?" Finrod asked. He suddenly realized that in all the time he had known Laurendil, he had never asked about his life before Endórë.

"Very little, as I recall," Lord Rialcar said with an amused snort and a wink at his son and Laurendil laughed.

"That about sums it up."

All joined in the laughter at that. When it calmed down, Arafinwë looked at Laurendil, his eyes piercing.

"What you say needs reflection. I am King of the Noldor, but only of those of Aman and over the Sindar I have no sway. Those Noldor who left Aman or were born elsewhere are not under my jurisdiction, though many have indicated that they accept my overlordship since your own kings have not been returned to you."

"One has, my lord," Gilvagor responded with a pointed look at Finrod, deciding to take advantage of the opening the King had unwittingly given them.

Arafinwë caught his breath and glanced at Findaráto who had suddenly turned white. Glorfindel reached out a hand to comfort him and Sador left his seat on the other side of the Balrog-slayer to stand behind his gwador and begin kneading his neck, willing calmness. In truth, Arafinwë had not thought of it in that light, that his firstborn was a king in his own right. Yet, he had seen the evidence of that only two days previously. The thought that Findaráto might actually want to rule again...

"Findaráto?" the King said hesitantly.

Finrod shook his head and abruptly stood up and moved to one of the embrasures looking out onto a garden. For long moments no one moved and Laurendil cast a withering look at Gilvagor, who remained unrepentant.

Finrod finally turned around, his expression set, his eyes glowing with a deep resolve. None there could ever fully appreciate the internal struggle he had had with himself just then, though a few there could guess. When he spoke, it was to Gilvagor, though his eyes remained on his atar.

"Understand Gilvagor, I turned the rulership of Nargothrond over to my nephew, Orodreth, before I left with Beren. I held the crown of Nargothrond for over three centuries. I could have kept it and many of my subjects begged me not to go." Here he glanced briefly at Laurendil, who had gone pale himself and had begun to weep silently. Manwen wrapped a comforting arm around her husband.

"I deemed my oath to Barahir of greater worth than Nargothrond’s crown," Finrod continued. "Even if I had not died, but had returned to Nargothrond in triumph, I would not have taken it back."

"Yet, you are still the only king of Beleriand to return from the Halls of Mandos, aranya," Laurendil whispered, his throat tight with emotion. "Surely that must mean something."

Finrod moved then and went to stand before his former ranger who stumbled to his feet. Arafinwë watched the interplay between his son and the Noldo, amazed at the depths of love and loyalty between the two ellyn that not even death could diminish.

Finrod took Laurendil by the shoulders and leaned forward so that their foreheads touched. It was an act of deep intimacy between lord and vassal and some had to look away. Then the former King of Nargothrond gave a great sigh, and kissed Laurendil’s brow before stepping back, a rueful smile on his face. "I do not know if it means anything at all, otornya. I can only tell you that I have no desire to rule again, at least not for the present," he amended, seeing the stricken look on Laurendil’s face. "I think I was allowed to return because my atar needs me by his side. Someday the Crown of the Noldor will come to me, but at the moment I am content to sit at my atar’s feet and learn from him the true meaning of kingship."

Arafinwë felt his own eyes tearing at his son’s words and vowed to himself to do his best in teaching Findaráto what he knew of being a king, though, looking at the ellon now, he doubted he had anything worth teaching him.

Laurendil fell to his knees, catching Finrod’s hands in his, tears flowing. "Wh-when that day comes, aran meletyalda, I b-beg you to allow me the honor of being the fi-first of your subjects to swear fealty to you."

Finrod stood still, looking down at the ellon, then shook his head. "No, Laurendil. I will not allow it."

"Aranya, please..." Laurendil cried.

"Hush," Finrod ordered, placing a finger on the ellon’s lips. "I will not allow it," he repeated. "I already have your fealty, but more importantly, I already have your love, as you have mine. No other oaths are needed between us."

Then he reached down and lifted the Noldo to his feet and embraced him, rocking him gently, silently offering Laurendil his permission to let go. It was several minutes before the ellon’s weeping slowed, but finally he pulled back from Finrod’s embrace, attempting vainly to wipe the tears from his face.

"Ávartyara nillo, aranya," he said sheepishly.

"Ú-moe an ngohenad, Glorendil," Finrod replied softly.

Arafinwë sat there, deep in thought, and wondered again what he could possibly teach his son of kingship that he didn’t already know.

"This is the real reason for your coming to Tirion, isn’t it?" Sador asked, suddenly enlightened. "It was never about being bored."

The members of the embassy looked chagrined. Glorfindel gave Sador an appraising glance. "I think you have the right of it, hanno."

"Is this true?" Arafinwë asked. Things were becoming clearer now.

Laurendil bowed to the King. "Please believe me, my lord, we did not mean to deceive you. What I told you is the truth. I fear many of our people feel restless in the eternal peace of Aman and there is none to guide them away from their discontent."

"There is no one among us whom we can agree to lead us," Manwen added. "We had hoped..." She looked regretfully at Finrod who shook his head and gave a deprecating laugh.

"Have you dealt with any of the Reborn since their release from Lórien, my lady?"

For a moment the elleth gave Finrod a blank stare and then comprehension dawned and she smiled. She turned to Laurendil. "Gilanneth, remember?"

Before Laurendil could respond both Finrod and Glorfindel began laughing. "Don’t tell me," Glorfindel said, "she can climb up but she can’t climb down."

"How do you know this, lord?" Manwen asked incredulously.

But it was Finrod who answered, giving a snort of amusement. "I well remember the time Gilanneth managed to climb one of the columns that graces the Halls of Mandos, one shaped in the likeness of a tree. How she did it none of us knew, though we were all busy trying to figure it out so we could do the same. The poor elleth got all the way to the top and froze, unable to come down."

Glorfindel took up the tale, his eyes bright with amusement. "Lord Námo finally had to send four of his Maiar up after her and bring her down. When she finally collapsed into Lord Námo’s arms she was so distraught it took him some time to calm her down long enough to give her a scolding." His face became stern and his voice deepened in a fair imitation of the Lord of Mandos. "‘If you ever do anything like that again, elleth nîn, I will have to be very angry with you.’"

Finrod laughed. "Poor thing, she got hysterical all over again, but I suspect Lord Námo’s words were more for our benefit than for hers; she had learned her lesson."

Glorfindel nodded and chuckled. "I remember studiously not thinking how much fun it would be to climb that column."

"You, too?" Finrod laughed. "Lord Námo knows his elflings too well."

Sador snorted in agreement and nodded. "Remind me to tell you what happened once when I decided swimming in one of the fountains would be a good idea. Lord Námo took one look at me and threw his hands up muttering something about needing a vacation, whatever that means."

Glorfindel and Finrod laughed while the others gazed at the three ellyn in wonder at this glimpse of their experiences within the Halls of Mandos. "You’ll have to tell us the tale during lunch, hanno," Finrod said, "I’m sure we’d all like to hear it."

"Well, Gilanneth must be improving," Laurendil finally said with a smile and chuckled at the others’ enquiring expressions. "The last time she ended up in a tree it only took two Nandor to get her down."

That set them all laughing.

"So you see, my lady," Finrod said when the laughter had died down a bit. "it would not be possible for me to accept the lordship of the elves of Tol Eressëa at this time. I fear I am not emotionally ready for such an important responsibility."

"Yet the fact remains that without clear leadership we are adrift and cannot find our way," Manwen replied, obviously frustrated.

"That is true, my dear," Arafinwë answered. "And you have given us much to think over. Let us adjourn for the time being and reflect on what we have heard here. We will meet again tomorrow." He stood and the rest followed, bowing as the King strode from the room. The others began filing out but Laurendil held back and when Finrod nodded, the two of them remained behind.

Once the door was closed, Finrod asked, "What is it, otornya?"

Laurendil stared at the floor, suddenly uncertain. Now that it had come to it, he wondered that he dared ask what he longed to ask his king. Taking a deep breath, he looked up. "I have watched many, mortal and immortal alike, as their fëar slipped their hröar and it always left me to wonder..."

"Wonder what, Laurendil?"

"Wh-what was it like...t-to die?"

Finrod stood there stunned and Laurendil immediately regretted his words and started to apologize, but Finrod raised a hand to forestall him.

"I am not angry, meldonya. I confess I am somewhat taken aback, but not at your presumption, if that is what it is. It’s just... it’s just that no one has ever asked me that question before, not even my atar."

"I’m sorry, aranya," Laurendil said contritely. "I did not mean to stir up painful memories."

"Painful? No, Laurendil. Whatever pain there is lies on your side of my death. I have no real memory of it." He put an arm around the ellon’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He smiled conspiratorially. "Come now. Let us see what mischief my gwedyr and your wife are getting up to between them."

Laurendil laughed and allowed Finrod to lead him out of the council chamber.

****

Otornya: (Quenya) My (sworn) brother, contracted from otornonya.

Ávartyara nillo, aranya: (Quenya) "Forgive me, my king". The person to be forgiven is in the ablative while the matter to be forgiven would be in the dative.

Ú-moe an ngohenad, Glorendil: (Sindarin) "There is nothing to forgive, Glorendil". The phrase literally translates as "It is not necessary for forgiving". Glorendil is the Sindarin form of Laurendil's name.

Elleth nîn: (Sindarin) My girl, literally, "My elf-maid". 

Meldonya: (Quenya) My friend, if referring to a male friend. If referring to a female friend, it would be meldenya.

Note on Finrod’s relationship with Orodreth: In the published Silmarillion, Orodreth is Finrod’s brother. This, Christopher Tolkien later admitted, was an editorial mistake on his part. Tolkien had decided that Orodreth was the son of Finrod’s younger brother, Angrod, and that he had two children, Finduilas and Gil-galad. This is the scheme I have chosen to use in this story. See Christopher Tolkien's discussion of this in The War of the Jewels.

27: Judgment Recalled

[A/N: Some scenes in this and the next chapter may prove disturbing to some readers and you may skip these two chapters without losing the thread of the story. All you need to know from these two chapters is that, because of Laurendil's question to Finrod about dying, Finrod remembers in greater detail his judgment before the Valar. Lord Námo comes and helps him put the memories in perspective. When Glorfindel looks in on Finrod the next morning he finds him still sleeping and Lord Námo is there watching over him. The story picks up again in chapter 29.]

****

Finrod was still pondering Laurendil’s earlier question when he finally retired for the evening. It wasn’t that the question upset him; no one had ever come out and asked him before and he wasn’t sure how he should respond. It had been a very long time since he had actually thought about his death... and afterwards.

He remembered dying, of course, but whatever pain he felt at the time did not survive his memory. One moment he was saying farewell to a weeping Beren and the next...

****

He was standing in a hall staring at a tapestry, one that disturbed him immensely, though he did not know why. He could not recall why he was there or even how he had gotten there. Wherever ‘there’ was.

"Findaráto."

He gasped. How long had it been since anyone had called him that? He barely recognized the name as belonging to him. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with the Lord of Mandos. Finrod took a deep breath and unconsciously straightened, waiting for the Vala’s wrath to fall upon him, as he no doubt deserved. Námo, for his part, merely stood there watching as the erstwhile King of Nargothrond mentally girded himself for what he knew must come. It was most amusing, though he did not allow his amusement to show. He held out his hand.

"Take it," he commanded.

Finrod never hesitated, never knowing that he had passed his first trial, never knowing that Námo had just won the bet with his brother, Irmo.

As soon as the elf took Námo’s hand he found himself standing alone in the middle of a ring of thrones, all occupied, and for the first time felt fear. Knowing, as a mental exercise, that this day might come was one thing, being there for real was something else altogether....

One of the Valier stepped down from her throne and walked into the center to face the Elda.

"Well, Findaráto," Varda said, unsmiling, "here we are at last."

Finrod was tempted not to bow to the Queen of Stars, but his innate courtesy and early training made that impossible and he gave her his obeisance, though it was just short of being rude. "My Lady."

"We had high hopes for you Arafinwion," Varda said with a sigh. Her eyes were sad and Finrod found it difficult to look at them directly.

"Had, my Lady?" the once King of Nargothrond echoed. "Does that mean you have lowered your expectations or have given up on me altogether?"

Varda smiled thinly. "I see death has not made you any humbler."

"Was it supposed to?" Somewhere in the back of his mind Finrod was appalled by his own temerity but had decided, as he no longer had anything to lose, it no longer mattered.

"We will see," was all Varda would say.

"Why did you leave, Findaráto?" Námo asked from his throne.

"And more importantly, why did you not turn back with your atar?" Manwë added.

Finrod sighed. How could he possibly answer either question, especially, when, in his mind, they were one and the same? It wasn’t because of his uncle, Fëanáro. Finrod had never trusted him and trusted his sons even less, except possibly Macalaurë. No, he had left because of his love for Turucáno and the lure of adventure, the need to see new places and people. He would not have, could not have, turned back. He never blamed his atar for returning to Tirion. If anything, it had been a relief not to have him there. He was not sure his atar could have survived the Helcaraxë. Not all the elves who made it to the shores of Beleriand made it with their minds intact. Some, Finrod always suspected, had survived the Crossing physically whole, but with their fëar damaged by what they had suffered in that land of eternal white.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. "I fear no answer I give could adequately explain why I did what I did."

Varda shook her head. "You must give an answer Findaráto, however inadequate. You will not be permitted to leave the Rithil Anamo until you do."

"Why did you go with the Mortal Beren?" Námo asked suddenly.

"I gave my oath to Barahir," Finrod said simply, facing the Lord of Mandos, as if that explained everything, which, to his way of thinking, it did. "I had no choice."

"Did you not?" Námo countered.

Finrod could feel himself growing angry. His expression darkened and there was a dangerous light in his eyes. "No, my Lord. I did not. I do not give my oath lightly, which is why I did not follow Fëanáro and his sons into madness."

"Yet you willingly gave your aid to a Mortal to help retrieve one of the Silmarils," Námo commented. "Does that not constitute ‘following Fëanáro into madness’ as you put it?"

"It was never about the Silmarils!" Finrod shouted. "At least, not for me."

"Do you hate us, Findaráto?’ Varda asked.

Finrod faced the Star-Kindler with surprise at the unexpected question. "Why would any of you even care if I did or not?"

"We cursed you," Varda replied sadly, "and have forbidden Aman to you."

Finrod shook his head. "We cursed ourselves, Lady. Or rather, I should say, Fëanáro did it for us."

"You still haven’t answered the question, Arafinwion," Manwë said.

Finrod stood there for a long time contemplating the question. He remembered gently chiding the mortal wisewoman Andreth for disparaging the Powers one spring morning and had meant it... at the time. Now? He shook his head in confusion and looked at Varda, his expression troubled. "I-I don’t know."

"An honest enough answer," Varda allowed. "Perhaps by the end, you will."

Finrod felt himself blushing, as if he were an elfling who had just been reprimanded by an elder.

"Do you regret your rebellion against us, Findaráto?" Námo asked softly.

Finrod lifted his head and stood a little straighter, knowing that the next words he uttered would damn him completely. Never taking his eyes off Varda he answered the Lord of Mandos. "My only regret, my Lord Námo, is that I did not leave Aman sooner."

There was a rustle from the other thrones, a sort of mental sigh that Finrod could not interpret. Varda stared at the Elda for another moment before asking a final question. "And what of your beloved, Findaráto? What of Amarië? Would you abandon her a second time?"

The former King of Nargothrond laughed, though there was no humor in it. He suddenly felt on surer ground and throwing caution to the wind almost sneered. "You’ll have to do better than that, Lady. Sauron got to me with that question first. I suggest you not attempt such games with those of us who know how to play."

It was the closest thing to a slap in the face that Finrod could possibly achieve against the Valar. So much for asking for mercy, he thought with grim humor. Not that he would have ever stooped so low. He may have lost everything, may be deemed the lowest creature to crawl under the Sun, but he knew himself to be the King of Nargothrond and he would go to his doom on his feet, not on his knees.

"And we will see about that, as well," Varda said, her eyes looking even sadder.

Before he could react to her words, Varda returned to her throne, looked at her spouse sitting next to her and nodded. "I think we’ve heard enough, my beloved."

"Yes," the Elder King said slowly, almost regretfully. "I think we have indeed." Then he looked directly at Finrod and, in a voice that was colder than anything Finrod had ever heard before, intoned, "Let judgment commence."

As if those words were the key that unlocked his memories, Finrod suddenly found his mind flooded with images from his past, images of startling detail, as if he were there, living them all over again. Then the sifting began, the peeling away of all the illusions and delusions he had used to cover up and cover over those aspects of himself he no longer wished to acknowledge as belonging to him.

The onslaught of images drove him to his knees with a startled gasp as he attempted to resist what was happening to him. He never felt himself collapse all the way to the ground, writhing in the throes of the Valar’s unrelenting probing. He was unaware of Nienna weeping or even that Estë held him for a time when the true memories of his part in the Rebellion became so overwhelming he began screaming and some dim part of him, aware of what was being done to him, feared he would never stop.

And then when the images focused on a dungeon on the island of Tol-in-Gaurhoth...

****

Finrod jerked awake with a cry, his breath ragged. He was surprised to find he had fallen asleep. Why was he dreaming about his judgment? His limbs shook with something akin to terror and he felt himself beginning to panic. His first thought was to find Glorfindel, but dismissed it almost immediately. His second thought was not to fall asleep again, but even as he came to that conclusion he felt himself inexplicably succumbing to great weariness. He lurched out of his bed and went to a large clothespress and opened it, searching frantically. There. He grabbed the stuffed toy from the bottom of the press and slid ungracefully to the floor, clutching it, as if it alone could stave off whatever was happening to him.

"No child," came a soft voice from out of the darkness, and Finrod gave a stifled scream and scrambled across the floor into a corner, nearly cowering, as Námo materialized before him. The Lord of Mandos looked down upon the ellon with grave sympathy and knelt to stroke the elf’s hair. Finrod cringed even further into the corner, the stuffed toy his only shield. Námo shook his head in dismay. "Let the images come, Finrod. Do not be afraid. No harm will come to you. Let them come. It’s time you remembered everything."

Finrod shook his head. "No... please, not again, not again..." he sobbed and Námo reached out and took him into his embrace and held him, though Finrod tried vainly to resist.

"Let them come, child," the Lord of Mandos said again. "Shh. It will be well, I promise you... let them come. I will not leave you to face them alone."

"Why now?" Finrod cried, still resisting, anger beginning to take over. "WHY?"

Námo held him tightly. Finrod squirmed in the Vala’s embrace, screaming invectives as he tried to escape — escape the Vala, escape the memories beginning to overwhelm him again. He did not want to surrender, he wouldn’t surrender, he wouldn’t allow these memories to surface, he wouldn’t...

"Finda! Remember what you promised your atto," Námo suddenly said, his words unlocking the final door to the ellon’s memories. Finrod gave another shuddering sob of despair and collapsed completely into Námo’s arms, surrendering himself to his memories, weeping inconsolably even as he was swept away into the past once again....

****

All words are Quenya. 

Arafinwion: Son of Arafinwë, Finrod’s patronymic.

Macalaurë: Maglor.

Rithil Anamo: Ring of Doom, literally "Circle of Judgment", also called Máhanaxar, 'Doom Ring', a word adopted and adapted from Valarin.

28: Judgment Passed

How long it lasted, he never knew. Eventually the probing stopped and he found himself lying on his back, staring into a cerulean sky. He tried to remember that last memory... something important... something to do with Beren... no, not Beren... with Mortals... something he was forgetting, or refusing to see....

He shuddered and cried out in despair as he finally faced the truth. Manwë was suddenly standing over him, looking down with great sadness.

"Yes, Findaráto, I think you are finally beginning to understand." He knelt down and gently stroked the ellon’s hair. "It’s all right for you to hate us. It’s even all right for you to hate Eru, but know why you hate. You will never return to Endórë. That door is forever closed to you. Never again will you speak with any of the Secondborn, and I think that is the greatest punishment for you, isn’t it, Mellon-in-Edain?"

Finrod could only lie there, tears streaming down his face. That had been the one thing he had refused to acknowledge to himself. He could give up his crown — had, in fact, done so. He could accept that he could never return to what he would always think of as his true home. It was the knowledge that he would never speak to any of the Edain again that left him feeling bereft. He would never sit by their fires and listen to their songs and their stories, so different from those of the Eldar, yet no less beautiful and wondrous to him because of it. Bëor, Andreth, Barahir, Beren and countless others... he had lost them all to Time and Eru’s inexorable Gift. Yet there had always been others. But now...

From the depths of his soul he screamed his rage and despair at this final loss. His Children! — for so he had always thought them. He had lost his Children forever and there was no comfort for him anywhere.

"No, Findaráto!" Manwë said somewhat sternly, his expression implacable. "They were never your Children. They did not belong to you. They do not even belong to us. They belong to themselves and to Eru alone. Just as you Eldar do. As they were never yours to begin with you cannot say you have lost them. You cannot lose what you never had in the first place."

And that was the final assault on his self-delusions, and as the walls of his conceit crumbled, he screamed again and flailed against Manwë, needing to lash out in his rage. Manwë scooped the ellon into his arms and held him tightly as he returned to his throne, allowing Finrod to spend his rage and sorrow on him and on him alone.

How long he continued in his fury he did not know, but eventually he was empty of all anger and despair. Manwë looked down at the ellon nestled in his arms, waiting for Finrod to open his eyes, waiting to see what judgment Arafinwion had passed on himself. For in truth, the Valar did not judge. They merely provided these exasperating yet loveable Children the means by which to judge themselves.

Finrod finally sighed and slowly opened his eyes and the Elder King nodded to himself, accepting the judgment he saw there. Gone was the proud King of Nargothrond. The eyes that looked back at him in confusion and a little fear were those of a six-year-old elfling....

Finda opened his eyes and through his tears saw his atto looking down at him. He wasn’t sure why he was in his atto’s arms but if he’d been crying, he must have been naughty. He didn’t remember being naughty, but he knew what he was supposed to say now. Gulping back tears he lisped, "I-I thorry, atto. Fi-finda thorry."

Manwë looked down with great tenderness at the ellon in his arms and accepted the role he’d been given in the elfling’s eyes.

"Atto knows that," Manwë said quietly, silently signalling Námo to approach his throne.

"Atto not angry?"

"No, my little elfling. Atto’s not angry. Atto loves his little Finda."

"Wh-where’s Ammë?" the once King of Nargothrond stammered, looking about but seeing nothing. Varda neatly stepped into the role being offered and came to stand beside her beloved’s throne to look down at this most adorable elfling sniffling in the arms of his "atto".

"Ammë is right here, titta meldanya," Varda reached down and stroked the ellon’s hair and little Finda gave a tremulous smile and sighed. "Do you promise your atto not to be naughty again?"

The ellon nodded. "Finda promise."

"Good," Manwë said. "Now, go with your Uncle Námo like a good little elfling." Námo stepped forward with his arms out, ready to take on the role given him and feeling rather amused by it all. Truly these Children were amazing creatures. Finda shrank back into his atto’s arms, not willing to leave the safety he felt there. "Hush, now, remember your promise."

Finda looked up at his atto, lips trembling. He wanted to be good but he was afraid he couldn’t be and he didn’t want to leave his atto’s arms. Námo knelt beside the throne and gently stroked the ellon’s hair, well aware of the conflict the elfling was experiencing.

"I have a surprise for you, titta quén."

"Wh-what surprise?" Finda asked, curious in spite of himself.

Námo smiled and whispered conspiratorially. "Oh, but if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise. You have to come with me to see it. Would you like that?"

The ellon thought about it and all the Valar sat in perfect stillness waiting for his answer. Finally, after looking up at his beloved atto for approval, he nodded and held his arms out to be lifted up into his uncle’s arms.

"That’s my good elfling," Manwë said as he stood up to give the ellon a kiss on his brow. "Atto is very proud of his little Finda."

Finda smiled, feeling warm and loved and surprisingly safe in his Unca’ Námo’s arms. Then everything dissolved and he found himself inside a chamber and being lowered onto a bed, the covers tucked around him. Unca’ Námo leaned down and gave him something.

"Here, my elfling, here’s your surprise." It was a stuffed toy and Finda fell in love with it immediately. He took it into his arms and cuddled it, immensely happy with such a gift. Soon he was fast asleep....

He did not know that he slept that first time for twenty years of the Sun, nor did he know that afterwards his waking hours for the next century were spent happily crawling on the floor of his sleeping chamber, playing with his stuffed toys and simple games while his Maiar attendants looked on with indulgent smiles. Sometimes one of them even got on the floor and played with him and that pleased him very much. Yet he was most happy when his Unca’ Námo came to visit and he would spend hours nestled in Námo’s arms while the Lord of Mandos told him stories of how much his atto loved him....

****

When Finrod came to himself he was surprised that he was still in Námo’s arms and that the hour was so late. Dawn was not far off. The two of them were sitting on the floor.

"Welcome back," Námo said with a smile.

Finrod was suddenly aware of the fact that he was still clinging to the stuffed toy and with a muttered oath threw it away from him and tried to move out of Námo’s embrace, embarrassed and angry, but his limbs felt weak and the room started to spin so he settled back into the Vala’s arms.

"Why now?" he finally asked, his eyes closed against the dizziness. "Why am I remembering all this now?"

"Because you refused to remember before," Námo answered softly, "and we let you remain forgetful. However, the time is past when such luxuries can be allowed. Laurendil’s question was not accidental."

Finrod opened his eyes. "You made him...?"

"Not so!" came the vehement denial. "Say rather that we inspired him to ask the question that had burned in his heart for these many centuries, wondering if he could have faced what you faced in your final hour. We did not have to make him do anything, Finrod. You should know us better than that by now."

Finrod nodded and closed his eyes again, reliving the memories of his judgment and the aftermath. "I can't believe I crawled around like an infant!" he exclaimed in dismay.

"But you were an infant," Námo laughed. "A most adorable elfling, if I do say so myself. Shh. Don’t be embarrassed. Are you embarrassed about when you were an elfling in truth, toddling about after your older cousins? Why should you be embarrassed now?"

"Yet, for how long?" Finrod couldn't help asking.

"About a yén," Námo said with a smile.

"A whole yén!?" Finrod protested, finally scrambling out of Námo’s embrace. The Vala let him go.

Námo shrugged, looking at the ellon standing over him, outraged. "And so? You took the time you needed to be an infant again, to relearn innocence and the joy of delighting in simple things like stuffed toys and bedtime stories. There is no shame in that and no condemnation."

For a long time Finrod stood there, not really seeing the Vala staring at him calmly, allowing him all the time he needed to accept what was already in the past and could never be changed. He could see the ellon wavering, not wanting to give in to the truth, but he knew that the outcome was already assured. Findaráto would not disappoint.

Nor did he.

Without saying a word, he sank back to the floor and leaned against Námo’s shoulder while the Vala wrapped an arm around him. He sighed in contentment as he felt his 'Uncle' Námo’s arms giving him comfort. In a soft hesitant voice he asked, "W-will you tell me again how much my atto loves me, Unca’ Námo?"

Námo smiled at his favorite 'elfling'. "Would you like me to show you, instead?" he asked gently and when Finrod nodded, he leaned over and kissed the ellon on the brow.

Finrod gasped and attempted to resist what was happening. He was suddenly and inexplicably afraid and his greatest fear was having his sense of self destroyed by the Other that was even now drawing near to embrace him. For an eternity that could be measured in the blink of an eye he held his ground and then, in a desperate act of blind estel, he flung his fëa into the abyss and allowed the Other to take him.

Námo held the elf’s writhing form close to him, offering his support, making sure that none in the palace heard their prince’s shrieks of joy as wave after wave of indescribable divine ecstasy drew him ever deeper, ever higher and ever more closely into Love’s eternal embrace. His Light of Being shone brightly, brighter than it ever had before or ever would after and only the stars and the Valar were witnesses.

When he finally became aware of himself and his surroundings, he lay still, his senses numb, his mind reeling with what had happened. All of Eä had opened up to him and his fëa felt too large for his hröa, though that feeling began to subside as memory faded to more acceptable levels.

"Is... is it always like... that?" he whispered, his voice husky with emotion.

Námo smiled, though Finrod could not see. "Usually. Sometimes it’s even better."

Finrod shifted his position and then made a sound of disgust. He was wet. Every part of him was wringing with sweat. Even his hair felt gummy. Námo gave a snort of amusement at the ellon’s fastidious disgust and helped him rise.

Finrod stripped the sweat-soaked nightshirt off, preparing to use the tepid water from the washstand to wash the sweat from him, but suddenly realized that a tub of steaming hot water sat in the middle of the room. He glanced at Námo who merely smiled. "Don’t let all that hot water go cold." Then he handed Finrod a soft cloth, and a bar of soap.

Finrod laughed at that and climbed into the tub while Námo held a large towel ready for when he was ready to come out. In a short while Finrod was dried off and dressed in a clean nightshirt. He climbed into bed, pulling the covers around him. Námo picked up the discarded toy from the floor where Finrod had thrown it and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Do you still want this, or should I put it away?" His tone was not condescending, for he was genuinely interested in Finrod’s answer.

Finrod hesitated, feeling stupid, then reluctantly held out his arms and nodded. Námo smiled warmly, gave the toy to the elf and kissed him on the brow. "That’s my favorite elfling now." He started singing an ancient lullaby as he stroked the ellon’s hair and soon Finrod was fast asleep.

****

When Glorfindel peeked in several hours later to see Finrod still sleeping, the stuffed toy nestled in the ellon’s arms, he felt tears forming in his eyes at the sight, though he could not say why. It was only when he tiptoed further into the room that he noticed that Lord Námo was sitting in the rocking chair, wreathed in shadows.

"He had a difficult night," the Vala whispered, putting a finger to his lips.

Glorfindel nodded, glad that his gwador had not been alone in his hour of need. He bent down and gave Finrod a kiss on the brow before bowing to Námo and exiting.

Finrod never woke, but he gave a soft sigh and nestled further under the covers.

****

Mellon-in-Edain: (Sindarin) Friend-of-Men, one of Finrod’s titles.

Titta meldanya: (Quenya) My little dear (one).

Titta quén: (Quenya) Little one.

Yén: (Quenya) An elvish century, numbering 144 solar years.

Note: As an 'elfling' of six years, Finrod would have been only 2.5 years old in human terms.

29: Travel Plans

When he joined the rest of the royal family for breakfast Glorfindel told Arafinwë that Finrod was still sleeping and didn’t look to be waking anytime soon. He decided against mentioning Námo’s presence. Arafinwë looked at the ellon in surprise.

"Still sleeping?"

Glorfindel nodded, suddenly thoughtful. "I... I think maybe something happened last night. He was very quiet all evening, I noticed."

"But... what could possibly have happened?" Eärwen asked, looking concerned.

Glorfindel shrugged. "All I know is that when I peeked in to see if he was awake yet, I found him cuddled with a stuffed toy." The ellon giggled. "He looked so cute, just like an elfling."

Arafinwë sighed and closed his eyes and shook his head ruefully. Elfling indeed! He remembered when Findaráto had first come home and Arafinwë had found him sleeping with that ridiculous stuffed toy. He’d been angry at first, appalled that his grown son would resort to such childishness, but Eärwen had seen more clearly than he, as a mother usually did, and had forbidden him from even mentioning the toy to their son.

"Let him be an elfling again, love, and simply enjoy the fact that he’s with us once again," she had said and he had reluctantly agreed.

The King opened his eyes to see Glorfindel smiling wickedly, his eyes full of mischief at Findaráto’s expense. "We will not mention that to anyone, yonya," Arafinwë said a bit more sternly than he had intended, but the effect was all he could hope for. Glorfindel looked suitably chastened and mumbled an apology. Arafinwë exchanged an amused look with Eärwen. He was only grateful that Amarië had not yet joined them in the dining hall and had not heard about the stuffed toy.

"Well, all I want to know is," Sador suddenly piped up as he helped himself to some more toast, "if Finrod gets to have a stuffed toy, why can’t I?" and then he and Glorfindel were both laughing. Arafinwë simply rolled his eyes while Eärwen leaned over and whispered, "Elflings, indeed!"

So, Arafinwë sent a message to Laurendil informing him that due to the demands of kingship, their next meeting would have to be postponed until after lunch, then made sure there was some truth to his words by spending the morning drilling Glorfindel and Sador on the history of Aman and the relationship between the various elven kingdoms and the Valar.

When they finally gathered in the smaller council chamber once more, Arafinwë stole a glance at his firstborn, trying to ascertain what might have happened to him the night before. Finrod, however, greeted everyone with a ready smile, his eyes clear, his laughter unforced. Arafinwë had to conclude that whatever had happened had had no ill effect on his son. Once all were seated, Finrod spoke before Arafinwë could open his mouth. "I think I should return to Tol Eressëa with Laurendil."

Arafinwë looked at his son with some surprise. There was a level of maturity in his son’s voice and a look of resolve in his eyes that had not been there before and he wondered. "Why?" he asked, though he thought he could guess at one reason, stealing a glance at Laurendil who looked as startled as any there. So, the former ranger of Dorthonion was not privy to Findaráto’s decision. Interesting.

"I think someone should go and see for himself what is happening there and speak with the people. It might help us find a solution to both problems."

"I think Finrod is correct, my lord," Glorfindel said, "but he shouldn’t be the one to go."

Finrod looked at his friend in disbelief. "What do you mean?"

"Yes, Glorfindel, what do you mean?" Arafinwë echoed. There was a hardness to the ellon’s tone that he had never heard before and it made him wonder.

"It might send the wrong message," Glorfindel replied, then turned to Laurendil. "Who knew the real reason for your embassy, besides the members of the delegation?"

Laurendil raised an eyebrow. "I can think of one or two reclusive Wood Elves who might not have heard, but otherwise..."

"As I thought," Glorfindel nodded. He looked again at Arafinwë. "If Finrod goes many there will assume it is because he has accepted the lordship of Tol Eressëa. When they discover that is not the case, disappointment may well turn to anger and some might take it as a personal insult."

The others all looked thoughtful at that and Arafinwë could see the reluctant acceptance of Glorfindel’s words in his son’s eyes.

"Who should go instead? You?" Finrod asked somewhat heatedly, feeling hurt.

"I’m not the one they want to make king, gwador," Glorfindel replied, also somewhat heatedly.

"No! Neither of you will go, " Arafinwë interjected and shook his head at the rebellious looks on both their faces. "You, my son, for the reasons Glorfindel has stated, and you, Glorfindel, because you are equally renowned. You might inadvertently invoke other, older, conflicts of loyalty among the elves there and they may feel threatened by your presence. No, I have in mind to send someone whom none know, someone who will not be considered a threat to anyone." He looked pointedly at Sador, a sad smile on his face.

Sador turned white. "Me?" he squeaked. "But...I can’t go... I mean, Netilmírë.... I’m no... I’m too young!" He was babbling and knew he was babbling but couldn’t help it. His brain had frozen and he could not think straight for the fear he suddenly felt. He could almost feel the tears beginning to flow and hated himself for them. He leapt up, to flee, suddenly unable to breathe properly, but strong arms took him, held him, and soft words were spoken in his ear, though he did not understand them, until he felt himself calming and he could breathe again, think again. He opened eyes he was unaware had been closed to find himself wrapped in Arafinwë’s arms and sagged into the King’s embrace with a moan, feeling embarrassed by his hysteria.

"No dínen, ellon dithen veren nîn," Arafinwë whispered so only Sador could hear his words. "I would not send you if I did not feel you capable of performing your duty to me. Trust me."

Sador nodded and with a gentle kiss on his forehead, Arafinwë released him and led him back to his seat. The others remained silent. Finrod and Glorfindel had identical looks of concern on their faces, but were reassured when Arafinwë smiled at them.

"I think I will be sending my own embassy to Tol Eressëa," Arafinwë said as he resumed his seat. He looked at Laurendil. "Something Sador said yesterday gave me the idea."

"Wh-what did I say?" Sador asked, wracking his brains, trying to remember what he could have said that was so important.

Arafinwë smiled. "When you asked Laurendil about taking up a trade or craft. I was reminded that we have guilds that might be of use to the elves of Tol Eressëa who work in such trades and crafts."

"We have our own guilds, though, my lord," Arodeth said. "I myself belong to the Embroiderers’ Guild."

Arafinwë nodded. "Yes, exactly. Yet, I wonder if your guilds would not benefit from making alliances with ours. A sharing of arts and techniques might well benefit both groups."

Laurendil gave the King a jaundiced look. "Forgive me, my lord, but I doubt that any of the Guilds of Aman will consider ours to be on an equal footing with them. I fear we are considered poor cousins, especially we who were once Exiles."

"All the more reason for the heads of the guilds to meet. It is high time that the elves of Tol Eressëa be considered and think of themselves as part of Aman. Sending some of our guildmasters to speak with yours will be a start."

"That’s why you want to send Sador, because you mean to send Netilmírë," Finrod said, suddenly divining his atar’s plans. "And while Netilmírë and the other guildmasters are speaking to the Tol Eressëan guildmasters, Sador will be conducting his own, more private, enquiry."

"And the fact that a Sinda is apprenticed to a Noldo of Aman might cause resentments to flare even more than they already do has not occurred to anyone?" Glorfindel asked skeptically.

But Arodeth shook her head. "Nay, my lord Glorfindel. The fact that a Noldo of Aman would even consider a Sinda worthy of being her apprentice will go a long way to stemming such resentment."

The other members of the embassy nodded in agreement.

Finrod gave his atar a wry grin. "I think it’s an excellent idea, Atar. Now all you have to do is convince Netilmírë and the other masters that it is so."

Arafinwë smiled. "Nay, yonya. Not I. You." And Sador was the first to laugh at the look of horror on Finrod’s face.

****

Actually, Netilmírë, when she was told of the King’s wishes, thought it was an excellent idea.

"And Sador will accompany me?" she asked her prince.

Finrod nodded. "Atar would not wish to have his lessons with you interrupted because of your absence. I know there will be little opportunity to ply your craft, but..."

Netilmírë held up a hand. "There are many different lessons, my lord. Young Sador’s training will not be neglected."

"Good. Good. I know he was worried about that when Atar told him." Finrod smiled. "I should also tell you that Atar has given Sador his own mission, but I assure you, it will not interfere with yours. This is a separate thing, a concern of the Crown. What arrangements you and the other guildmasters make with the Tol Eressëan guilds is up to you, although the King hopes that you will strive for equity and fairness in your dealings with our kin."

Netilmírë nodded. "I must speak to the other guildmasters first, of course, but... you’re right, my prince, this meeting is long overdue." She gave Finrod a brilliant smile and there was a glint of mischief in her eyes. "When do we leave?"

****

The Tol Eressëan embassy left Tirion three days later, augmented by four guildmasters, including Netilmírë, plus Sador, but minus two of their own.

Arafinwë called Laurendil and Manwen to attend him one evening. They met in the King’s private study. Finrod was there as well, but not Glorfindel.

"I was wondering, my lady," Arafinwë began after they were all seated, "if you would consider not returning to Tol Eressëa just yet."

Manwen exchanged a worried glance with her husband before answering. "What do you have in mind, my lord?"

"I assure you, nothing ill," Arafinwë said. "I was wondering if you would like to go to Lórien and speak to Lord Irmo about the possibility of becoming his apprentice for a time."

Manwen gasped. "But why...?"

"Does the idea displease you, my daughter?"

And suddenly the room became too small for all of them, for a Presence was felt and all stood to bow before the Lord of Lórien. Manwen felt her knees go weak and her husband put out a hand to steady her, concern for her overriding his own sense of awe. Manwen gulped. She had lived in Doriath under the protection of the Maia Queen, true, but she had never bothered to think of the Powers or Dor-Rodyn as actualities until she and her husband had finally had no choice but to sail West, though neither truly wished to do so. She still found the idea of living in a land where one could converse freely with the Belain unnerving. She well remembered the scorn with which the Noldor first greeted her people for having forsaken the Great Journey for Beleriand and wondered if the Valar had ever forgiven the Sindar for their desertion.

Irmo stood there gazing at the elleth, waiting for her answer, but all she could manage was an uncertain shake of her head. Irmo smiled sympathetically and beckoned to her. "Come here, child."

Manwen gave a small gasp and stumbled towards the waiting Vala who took her hand, placing his other hand behind her head, forcing her to look into his eyes. She felt her heartbeat slow under the warm regard of the Lord of Lórien and realized there was nothing to fear here.

"That’s correct, child. No fear, no condemnation," Irmo said soothingly. "I’m afraid your kin here in Aman do not fully realize the role your people have played in the furtherance of Eru’s plans for Arda, but someday they will. Now, about becoming my apprentice..."

Manwen found herself crying and she bit her lips in anguish. Some deep part of her opened up under Irmo’s gaze, some hidden desire she was unaware of even having made itself known to her and all she could do in response was to weep, but whether in joy or sorrow, she could not say.

"Now, now, elleth nîn," Irmo said gently as he drew her into his embrace. "Enough of that. I think you will do very well under my tutelage. Anyone who has trained under the Peredhel is welcome in Lórien. Come to me in two weeks’ time. Findaráto will escort you. He knows the way to my demesne."

Irmo bent down and kissed the elleth on her brow, stroking her hair, and smiled. She managed a tremulous smile of her own and then he was gone. Laurendil had just enough time to catch her before she collapsed to the floor. She had fainted but came out of it shortly thereafter, though she refused to leave her husband’s embrace.

When he was assured that his beloved was well, Laurendil looked at the King and snarled. "Did you plan this, my lord? You and Lord Irmo? Do you Amaneldi and the damn Valar take such pleasure in tormenting us in this fashion?"

"Peace, Laurendil," Arafinwë replied. "It is true that I spoke with Lord Irmo about Manwen, but I never thought he would appear in person. You must place blame where it belongs. And I would take care how you speak of the Powers, my son. You’ve suffered under their wrath once before. I do not think you wish to suffer further."

Laurendil grimaced, his face still red with fury born of fear for his wife. "Manwen was right," he practically shouted. "We should never have sailed. I left Aman to get away from the Valar and I vowed never to have anything to do with them again. And now..."

"Why did you return, then?" Finrod asked in a reasonable tone.

Laurendil paled and he looked down at his wife, sorrow etched on his fair face as he bent and kissed her gently on the lips. "I...I couldn’t stop dreaming of the sea," he finally said in an anguished whisper and then he was weeping, all anger fled.

He felt hands on his shoulders and looked up through his tears to see his former liege lord standing behind him, smiling gently. "Then perhaps the Powers called you home for your own healing, otornya. I well remember the bitterness of heart you had towards the Valar and it grieved me that it was so, for in truth, our sufferings were of our own making. The Valar had nothing to do with them. Perhaps, Laurendil, Irmo wove the sea into your dreams and Ulmo set lips to the Ulumúri to bring you home again, to healing long postponed."

*And perhaps, hinya, I wove those dreams to lure your wife to me as well.* Irmo’s voice was heard by all in their minds though he was not visible. Laurendil gave a shudder.

"If Manwen goes to Lórien, so shall I," he said defiantly. "I will not be parted from her. I found my beloved in the midst of war and horror unimaginable. If Morgoth in all his might could not separate us, no other Vala will either."

"I wouldn’t have it any other way, my son." Irmo reappeared, a smile on his face. "You, too, shall become my apprentice."

Laurendil looked at the Vala in shock. "I am no healer! I go to be with Manwen. I want nothing else to do with you or any of the Valar."

"No? Well, we’ll see," Irmo said, and there was a foreboding tone to his words that sent shudders through them all. He looked straight at Finrod, his expression implacable. "Bring them to me in two weeks’ time, Arafinwion." Then he was gone again and it suddenly became easier to breathe.

For a long moment none there moved. Laurendil held his wife close to him and she was content to cling to him, both weeping gently. Finrod bent over the two of them, speaking softly, trying to bring them both comfort. Arafinwë sighed, then knelt before the weeping couple and placed one hand on Laurendil’s knee and another on Manwen’s head. They looked at him through their tears.

"It is decided then," Arafinwë said quietly. "You will both go to Lórien and become Lord Irmo’s apprentices. Shh. Do not grieve so, my children. The Lord of Lórien is a kind and loving master. There is naught to fear from him. He will teach you much and perhaps along the way he will help you towards your own healing, for both your fëar are wounded by grief and the horrors of war. I have seen it, though I deem you little recognize it in yourselves. Now, go, and take what rest you may this night. In two days time you will set out."

Laurendil helped his wife to her feet and they bowed to the King and his son before leaving, dejection written all over them. Finrod watched them leave with some concern. Arafinwë put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"It will be well, yonya. You’ll see."

****

No dínen, ellon dithen veren nîn: (Sindarin) "Hush, my brave elfling". Literally, "Be silent, my bold little elf". Arafinwë obviously has been practicing his Sindarin.

Dor-Rodyn: (Sindarin) Valinor.

Belain: (Sindarin) Plural of Balan: Vala.

Amaneldi: (Quenya) Attested plural of Amanelda: An Elf of Aman, particularly one who never rebelled against the Valar.

Ulumúri: (Quenya) The Great Horns of Ulmo.

30: Departures

"I don’t understand why I can’t go to Lórien with you," Glorfindel said to Finrod in a querulous tone as he watched the prince pack.

"Lord Irmo didn’t invite you," Finrod said reasonably, hiding a smile.

Glorfindel bounced on the bed with a dramatic sigh. "I can’t go to Tol Eressëa, I can’t go to Lórien. I’m no more than a prisoner here."

Finrod laughed. "Hardly a prisoner. Why you’ve barely explored Tirion since you arrived."

Glorfindel shrugged. "What’s to explore? It’s the same as it always has been. Nothing changes around here."

"Well, that’s just silly," Finrod said in some exasperation. He was suddenly reminded of his younger brothers and sister from before.

"It’s just that everyone is off on a mission but me."

"Oh, so that’s it," Finrod said, feigning indignation. "You aren’t really interested in joining me, you just want to feel important."

Glorfindel paled and then blushed furiously, looking away, biting his lips. "I-I’m sorry. I’ll be good."

Finrod looked upon his brother and friend in surprise, suddenly feeling as if those words weren’t meant for him, but for another... or possibly, he amended to himself, Another. He sat down on the bed next to Glorfindel who had not looked up and placed an arm around his shoulders.

"Shh. It’s all right. I’m not really angry. I wish you could come with me, too, but then Atar and Amillë will be all alone again. I think they’ve gotten used to having us around."

Glorfindel leaned into Finrod’s embrace and nodded. "I’ll miss you."

"I’ll miss you, too, but it’s not forever, pityaván. I’ll be back before you know it."

Glorfindel sighed dramatically, but otherwise did not offer any more protests. Still, it was a dejected elf who stood on the front portico of the palace watching Finrod ride off with Laurendil, Manwen and a royal escort, though he tried to pretend otherwise. Arafinwë wasn’t fooled, nor Eärwen.

"Come along, dear," the queen said soothingly. "Standing here will not bring Findaráto back any sooner. Why don’t you help me and Amarië this morning? We need to inventory the palace kitchens. Winter is coming, you know. Do you remember winter?"

Glorfindel allowed himself to be led away, though the last thing he wanted to do was to spend the day taking inventory, but could see no polite way out of it. Arafinwë watched his wife manage their unofficial ward, recognizing her intention to keep Glorfindel too busy to brood. He knew he would have to come up with something to occupy the ellon as well; the inventory would not take long, for most of it had already been done.

Thus, two days later, Arafinwë called Glorfindel to his study.

"There’s a delegation from Ingwë coming tomorrow," he said without preamble as Glorfindel sat down. "It’s a trade delegation, for the most part, but some of the younger elves in the party will be staying beyond the planned meetings for the winter. It’s an exchange between the two courts, you see. I will be sending some of the younger members of my court back with the delegation when it returns to Vanyamar, Ingwë's city at the foot of Taniquetil, in case you've forgotten. I would like you to go."

Glorfindel stood up in surprise. He remembered Olórin’s words to him, so long ago it seemed: If you go to Taniquetil, do not go alone. Was this it? Was this his chance to get some answers? Answers to questions he had pushed aside in the exigency of learning to live again, but had never truly forgotten? A sudden joy leaped up within him at the thought, followed almost immediately by fear and another emotion he did not recognize and for which he had no words.

"Glorfindel?" Arafinwë asked with some concern as he saw the stricken look on the ellon’s face. "What is it, yonya? What troubles you?"

The ellon could only stare at the king, shaking his head. "I...I don’t... what if Finrod comes back and I’m not...and... and you and Amillë Eärwen be all alone again... and..."

Ah, so that was it. Arafinwë stood up and embraced the ellon, holding him tightly. "I’m pleased that you would think of others and be concerned for their happiness, but I assure you that we will not be alone. Your amillë and I will miss you, will miss all of you, but it is only for a brief time. Neither Sador nor Finrod will return before the New Year. You will be back by then yourself."

Glorfindel stepped back from Arafinwë’s embrace. "How do you know Finrod won’t be back until then? He’s just escorting Laurendil and Manwen to Lórien, isn’t he?"

Arafinwë sighed. "Do you think Lord Irmo would bother ordering Finrod to act as escort if he had no other purpose for having him come to Lórien? I could have easily arranged for Laurendil and Manwen to travel to Lórien without my son. No, Lord Irmo has a need for your brother. I suspect Finrod will be staying in Lórien for a time."

Glorfindel looked at the king doubtfully. Arafinwë did not seem unduly upset, yet in his own mind being sent to Lórien could only mean one thing...

"Is...is Finrod going to be... punished?"

Now it was Arafinwë who stepped back in surprise. "Punished? Whyever would you think that, yonya?"

Glorfindel looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling unsure. So much was still new to him and his memories of his previous life didn’t seem to help him much. "Th-there was an ellon... when I was in Lórien... he...Olórin took him away because he was...and I thought Finrod was too and..."

Arafinwë stood there trying to figure out what Glorfindel was stammering on about, but was at a loss. He did understand one thing, though. Reaching out he took Glorfindel into his arms again and held him, rubbing his back to give him some comfort. "Hush now. Finrod’s not being punished. I promise you. Being sent to Lórien is not a punishment. Laurendil and Manwen have been sent to Lórien. Do you think they’re being punished?"

"Laurendil might think so," came the surprising answer and Arafinwë couldn’t help but chuckle.

"Yes, well, I assure you it’s not the case. Not for Laurendil and certainly not for Finrod. If Lord Irmo has sent for Finrod it’s because there is a need for him to be there. Just as you knew there was a need for Sador to go to Tol Eressëa. Just as I feel you need to go to Vanyamar."

For a long moment Glorfindel remained in Arafinwë’s embrace enjoying the sense of security that he felt there. He vaguely remembered being held in another’s arms long ago when he was an elfling in truth, but he could not recall whose arms they were and now it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Finally, he drew back, gathering his courage.

"I will go to Vanyamar, if that is your wish, Atar," he said quietly, not quite able to meet Arafinwë’s eyes.

Arafinwë smiled and kissed the ellon on the brow. "That’s my good little elfling."

For some reason Glorfindel didn’t mind being called an elfling just then.

****

The delegation arrived in due course. The Vanyar were in bright contrast to the darker Noldor with their golden tresses that ranged in shades from winter white to deep summer gold. They were tall and proud. Glorfindel thought them haughty and condescending, even to Arafinwë. When the King introduced Glorfindel to the head of the delegation, one Lady Tinwetariel, who appeared to be a kinswoman of Arafinwë, she looked at the ellon in surprise.

"What is your parentage, child, that you have the golden locks of my people?"

Glorfindel looked at the lady in unfeigned disgust. "First of all, my lady, I am not a child. I am Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin. I’ve fought against the legions of the Esselóra and have slain valaraucar in my day." He paused just long enough for that to sink in. "And my parentage is no one’s business but my own."

Tinwetariel raised a delicate eyebrow at that and glanced at Arafinwë, who maintained an impassive mien. The King nodded. "Lord Glorfindel died in Ondolindë, Aunt, saving the life of my great-niece Itarildë and her son Eärendil."

That brought murmurs of surprise from the Vanyar, though Glorfindel did not understand why. Tinwetariel, however, looked at the ellon with something bordering on disdain. "Ah, one of the Reborn. Insolence is unbecoming to one who has passed through Mandos. Did you learn nothing while in the Halls of Waiting, child?"

"I learned that the Valar and Ilúvatar have forgiven me," Glorfindel said quietly, still seething, but keeping himself in check.

There seemed to be nothing that could be said to that, so Tinwetariel let it go. Eärwen, standing next to her husband, decided it was time to step in.

"Perhaps you would care to refresh yourself after your journey, Tinwetariel. Your rooms are ready for you."

"Thank you, my dear," Tinwetariel said. She looked at Glorfindel one more time and gave a sniff as she followed Eärwen into the palace. "Ridiculous looking braids. He looks so barbaric, Eärwen. How do you tolerate it?"

Whatever Eärwen replied was lost in the bustle of the delegation moving into the palace. Glorfindel stayed where he was, still as stone, shocked at the utter rudeness of the lady. Soon only he and Arafinwë remained. The king looked at Glorfindel and squeezed his shoulder in sympathy.

"She’s really not so bad once you get to know her."

Glorfindel declined to answer, giving Arafinwë a skeptical look before turning to go into the palace. Arafinwë sighed, beginning to wonder if sending the ellon to Vanyamar in Tinwetariel’s company was such a good idea.

****

The trade talks lasted a week. Glorfindel attended each session as required, but sat with the younger courtiers rather than with Arafinwë, much to the king’s sorrow. He studiously avoided Tinwetariel and most of the other Vanyar except when duty demanded otherwise. Even then he was barely civil. Tinwetariel, for her part, tended to ignore him. Whatever his claims to fame, she did not think much of the Noldo. When she learned the meanings of the front braids, she was appalled and could not believe that Eärwen would suffer such barbarity in her presence.

"Really, my dear, I thought better of you," she said. "The child is obviously refusing to accept his status in this society. He may well have been a lord in the Outer World, but he is no such thing here."

"Oh?" Eärwen said quietly. She never liked Tinwetariel but had long schooled herself to be polite in the older woman’s presence. "And what is he then?"

"Why, one who lives on sufferance of the Valar’s good will, of course. The Reborn really need to know their place in Aman."

"Even the Vanyar who have returned from Mandos?" Eärwen asked blandly.

Tinwetariel gave her a withering look, tinged with great anger. "None of the Vanyar have been released from Mandos, Eärwen. None."

Belatedly, Eärwen recalled that Tinwetariel’s own son had died during the War of Wrath, but did not offer an apology, knowing it would not be accepted anyway.

The other members of the delegation took their cue from Tinwetariel and felt free to treat Glorfindel with disdain, if they bothered to treat with him at all. Whenever they did, they insisted on using his Quenya name, which just made things worse. By the end of the fourth day Glorfindel had had it. During a break in the talks he cornered Arafinwë in the king’s study, eyes afire with rage.

"I will not go with that... that woman, Atar," he practically screamed. "You cannot make me. I’ll run away to Lórien first, or Mandos!"

Arafinwë sighed, feeling torn. He was half in agreement with the ellon, but knew that some things needed to be done, however distasteful. He could not let his own feelings interfere with what he knew was demanded of him and Glorfindel both. His expression became stern as the ellon fumed before him.

"Enough!" he exclaimed, though he did not raise his voice. Glorfindel’s eyes widened. "No one is running away to anywhere, least of all you. The decision has already been made. When the Vanyar leave you will be with them. I speak now not as your atar but as your king. Do not disobey me in this, yonya. You will not like the consequences."

For a long moment there was silence between them, then Glorfindel bowed and left without saying another word. He did not speak to Arafinwë for the rest of the week unless it was absolutely necessary and when he left with the Vanyar he refused to say good-bye to Arafinwë or allow Eärwen to hug him, which grieved them both. Glorfindel rode with the other Noldor who would also be spending the winter in the High King’s court, tears coursing down his cheeks.

****

Pityaván: (Quenya) Little goose.

Vanyamar: City of the Vanyar at the foot of Taniquetil. Tolkien never mentions this city but it seems reasonable to suppose that the Vanyar would settle close to Taniquetil, for they were the closest to the Valar of all the Eldar and Ingwë is said to sit at Manwë’s feet. The name means "Vanya home"; cf. Valimar/Valmar, the city of the Valar. 

Esselóra: (Quenya) The Nameless, a title of Melkor.

Valaraucar: (Quenya) Plural (sic) of valarauco: balrog.

Ondolindë: (Quenya): Gondolin.

31: Glorfindel Among the Vanyar

Five other Noldor accompanied the Vanyar besides Glorfindel. Two were ellith — Elemmírë and Amarië’s friend, Ercassë. The other ellyn were Lómion, Vorondil and Elemmírë’s twin, Elessairon. Lómion and Elessairon were pleasant enough company, as were the ellith, but Vorondil was somewhat moody and disinclined to talk. Glorfindel kept to himself most of the trip, though he was polite enough when necessary, especially towards the ellith.

The journey was not long, but neither was it comfortable, at least not for Glorfindel, who had to suffer the disdain of the Vanyar along with the heartache he felt. Yet, much of that was forgotten as they came closer to Oiolossë and its high peak of Taniquetil where dwelt the Elder King and the Elentári. Even Vorondil stopped brooding long enough to gasp in wonder at the mountain rising majestically before them. Glorfindel had to remember to close his mouth.

Vanyamar was a graceful city of tall spires, flowing fountains and lush gardens set against the foot of the mountain. The palace of the High King of All the Elves stood on a precipice overlooking the rest of the city. Before long the six Noldor were being ushered into an audience chamber that was easily twice the size of the throne room in Tirion.

The Noldor stopped and stared. Crystal globes hung from the ceiling, providing light as the sun shone through high windows. Pillars of pure white marble lined the nave, seven on each side. Each pillar was carved with a likeness of one of the Valar with Manwë and Varda nearest to the throne. The floor was also marble, but of different shades and hues, creating a design that was difficult to make out from their perspective. The room was meant to overawe and the Noldor were certainly that, though Glorfindel was the only one to successfully hide it. The two ellith held hands as they approached the throne before which stood Ingwë the High King.

Ingwë, Glorfindel saw, was easily the tallest of the elves there, his hair fair, almost white, as was his beard, a sign of his age as one of the oldest Eldar in Aman. His ancient eyes were a piercing blue-green. The Light of the Trees still glowed from them and the memory of the stars above Cuiviénen shone through them. He was richly dressed but wore only a simple coronet made of mithril with a single blue diamond in the center. He greeted Tinwetariel with a smile and a kiss.

"Greetings, sister. I trust your mission went well?" Ingwë’s voice was melodious with a lilt that Glorfindel found familiar but could not place.

"Well enough, sire," Tinwetariel said with a brief curtsey.

"Good. Perhaps you will introduce me to our guests."

Tinwetariel nodded. "Allow me to make you known to Lady Ercassë and Lady Elemmírë." The ellith curstied deeply, still looking ill at ease. Ingwë smiled graciously at them.

"Be welcome to my court, my dears. I hope you will enjoy your stay here." Ingwë’s voice was warm and welcoming and the ellith visibly relaxed.

"And this is Elemmírë’s brother, Lord Elessairon," Tinwetariel continued. "Also Lord Lómion and Lord Vorondil."

The three ellyn bowed and Ingwë gave them his greeting. Glorfindel stood beside them, keeping his expression as bland as possible although inwardly he was seething at Tinwetariel’s obvious slight.

The High King raised an eyebrow at Tinwetariel. "I believe you forgot one, my dear," he chided gently and Glorfindel had the pleasure of seeing the haughty Vanya blush. However, he wasn’t about to let her introduce him. Glorfindel took a step forward and bowed.

"I am Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Ondolindë, now residing at the court of Arafinwë, Ingwë Ingweron."

Ingwë’s eyes widened. Tinwetariel, mistaking the High King’s reaction for disapproval, gave a mirthless laugh. "That’s right, brother. Arafinwë has seen fit to foist one of the Reborn on us. Laurefindil is somewhat barbaric, true, but perhaps we can civilize him before sending him back to Tirion. Certainly we can convince him to get rid of those ridiculous braids."

Ingwë gave Tinwetariel a surprised look which quickly turned to one of disgust. He turned his attention to Glorfindel. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?" Glorfindel asked with some heat, quite forgetting to whom he was speaking. "True that I’m a lord of Ondolindë or true that I was stupid enough to get myself killed and now have to spend the rest of my life having the rest of you spit on me."

There was an audible gasp from the onlookers and even the other Noldor paled at Glorfindel’s outburst, though Vorondil looked more disgusted than upset. Tinwetariel rolled her eyes dramatically.

"See what I mean, brother?"

"Silence, Tinwetariel." Ingwë’s tone was chilling and Tinwetariel looked positively stunned. "Come here, child." Ingwë motioned for Glorfindel to approach, which he did with some reluctance. The High King stared at the ellon for some time, then reached out and let one of Glorfindel’s braids slide through his fingers. "How long have you been Reborn?" he asked quietly.

Glorfindel shrugged. He had no idea how long it had been since his re-embodiment and didn’t much care. Time didn’t seem quite as important to him as it once did.

"He’s been Reborn for nearly three coranári, my lord."

Glorfindel turned in surprise to see Olórin striding up the nave towards the throne. "Olórin! What are you doing here?"

The Maia laughed and held out his arms. Glorfindel ran to him gladly and Olórin embraced him. "My dear boy," he said quietly, humor in his eyes. "You’re looking well."

Ingwë gave the Maia a respectful nod and then smiled wryly. "I take it you two know each other."

"Oh indeed we do," Olórin laughed again. "I had the dubious honor of being this one’s caregiver while he was in Mandos. Terrible whiner, you see."

"I never whine!" Glorfindel protested, playfully slapping the Maia on the chest. "And you asked to be my caregiver as I recall."

Olórin gave the ellon another hug even as he laughed. "Indeed I did, child. Indeed I did." He winked at the High King over Glorfindel’s head.

"You are always welcome, my lord Olórin," Ingwë said, smiling warmly at the interplay between the ellon and the Maia. "Is this a social visit or are you here officially?"

"Both actually. And my first order of business is with Glorfindel."

"Me?" Glorfindel asked in surprise as he stepped away from the Maia.

Olórin suddenly looked grave as he silently handed Glorfindel a small piece of parchment folded once but unsealed. Glorfindel looked at the parchment in the Maia’s hand blankly. Ingwë frowned and glanced at the Maia who shook his head slightly at the High King’s unspoken question but never took his eyes off Glorfindel.

"It helps if you actually take it, Glorfindel," he said quietly and not unkindly.

Glorfindel started at the Maia’s words and then slowly took the piece of parchment from him and opened it. He read the words there, turned absolutely white and started to crumple to the floor.

"Ingwë!" Olórin shouted even as he grabbed Glorfindel by the arm to hold him up. Ingwë snapped an order even as he grabbed Glorfindel’s other arm and led him to the throne where he made the ellon sit. Someone came with a goblet of water and Olórin urged Glorfindel to drink though it took several minutes for the ellon to respond to the Maia’s words.

Ingwë picked up the piece of parchment that had fallen from the ellon’s lifeless fingers and began reading. He was unaware that he was reading the words aloud.

"‘Remember our last conversation, elfling. Next time won’t be quite as pleasant. Námo.’"

Ingwë ignored the gasps that ran through the room. He looked up at the Maia, his eyes full of curiosity. "What happened the last time?" he asked, but Olórin only grimaced and shook his head.

"I...I threw up," Glorfindel whispered, staring at nothing.

Ingwë gave the ellon a sympathetic look. Glorfindel was still white but it was obvious he was trying to pull himself together. He pushed himself out of the seat, wavering slightly, and looked directly at the High King, attempting a bow, though he had to clutch Olórin’s arm to stop from keeling over.

"My apologies, my lord. I meant no disrespect."

"On the contrary," Ingwë said with a hint of amusement lurking in his eyes. "You meant every word. It is I who should apologize to you for any discomfort anyone from my court may have caused you." The High King did not look at anyone specifically but all there saw the Lady Tinwetariel pale at her brother-in-law’s words. "I welcome you to my court, Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Ondolindë, Balrog-slayer."

Glorfindel did not even question how Ingwë knew that last bit, but nodded his acknowledgment as Ingwë turned to Olórin with a twinkle in his eye.

"So was that the social part of your visit?"

The Maia’s laugh was rich and joyful and even Glorfindel found comfort in it as tension eased throughout the room. "Hardly, my lord." He gave Glorfindel an appraising look, gauging his physical and mental state. "And my business with Glorfindel was completely unofficial."

"Then let us go and we will talk," Ingwë said. He turned to his chamberlain. "Sorontor, dismiss the court and see to our guests." Sorontor bowed and Ingwë turned to the five young Noldor, all looking a bit uncomfortable. He smiled at them warmly. "We will have a welcoming feast for you tonight. I hope your stay in Vanyamar will be pleasant and educational. Go now and Sorontor will see to your needs." The five courtiers from Tirion gave the High King their obeisance before allowing the chamberlain to lead them away.

Ingwë then turned to Tinwetariel, his expression turning grave. "We will talk later, my dear. Please keep yourself in readiness for my summons." Tinwetariel nodded dumbly and curtsied, her face pale. She managed to keep the fury she felt from showing in her eyes. Her brother-in-law was not pleased and she knew who to blame for that.

"Glorfindel, come with us," Ingwë finally said, and the ellon found himself walking between the High King and the Maia, each with a supporting hand on his arms, for he was still feeling unsteady. He never noticed the court bowing as they left the chamber.

****

Cuiviénen: "Water of Awakening", where the Elves first awoke. Ingwë is one of the oldest elves living, as his name testifies. Tolkien states that in the third phase of their lives, male Eldar tend to grow beards; cf. Círdan the Shipwright.

Ingwë Ingweron: "Chief of the Chieftains", the proper title of Ingwë as High King.

Coranári: Plural of coranar: "sun-round"; a solar year.

Oiolossë: "Ever-snowwhite". A name of Taniquetil, "High White Horn". Properly, Taniquetil refers to the topmost peak of which Oiolossë is the entire mountain.

Elentári: "Star-Queen"; a title of Varda.

32: In the High King’s Garden

Glorfindel found himself being led into a small study, richly appointed yet cosy in its own way. One look and you knew that this was where Ingwë preferred to spend his time. Ingwë indicated some seats and the elf and the Maia took them, while the High King went to a sideboard and poured some wine into a couple of goblets. He handed one to Glorfindel.

"Drink, child," he said. "You still look pale."

Glorfindel managed to mumble his thanks before taking the goblet, and was embarrassed to find that his hands were still shaking. Olórin reached over and took the goblet from him.

"Allow me, child," and the Maia gently placed his left hand against the back of Glorfindel’s head to support him and held the goblet while he drank. It was a familiar and comforting gesture to Glorfindel, the memories of his early days of re-embodiment coming to mind. After a few sips the trembling ceased and Glorfindel was able to take the goblet for himself.

"You dropped this," Ingwë said quietly and handed the piece of parchment to him. Glorfindel found himself instinctively recoiling and a whimper escaped from him before he could stop himself. Ingwë reached down and took the goblet from the ellon’s hand and handed it to Olórin who sat there in watchful silence, willing to allow the High King to deal with the youngster.

Ingwë then reached down and pulled Glorfindel into his embrace, rubbing his back to calm him. "It does no good to cower child," he said almost in a whisper, though Olórin heard him well enough. "It only makes Them more eager to see you in such a state."

Olórin raised an eyebrow at that statement and saw Ingwë wink at him. He smiled and nodded.

"Wh-why?" Glorfindel asked, curious in spite of himself.

"Because, deep down they’re like elflings poking a stick into an ant hill just to see the ants scurry around. Give them a reason to see you scurry even more and they will take it with all the manic glee of a twelve year old."

Somehow that image forced a giggle out of Glorfindel and he began trembling again, but with suppressed laughter rather than with fear. Ingwë continued to rub the ellon’s back as he held him through the spasms. Soon the laughter ended to be replaced by tears. Whatever Ingwë might say it had still been a shock to read those words from Námo. Ingwë held him then as well, never scolding him for breaking down. Finally, Olórin decided to take a hand and stood up, gently pulling Glorfindel out of Ingwë’s embrace and into his own.

"There now, child," the Maia crooned. "You’ve been properly scolded for your bad behavior and have been forgiven. Now dry these tears. You don’t want the High King to think you’re too young to remain here and learn from him, do you?"

Glorfindel shook his head and wiped the tears from his face with his hand but didn’t otherwise try to leave Olórin’s embrace. Ingwë placed a comforting hand on the ellon’s shoulder.

"I’m very glad you were able to come, Glorfindel," he said warmly. "I hope we can both learn from each other while you are here."

"Wh-what could I possibly teach you, m-my lord?" and there was just a trace of bitterness in the ellon’s voice that brought sorrow and anger to the High King’s heart, though Ingwë was careful not to show it in either face or voice.

"You’ve taught me much in just the short time since your arrival, hinya. Never doubt that." He squeezed the ellon’s shoulder and handed him the parchment a second time. After a brief moment of hesitation, Glorfindel took it and slipped it into an inner pocket of his outer robe.

Ingwë nodded. "That’s better." He then made his way to his desk and sat. Olórin and Glorfindel took their own seats again. Ingwë looked at the Maia and smiled. "So, was that the social part of your visit?"

Olórin broke out in laughter at the words and Glorfindel snorted, trying hard not to laugh at his elders. "You’re incorrigible, elfling," the Maia pronounced as he continued to laugh.

"I try my best, and I learned from the best," Ingwë said with a pointed look at Olórin.

"What?" the Maia feigned indignation. "Are you accusing me of blatant disobedience to my Lord Manwë?"

"Blatant, no," Ingwë responded dead-pan and was awarded with another round of laughter from his Maia guest. Glorfindel finally broke down and joined in.

Then Glorfindel gasped, for their laughter was joined by Another, whose Presence, though only barely felt, was nevertheless quite tangible. He had the sense of blue eyes ringed with gold gazing upon him with love and then they were gone, so quickly that he thought he must have imagined it. Yet there was a feeling of peace and well-being that lingered in the air after the image had faded, leaving Glorfindel feeling refreshed.

Ingwë shook his head at the ellon’s bemused expression, guessing what Glorfindel must have felt. "Nay, child. It was not your imagination. Lord Manwë was here, if only for a brief moment."

Olórin nodded when Glorfindel cast him a questioning look and the ellon shivered slightly, then pulled himself together with visible effort. "Sorry," he mumbled with some embarrassment.

"There is nothing to be sorry about, child," Olórin said kindly.

"So, why are you here, if I may make so bold, my lord?" Ingwë asked Olórin.

Olórin reached inside his robe and pulled out another sheet of parchment. This one was larger than the one he had given Glorfindel and was properly sealed. Glorfindel craned his neck to see the seal without seeming to do so. Both Maia and High King hid smiles at the youngster’s obvious curiosity. Ingwë took the proffered missive and broke the seal. Glorfindel was able to just make out what looked like the image of an eagle embedded into the wax. Ingwë began reading, his face carefully neutral. He glanced up once at Olórin and there was silent communication between them. As the High King went back to re-reading the missive, Olórin turned to Glorfindel.

"Have you seen the High King’s garden yet, Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "I haven’t seen anything of Vanyamar. We went directly to the audience chamber."

"Well, I think you might enjoy them, especially this time of the day."

"Olórin is correct, my son," Ingwë said, looking up from the parchment. "Why don’t you spend some time there? Olórin and I have some business we need to discuss. You can reach the gardens through that archway there." Ingwë pointed to an open arch with steps leading down into a paved courtyard. "Turn left at the end of the courtyard and the gardens are straight ahead. I will send for you and we will talk."

Glorfindel recognized a dismissal when he heard one. He stood up and gave High King and Maia a brief bow and walked out of the study, down the steps, making his way to the gardens. He was not sure why he was being singled out by the High King, other than the fact that he was a novelty, being Reborn. It wasn’t as if he had any special talents or knowledge about statecraft, though more and more of his memories of his days as one of Turgon’s chief councillors were beginning to surface and those memories made him seem older and wiser than the other young courtiers from Tirion. He didn’t think he was either but....

He stopped dead, feeling his jaw drop and his eyes bulge. He knew the palace gardens in Tirion and they were indeed beautiful but this...

Words couldn’t begin to describe the riot of colors. There were fountains everywhere. Shade trees and wild blooms graced the walkways. He actually was standing at the top of a set of stairs where water ran on either side in troughs from a fountain in the courtyard behind him. The water continued to run into a nénuvar where yellow water-lilies floated. Statues of exquisite beauty graced the area. The statue in the middle of the lily pool depicted Ulmo with Ossë and Uinen riding dolphins. Birds of every shade and hue trilled their songs in the trees, flashing across the space between one tree and the next like colored smoke, too quick for the eye to catch.

He began to wander, lost in wonder, forgetting the resentment he had been feeling since arriving at the High King’s court. How long he wandered there he did not know. They had come to Vanyamar at midmorning and already the sun was dipping down towards the west. Glorfindel found himself unable to tear himself away or even care that he had been effectively abandoned to his own devices by the High King. He was too entranced by the beauty surrounding him to feel concern.

He was bending over a particularly exquisite bloom, a flower he did not know. Deep violet it was with tinges of rose near the outer edges of the petals. The stamen was a brilliant yellow-orange and its fragrance was sweet without being overpowering. He was sniffing the flower when he heard someone approach.

"What are you doing here?" a light voice enquired. Glorfindel straightened to find an elleth staring at him in consternation.

He bowed. "I am here at the High King’s request, my lady."

The elf-maid gave him a skeptical look. She stood a little shorter than himself, her hair the color of ripened wheat, her eyes a cornflower blue. She was dressed finely but simply and carried a garden basket full of fresh-cut blooms.

"Are you kin?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Nay, lady, for all that my hair is as golden as yours, I am Noldo."

"Hmmph," was the only comment the elleth gave, frowning slightly.

"Does my lady disapprove?" Glorfindel asked teasingly. He suspected that she must be some relation of the High King, perhaps a niece, and wondered if she were kin to the haughty Lady Tinwetariel as well. It would be just his luck to meet another high-born lady who despised him because of his history.

"What’s your name, seldo?" she suddenly asked.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at the form of address. It was insulting on many levels and he couldn’t begin to list them all.

"His name, hinya, is Glorfindel, and he is no seldo, least of all to you."

Both Glorfindel and the elleth turned to see someone coming towards them. It was no one Glorfindel recognized, but the elleth apparently did.

"What do you mean, Cousin?"

Glorfindel saw an elven lady, as fair-haired as all the Vanyar were. She had a merry smile and there was something familiar about her. She ignored the elleth’s question, her eyes on Glorfindel.

"Well met, my lord," the lady said with a brief but correct curtsey. "My brother has told me much about you and I am honored to finally meet you."

"Your brother, lady?"

"Arafinwë is my brother. I am Findis, oldest daughter of Finwë and Indis."

Glorfindel gave Findis a low bow. "The honor is entirely mine, lady."

Findis then turned to the elleth who had stood there looking petulant at being ignored. "I don’t believe you’ve been properly introduced, my dear. This is Lord Glorfindel, who presently resides in my brother’s court. My lord may I make you known to my cousin, the Lady Alassiel Intarioniel. I believe you’ve already met her anamillë, the Lady Tinwetariel." There was just a hint of mischief in Findis’ eyes.

Glorfindel started and stared at the elleth looking at him so haughtily. "That figures," he said under his breath, then, remembering the small piece of parchment in his pocket, he gave the elleth a bow. "Lady Alassiel," he said properly, if somewhat cooly.

"Lord... Glorfindel, is it? A most unusual name. Surely you have a proper Quenya name."

"If I do, lady, I choose not to use it. Glorfindel is the name I prefer."

"Hmmph. Well... I suppose that’s all right, then," she said somewhat doubtfully.

"I’m so glad you approve, my lady." Glorfindel didn’t try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He was pleased to see Alassiel blush.

Alassiel gave him an appraising look under lowered lashes and sighed. "Forgive me, my lord, I’ve been extremely rude. Perhaps we should start again." She gave him a proper curtsey. "I am pleased to make your acquaintaince, my lord Glorfindel. I hope your stay in Vanyamar will be a pleasant one and we can be friends."

Glorfindel could detect no sarcasm in the elleth’s words and concluded that she was actually being sincere. However, he still couldn’t resist one last jibe, remembering Tinwetariel’s attitude towards him. "And do you wish to be friends with one of the Reborn?"

Alassiel gave him a surprised look. "Oh, is that what you are? How wonderful!"

"Excuse me?" Glorfindel raised a skeptical eyebrow, noting that Findis was looking on in amusement.

Alassiel nodded brightly. "Oh yes. My atar is in Mandos even now. Someday he’ll be reborn. I want to hear all about it, so I’ll know what to expect when he returns."

"I think that would be wonderful, my dear," Findis said smoothly. "I know the High King will be pleased that you and Lord Glorfindel have become friends."

Alassiel beamed. Glorfindel glowered. Being friends with Lady Tinwetariel’s granddaughter did not appeal to him. He suddenly had a glimmering of why the lady loathed him. None of the Vanyar who had died during the War of Wrath had yet been released from Mandos, according to Arafinwë. It must gall many of the elves of Aman to see rebel Noldor being reborn before faithful Vanyar. Lady Tinwetariel was obviously bitter over it, but her granddaughter did not seem to be and he wondered at it.

"Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel looked up into Findis’ eyes, full of concern, and smiled. "Your brother allows me to call him ‘Atar’."

Findis nodded, smiling in return. "Yes, he told me."

He gave her a sly grin, then. "So does that mean I get to call you ‘Auntie’?"

Her laughter was merry. "I would be honored... Nephew." She took him by the shoulders and planted a kinsman’s kiss upon his cheek and he returned the gesture. "Now, I was asked by Uncle Ingwë to escort you back to his study, my lord."

Glorfindel nodded. "Then we shouldn’t keep the High King waiting." He allowed Findis to take his arm and lead him back through the gardens.

Alassiel trailed behind them, uninvited and presently forgotten.

****

Nénuvar: Pool of lilies.

Seldo: The etymology of this word is unclear. It possibly means "child", and in this case is translated as "boy", a rather insulting word under the circumstances.

Anamillë: Grandmother.

Note on Ingwë’s family: I have based Ingwë’s family tree on the reading found in Laws and Customs of the Eldar, HoMe X, in particular, §10 and the footnote to §27. Here, Indis is Ingwë’s sister rather than his niece. Below is a partial genealogy of Ingwë’s family which will feature prominently in this story:

Ingwë = Elindis           Indis = Finwë                        Ingoldo = Tinwetariel

   Ingwion (son)             Findis = Valandur                     †Intarion = Lirulin

   Indil (daughter)          Fingolfin (Ñolofinwë)                          Alassiel

                                    Finvain                                                                    

                                    Finarfin (Arafinwë) = Eärwen, dau. of Olwë of Alqualondë

                                                            Finrod (Findaráto)

                                    Faniel

Names that are underlined are Original Characters.

†Presently residing in Mandos

33: Connecting the Dots

They made their way back through the garden to the High King’s study. Ingwë was alone and Glorfindel felt somewhat bereft that Olórin had not stayed long enough to say good-bye. Ingwë noticed the crestfallen look on the ellon’s face but chose to ignore it.

"Here is Lord Glorfindel, Uncle," Findis said with a curtsey. Glorfindel bowed and Alassiel gave her own curtsey to her great-Uncle.

"Thank you, my dear," Ingwë said. "Would you leave us, please?"

"Of course, Uncle," Findis replied. "Valandur and I will see you tonight at the feast. Come along, Alassiel." She herded the younger elleth from the room. Glorfindel breathed a sigh of relief. Ingwë hid a smile.

"I see you’ve met Alassiel."

Glorfindel nodded. "I don’t think she quite believed me when I told her I was in the garden by your leave, Sir."

Ingwë chuckled. "Alassiel is somewhat opinionated at times, but she has a good heart and isn’t afraid to admit when she is wrong." He gave Glorfindel a shrewd look.

Glorfindel nodded again in acknowledgment, wondering if the High King somehow knew what had passed between him and his grand-niece.

"Good. Now come sit down and we will talk." Ingwë gestured towards a chair and Glorfindel complied. For a long moment they sat in silence. Glorfindel tried to act nonchalant, but didn’t quite pull it off. Ingwë, for his part, was relaxed and self-assured.

"You never did answer my question," he finally said.

Glorfindel started in confusion. "My lord?"

"Is it true you fought a valarauco?"

Glorfindel stared at the High King for a moment. "You called me Balrog Slayer before your court. You already know the answer to your question."

"Indeed. But I wanted to hear it from you."

Glorfindel felt confused and shook his head, afraid he was being played at for some reason. "Why..."

"Child, I never do anything without a reason," Ingwë said in a kind voice. "I know we’ve just met, but will you trust me enough to believe that I mean you no discourtesy? Nor am I amusing myself at your expense."

"It’s just... everything is so confusing... Atar... I mean, King Arafinwë..."

Ingwë held up a hand in interruption. "If my nephew has seen fit to give you his permission to call him ‘Atar’, child, I see no reason why you cannot continue doing so. I certainly have no objections. Indeed I am pleased that Arafinwë has opened his heart to you. It gives me hope that he is finding healing at last."

Glorfindel nodded, though he wasn’t too sure what the High King meant. "Atar and Amillë have been so kind and they... they don’t laugh when I make mistakes... or look down at me because... and then when Lady Tinwetariel...." He found he couldn’t go on, whether from embarrassment for sounding like a petulant child or from anger, he couldn’t tell.

Ingwë frowned at the mention of his brother Ingoldo’s wife. She was typical of many of the Vanyar who found it incomprehensible that Noldor who had defied the Valar were not only allowed to return to Valinor, albeit only as far as Tol Eressëa, but that they were being released from Mandos before faithful Vanyar who had died in a war not of their making, sacrificing themselves because the Valar had asked them to. He understood the reason but had realized that imparting that information to his people would have only exacerbated their resentment, and so he waited and trusted in Manwë’s and Námo’s decisions on the matter.

"I’m sorry, my lord," Glorfindel said. "I didn’t mean..."

Ingwë looked up at the ellon and realized Glorfindel had misinterpreted his silence. "Nay, child. You have done nothing that needs forgiveness. I was merely thinking." He stood up and Glorfindel followed suit, still feeling uncertain.

"I-I don’t want any special treatment just because I’m..."

Ingwë gave the ellon a warm smile. "Don’t worry, yonya. I have no intention of embarrassing you that far. I will be interviewing each of Arafinwë’s people to ascertain the extent of their knowledge, their aptitudes and weaknesses, so I have a better idea what each needs from me. You were just conveniently the first."

Glorfindel nodded, feeling relieved. "Sorry. I’m being silly, I know. People either don’t want to hear about my life or they want to hear about it for all the wrong reasons."

"Then let us walk in the garden and you may tell me about your life in Ondolindë for all the right reasons."

Glorfindel looked at the High King doubtfully. "I’m not even sure I know what the right reasons are myself."

Ingwë smiled and placed a hand on the ellon’s shoulder. "Well, I do, and the right reason is because I am genuinely interested. Come, let us walk and you will tell me about Turucáno and how he ruled Ondolindë and your role in his government."

So they walked and Glorfindel found himself telling the High King about his life in Beleriand. At first he was somewhat hesitant and suddenly shy, as if somehow in telling about his daily life in the seven-tiered city the High King would find him too ordinary and uninteresting or worse, consider his lordship a sham with no real substance. When Ingwë offered no disapproval, though, he relaxed enough to be more forthcoming in details.

Ingwë said little, listening intently to the ellon describing his elevation to the Lordship of the House of the Golden Flower after the death of its previous lord in a skirmish with orcs when Turgon was still residing in Vinyamar, the sense of pride and awe he had felt when he had taken his oath before Turgon. He stood silently, gazing at nothing, when Glorfindel told him of the coming of Tuor and the birth of Eärendil. He wept when Glorfindel described his final battle with the balrog and held the ellon close to him.

Glorfindel did not weep, having gotten past all that, but he found himself feeling comforted by Ingwë’s embrace and some of the hurt and resentment he had felt earlier was assuaged.

"I’m sorry, child," Ingwë finally said, still holding Glorfindel close to him. "It grieves me that any of you had to suffer as you did."

Glorfindel shrugged. "It was a long time ago, my lord, and our suffering was of our own making."

"Indeed."

Glorfindel turned in Ingwë’s embrace, shocked to see Lord Námo standing there. Both he and Ingwë bowed to the Lord of Mandos. Ingwë did not address Námo, for he realized the Vala was intent on Glorfindel, who squirmed a bit under his gaze.

"Come here, Glorfindel," Námo said quietly.

Glorfindel gulped, not sure what he had done wrong this time, but obeyed the Vala without hesitation, trembling only slightly in anticipation of punishment. Námo gazed at the ellon for a moment, solemn and reserved, then he reached out and stroked the elf’s hair, attempting to soothe him.

"I want you to listen to me carefully, Glorfindel," Námo finally said. "I know what you are thinking. Under no circumstances are you to attempt to climb Taniquetil. Now is not the time. While you are here in Ingwë’s court you will remain in Vanyamar or you may travel to Valmar, but you will not be permitted to set foot on Taniquetil itself. Do not even think of disobeying me in this, yonya. You will not enjoy the consequences."

Glorfindel found himself suddenly on his knees though he had no idea how he had gotten there. He looked up at Námo and nodded mutely, fear in his eyes and suddenly he was no longer in Ingwë’s garden but back on the dark shore of Valinor, trudging after Turucáno, the silent Vala standing on the headland above them, watching, judging, and he started screaming and weeping. Strong hands pulled him up and he was embraced.

"Glorfindel! It’s all right, child. You’re safe." He heard the words but didn’t understand them. He only knew the terror of what he was feeling. It was long moments before he even felt the hand rubbing his back and he found himself once again in Ingwë’s garden, bright sunlight warming him, butterflies dancing in slow circles above the flowers nearby. When he came to himself, he was surprised to find that he was in Ingwë’s arms rather than Námo’s. He decided he wasn’t in any hurry to disengage himself from the High King’s embrace.

"Would you like to tell me what just happened?" Ingwë demanded without bothering to be polite about it and Glorfindel realized that the question wasn’t addressed to him. Apparently long association with the Valar had given Ingwë some lattitude and Námo did not take offense. He also did not answer the High King's question. Instead he forced Glorfindel to turn around and look at him.

"Tell me where you were."

Glorfindel shook his head and closed his eyes, just wanting to be left alone. He was suddenly tired of High Kings and Valar and everything in between. A deep longing for Gondolin smote him and he began weeping again.

Námo stroked Glorfindel’s hair. "No, Glorfindel, do not shy away from the memory. It’ll be less painful if you face it. Tell me where you were."

Glorfindel opened his eyes and there was such desolation in them that Námo nearly wept himself. "You weren’t laughing," the ellon whispered and Námo realized what had happened. He moved towards a nearby bench and motioned for the two elves to join him, Glorfindel sitting between Vala and High King, looking forlorn and a bit lost.

"No, I wasn’t," Námo said quietly after they were all seated. "You could not see, but I, too, was weeping. All the Valar were, for we knew far better than you what you would be facing."

Glorfindel stared out into the garden without really seeing it anymore. "I wanted to turn back."

"I know," Námo whispered gently, rubbing the ellon’s back to comfort him.

"Why didn’t you?" Ingwë asked quietly.

Glorfindel looked at the High King. "Turgon would not give us his leave to depart if we so desired."

"What!?" Ingwë stood up in shock.

Námo nodded. "Turucáno has much to answer for, not the least of which for his arrogance."

Glorfindel blushed for his lord’s sake at the Vala’s words and felt he had to defend him. "He was a good ruler."

Námo smiled slightly at Glorfindel coming to Turgon’s defense. "Indeed he was, for all his other faults. You have no need to feel shame for giving him your loyalty, Glorfindel."

"But to deny his followers the right to turn back!" Ingwë protested, sitting down again.

Námo only shook his head. "Arrogance was always Turucáno’s failing. It was his arrogance that brought destruction to Gondolin... and your death, Glorfindel."

The ellon started and paled visibly. Both Námo and Ingwë looked at him sympathetically.

"Yes, child," Námo continued. "Gondolin’s fall and your death and the deaths of all who perished that night and afterwards must be laid at Turgon’s feet. In his arrogance in ignoring Tuor’s message from my brother Ulmo, Turgon forgot that Gondolin was never built for his benefit, but for another’s."

"Whose, then?" Glorfindel asked.

The Lord of Mandos shook his head. "No longer important now, for Gondolin lies buried under the waves, never to be seen again."

"So you’re saying my death was in vain?" Glorfindel asked after a moment of silence.

"No, Glorfindel. Unnecessary, perhaps, but never in vain. Do not belittle yourself in that manner. Gondolin’s fall is not your fault."

"I could have convinced Turgon..."

"Nay, child," Námo actually smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. "Turgon was not your responsibility. Put all thought of blame from your mind."

Glorfindel reluctantly nodded, still looking pale and unsettled. Ingwë looked at him in sympathy.

"What happened, child? Where did your memories take you?"

It was Námo who answered the High King. "He was in the past, Ingwë, experiencing anew the terror he felt as he passed me on the way to the North, believing himself forever damned. But that’s not true, is it, child? You know differently now, don’t you?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Why did it hurt so much?"

"You made an emotional connection. It was overwhelming, like coming upon bright light after being in darkness for so long. Painful, but not to the death."

"Will...will it happen again?"

"Perhaps. I do not know. Somehow a connection was made and you experienced the scene as if for the first time. It was too overwhelming for you and so you collapsed."

"There will be more such incidents?" Ingwë asked with some concern.

Námo actually shrugged. "I do not know. Each case with the Reborn is different. Some never regain emotional connections with their past. Glorfindel will have to learn to deal with any such connections if and as they come."

The Vala rose. "I must leave you now. Remember what I said about Taniquetil, Glorfindel."

"Is this ban directed only at me, my lord, or are all the Reborn forbidden from sullying the Halls of the Valar with their presence?" Glorfindel asked with some heat.

Námo sat down again and shared a look with Ingwë who shrugged, then turned back to Glorfindel. "Child, your bitterness under the circumstances is understandable, but entirely misplaced. I never said you were forbidden to come to Taniquetil, only that now is not the time to do so. You will not be welcomed if you tried."

"But..."

"There is a time and place for everything, Glorfindel," Námo continued over the ellon’s protest. "Now, no more questions will I answer." The Lord of Mandos leaned over and kissed Glorfindel on the brow, stilling any protest the ellon might have wished to utter. Glorfindel suddenly felt lethargic and with a sigh leaned against Ingwë, who wrapped an arm around him in support. Námo rose again and walked away, fading into the fabric of the garden. As the Vala disappeared Ingwë realized that Glorfindel had fallen asleep. The High King did not mind. He sat there deep in thought for the longest time, quietly rocking the sleeping ellon, rousing him only when the chamberlain came to remind the High King that he had yet to get ready for the upcoming feast.

34: A Lesson In Manners

Author's Note: Warning for a somewhat graphic description given by Glorfindel of his own death when, in a fit of adolescent pique, he tries to gross out the Vanyar. Then Lord Námo enters the picture....

****

Glorfindel was somewhat embarrassed to wake in Ingwë’s arms, but opined that he felt better for the brief rest when Ingwë asked. The shock of emotions he had felt earlier had dimmed to more acceptable levels and he was able to put them into perspective. The past was the past, he realized. It could not be altered. He did not turn back, he went forward. That alone made him the person he was at that moment.

Since the feast was a formal affair, Glorfindel dressed in his finest brocade robes with the yellow flowers of his House figured prominently in the pattern. He had embroidered the flowers himself while still in Lórien. He braided his hair carefully, making sure each braid was absolutely correct.

When he joined the other Noldor waiting in an antechamber to be announced, the ellith giggled at the sight of him (he didn’t mind that because they always giggled at the sight of him), and Vorondil frowned in disgust (he didn’t mind that either because Vorondil always frowned in disgust whenever he saw Glorfindel). Elessairon and Lómion, on the other hand, greeted him civilly, Elessairon going so far as to admire his braids.

"I wish I could wear warrior braids like yours if only to shock my atar to the core," the ellon said with a smile.

Glorfindel smiled back. "I wish you could, too, just to see your atar’s face." Glorfindel had met the imperious Lord Calmacil and was in complete sympathy with the ellon.

"Well, perhaps someday I can earn them," Elessairon said.

Glorfindel felt his smile melt away and shook his head. "I fervently hope that you never have to, Elessairon. The price paid for these comes too dear." He lifted one of the braids and let it fall through his fingers.

"Yet you paid it," Lómion countered.

"Aye, and then spent the next several centuries in Mandos for my trouble. You don’t fully appreciate how very fortunate you are, all of you. The Mahtalë Únótimë Nírion was not named thus because it sounds good in a minstrel’s song."

"Were you there?"

Glorfindel turned to see Alassiel approaching. She was in the company of several others, including Findis, who smiled at him. Some of those accompanying Alassiel bore a remarkable resemblance to the High King and were obviously his kin to one degree or another. Lady Tinwetariel was notably missing from the crowd for which Glorfindel was grateful. "My lady?" he asked with a brief bow which included everyone there.

"At the battle you just mentioned. Were you there?"

"Yes, I was," he said shortly, not wishing to elaborate, for how would any of them understand?

"Is that how you died?"

"Alassiel!" Findis reprimanded the younger elleth. "Are you deliberately being rude?"

Glorfindel shook his head and held up his hand, a grim smile on his face. "Peace, Aunt. It’s a fair enough question and perhaps it’s about time it was given an answer."

Findis looked doubtful. One of the ellon with her, who reminded Glorfindel of Ingwë in looks, raised an eyebrow at Glorfindel. "Answer then, Etyangol, for we would all like to hear what you have to say."

Glorfindel stared at the ellon in surprise then shrugged, deciding the insult was not worth the trouble, then turned to Alassiel. "No, child, I did not die at the Mahtalë Únótimë Nírion, but some four decades later at the fall of Ondolindë. I was charged with seeing to the safety of the Lady Itarildë and her young son, Eärendil."

There was a stir at the mention of Eärendil’s name but no one interrupted. Glorfindel made a mental note to ask about that later. He continued, never taking his eyes off Alassiel.

"We were making our way through one of the northern passes of the Echoriath that surrounded the city. We were almost through. We thought we were safe. Then, one of Melkor’s valaraucar found us."

He paused, more for effect than anything else and smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. When he spoke it was softly, without any emotion, and that made his words sound even more terrifying to his listeners.

"I attacked it. A creature of flame and shadow and I attacked it. My eyes were the first to go, burned out of their sockets by the monster’s flames. I was blind, but still I fought. My flesh melted and was charred to the bone, but still I fought. The pain was excruciating, but I could not scream because my throat had been burned away, and still I fought. I was cuivië-lancassë, already dead, but I didn’t know it. All I knew was that I had to destroy the creature or all was lost. Finally, we fell, the valarauco and I, into an abyss. We died together, embracing one another in the end like lovers in the throes of ecstasy."

He looked around, noticing the sick looks that some of the listeners wore. He switched to a light, conversational tone. "I am told that Sorontar himself brought my body out of the abyss. They built a cairn for me on the side of the path below the pass... I wouldn’t know. By then my fëa had fled to Mandos and I was groveling naked at Lord Námo’s feet begging to go back." Then he smiled. "Of course, that didn’t happen, and so, here I am." He spread his arms out.

For a long moment no one spoke. Indeed no one moved. Then Alassiel gave a short brittle laugh. "You’ve made that up, seldo," she said accusingly.

There was a rush of air and then Námo was in their midst looking grim. They all stood back in shock and attempted abortive bows and curtsies. Glorfindel sighed dramatically and scowled.

"Now what did I do?" he demanded. "Aren’t you getting as tired of this as I am?"

Námo gave him a quick glance then laughed. He pulled the ellon into his embrace and rocked him. "Ah, Glorfindel, you are such a delight." Námo kissed him gently on the head and then released him, his expression growing grim as his dark eyes swept the assembled elves. They lighted upon Alassiel, who trembled slightly but held herself upright. Glorfindel had to admire her courage, or her stupidity, he thought as he stood beside the Lord of Mandos.

"Come here, Alassiel," Námo gestured and with a nervous swallow the elleth complied. Námo gazed at her for several minutes without speaking. Alassiel tried to return the Vala’s regard but was not able to maintain eye contact. Glorfindel sympathized. Few could face the Lord of Mandos with any amount of equanimity, and not for long.

The Lord of Mandos ran a finger lightly down the elleth’s cheek. She gasped, closed her eyes and shivered, but whether from delight or fear, none could tell. "When one of the Reborn tells you of their death, child," Námo said softly, "it is best to believe them. The manner of one’s dying is nothing anyone can make up."

Alassiel opened her eyes and stared at the Lord of Mandos for a moment before nodding. Námo continued stroking her cheek for another minute as he allowed the silence to lengthen. Then he glanced at Glorfindel who gave the Vala a cheeky grin.

"As long as you’re here, my lord, would you tell Alassiel to stop calling me ‘seldo’? I’m older than she is."

"Hmmph. I find that hard to believe," Alassiel whispered, sounding affronted, then blushed when Námo looked at her.

Námo turned back to Glorfindel and raised an eyebrow. "Thion sui naneth gîn achen?" he asked deliberately in Sindarin.

"Dan, pedithal assen?" Glorfindel replied in the same language with a laugh.

Námo glanced back at Alassiel who glowered at Glorfindel. He smiled and several elves blanched at that smile and stepped back, including Alassiel and Glorfindel. "Oh no, my children," he said, grabbing their hands, "I think you both need a lesson in manners." He then forced them to hold each other’s hand though both struggled mightily against it. As soon as their hands touched, Alassiel’s eyes widened, then she fell to her knees and screamed. Glorfindel looked on, horrified.

"What’s happening to her?" he shouted, going to his own knees, grimacing at the death grip with which Alassiel held him. "My lord, stop it. You’re hurting her. Don’t hurt her." He was crying now, begging, trying to pull his hand out of hers but Námo’s grip on both their hands was implacable and he could not escape.

"Do you wish to relieve her of the pain she’s feeling, child?" Námo asked, a dark flame glowing from his eyes.

Glorfindel looked up and nodded, his face white with terror, not for himself, but for the elleth writhing on the floor before him, lost in agonies he could only imagine. "Yes! Yes!" he practically screamed. "I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt her. She’s just a child."

Námo nodded. "Very well, Balrog-slayer. All you have to do is...let go," and he released his grip.

Glorfindel had to pry Alassiel’s fingers apart enough for him to slip his hand out of hers. All the while she continued to scream. He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly, rocking back and forth in an attempt to comfort her. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry," he wept. "Shhh. Please. Don’t cry anymore. It’s over. Shh."

Alassiel, however, continued screaming though her screams turned to gasps and they eventually became soft whimpers as she leaned against him, finally succumbing to unconsciousness. Glorfindel looked up at Námo, who had remained unmoved. "What did..."

"She did not believe in your death. I decided she should experience it for herself."

Glorfindel’s horror turned to anger. "You had no right!" he screamed, beyond caring to whom he was speaking. "That was my death. Mine! No one should have had to experience it but me!"

"Have you really experienced it, though, child?" came the infuriatingly calm voice of the Vala. "Have you?"

Glorfindel stared at the Vala in consternation and then slumped slightly. "I-I don’t remember the pain," he said quietly.

"Alassiel does. She remembers everything you’ve forgotten about your own dying. If you wish to help her, you must open yourself to her and let her give you back your memories."

"W-will she forget, then?" Glorfindel asked hopefully. The idea of this lovely child, however irritating she might be, being forced to live his death appalled him. No one deserved such punishment.

"This is not a punishment, Glorfindel," Námo said, shaking his head. "It’s a lesson... for both of you. And no, she will not forget, but neither will the memories overwhelm her."

"So how do..."

"Kiss her."

"Huh?"

Námo’s smile was actually genuine. "On the lips."

Glorfindel stared at the Vala in disbelief. "Are you sure this isn’t a punishment?"

Someone actually sniggered. "What’s the matter Glorfindel? Don’t you like ellith?"

Glorfindel looked about to see Elessairon smiling. He had quite forgotten everyone else during the ensuing drama. He glowered at the ellon. "Of course I like ellith," he replied with feigned disdain, "just as long as they’re not in the same room with me."

This elicited laughter all around. Findis knelt down beside him. Like the others, she was pale and distraught at what she had witnessed but she was in control of herself and her eyes even held a twinkle of amusement in them. "Don’t worry, Nephew. I’ll act as chaperone so there’s no accusation of impropriety."

Glorfindel looked back up at the Lord of Mandos. "There’s no other way?"

"None."

The ellon nodded resignedly, grimaced somewhat in embarrassment at having an audience, then leaned over and as gently as he knew how, kissed the elleth on the lips. She never stirred, but the lines of agony on her brow began to smooth. He had just enough time to release his hold on Alassiel and yell, "Findis, take her!" before falling on his back, his eyes wide open.

If he screamed, he did not afterwards remember.

****

When he came to, Glorfindel found himself staring up at Ingwë, whose look of concern changed to one of relief. The High King had come upon the scene just in time to witness Námo forcing Glorfindel and Alassiel to hold hands. He still felt a little shaken himself at what he had seen and heard.

Námo stood impassively behind him. Glorfindel realized his head was in someone’s lap and rolling his eyes up saw that the ellon who had challenged him to tell about his death was gently stroking his hair. He was speaking to Ingwë.

"It’s my fault, Atar. I was the one who encouraged Glorfindel to tell us about how he died. Cousin Findis was right to accuse Alassiel of being rude, but I was just as rude. I’m sorry."

Ingwë shook his head. "We’ll speak later, Ingwion. Let us concentrate on these two children for the nonce."

Ingwion nodded, then looked down at Glorfindel. "How are you feeling, meldonya?"

Glorfindel tried to sit up but collapsed back into Ingwion’s lap and closed his eyes. "I think I’ve been better."

"The dizziness will pass," Námo assured him, sounding not unkind. Glorfindel opened his eyes again.

"Alassiel?"

"She sleeps," the Vala answered. "She will have little memory of what happened, but she won’t entirely forget."

"And you, hinya? Are you well now?" Ingwë asked.

Glorfindel closed his eyes again, feeling suddenly weary. "No, my lord, I am not... but I will be."

"Well, in that case you should probably retire and get some rest," Ingwë said.

"But what of the feast, my lord?" Glorfindel asked, opening his eyes again and frowning.

"I think we’ll forget the feast for tonight," Ingwë replied with a smile. "Most of the food’s gone cold anyway and the cooks are not happy. I’ll have something sent to you, if you like."

"Forgive me, my lord. I seem to have spoiled everything."

Elessairon suddenly knelt beside him, facing the High King. He was smiling, though his face was still pale from the distress he had felt earlier. "Not everything, Glorfindel. Lómion and I never cared for having to dress up anyway. Now we can get out of these ridiculous robes earlier than we had hoped and relax. Thank you."

"You’re welcome... I think."

The High King stood up, satisfied that all was well and looked at Námo. "It isn’t that I’m not glad to see you, my lord," he said with an ironic smile on his lips, "but under the circumstances...."

Námo simply nodded though there was a glint of humor in his eyes. "Next time, I’ll be sure to send sufficient notice."

"Next time?" Ingwë asked, raising an eyebrow.

Námo sighed dramatically and pointed at Glorfindel who was still lying with his head in Ingwion’s lap, the sense of dizziness he had felt earlier beginning to fade. "With this one, there’s always a next time."

Glorfindel stuck his tongue out at the Vala. The elves were startled when they heard Námo’s laughter even as he faded from sight.

****

Words are Quenya unless otherwise noted. 

Mahtalë Únótimë Nírion: The Battle of Unnumbered Tears; Dagor Nirnath Arnediad in Sindarin. Mahtalë is the abstract form of the verb mahta- "to fight (with a sword)".

Etyangol: Exiled Noldo. Could be considered an insult at this point in time.

Cuivië-lancassë: On the brink of life; describing a perilous situation in which one is likely to fall into death.

Sorontar: Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin Thorondor.

Thion sui naneth gîn achen?: (Sindarin) "Do I look like your mother?" (literally, "Appear/seem I like your mother to you?")

Dan, pedithal assen?: (Sindarin) "But, will you speak to her?"

35: Post Mortem

"He’s nothing but trouble."

"A disaster waiting to happen."

"Waiting to happen? It already has. He’s been here one day and he’s turned this place upside down and inside out!"

"A child, and a dangerous one at that. Look what he did to poor Alassiel."

"He has no sense of propriety."

"All those centuries among the Heceldi. No wonder he’s so barbaric. And those braids!"

"He does lovely embroidery."

Everyone stopped and stared at Findis, who looked back with a smile. "Well, he does. That robe he was wearing tonight? He did the embroidery on it himself while he was in Lórien. Lady Ercassë told me."

The High King sighed. He had invited several members of his family and court to his study after he had seen that Alassiel and Glorfindel had been taken care of. Both children were sleeping now. Lirulin, Alassiel’s amillë, sat with her daughter, while Elessairon and Lómion had agreed to watch over Glorfindel. Ingwë had decided that neither should be left alone that night.

Beside himself and his two children, Ingwion and Indil, there were Findis and her husband, Valandur, his brother Ingoldo and his wife, Tinwetariel. She had insisted on joining him as soon as she had heard what had happened even though Ingwë had not invited her to this meeting. Hers was the comment about the braids. Along with his family, three of his closest councillors were also present.

His children, as well as Findis and Valandur had witnessed the confrontation between Glorfindel and Alassiel from beginning to end; Ingwë had come upon the scene just before Námo had appeared, though no one had noticed him. Neither his councillors nor his brother and sister-in-law had seen anything. Naturally theirs were the loudest voices in protest.

He looked at his firstborn and heir. "You haven’t voiced your opinion yet, yonya."

Ingwion smiled. "I think he’s the most interesting thing to happen in Vanyamar in a long time."

Indil snorted. "News to me, the way you goaded him, calling him ‘Etyangol' of all things."

Ingwë raised an eyebrow at that and Ingwion blushed. "And I regret it. I was nearly as bad as Alassiel, except I believed every word he uttered about how he died."

"Not all of us believed him," Indil said. "It seems unfair that Alassiel should be punished for it."

"But Alassiel was the only one who was stupid enough to say so," her brother countered. "And Lord Námo said it wasn’t a punishment."

"Could have fooled me." Ingoldo muttered darkly. Ingwë looked at his brother and Alassiel’s anatar.

"Sometimes, the ways of the Valar seem harsh to us, but I assure you that Lord Námo would never deliberately harm any of us, least of all a sweet child like Alassiel. If he thought she needed lessoning, I don’t think any of us would be in a position to argue."

"He didn’t care," Tinwetariel sobbed. "He just stood there and let it happen."

"Who? Lord Námo?" Ingwë scowled.

"No!" Tinwetariel wailed. "That barbarian. He just stood there. He was probably glad my granddaughter was being hurt."

"Oh nonsense, Tinwetariel," Findis exclaimed in disgust at her aunt’s histrionics. "I was there, you weren’t. Glorfindel was as horrified as the rest of us, more so, I suspect. He knew what memories Alassiel was living through. If you had heard him pleading..." She shook her head, the memory of what had occurred still fresh in her mind.

"He showed remarkable compassion towards someone whom he obviously found irritating," Ingwion said musingly. "And remarkable courage."

"Courage?" Ingoldo demanded in disbelief.

"Yes, Uncle, courage." Ingwion gave Ingoldo a cool stare. "He never hesitated to do what Lord Námo demanded of him even though he must have known what he would face. He accepted his humiliation with great poise."

"And how was that insufferable Noldo humiliated?" Tinwetariel demanded.

Findis answered with a wicked smile. "You don’t know much about adolescent ellyn, do you dear?"

"He is not an adolescent!" Tinwetariel exclaimed.

"He might as well be," Ingwë commented with a chuckle. "I have been told by those in the know that Glorfindel will spend the next century or so re-maturing into the adult he was before his death."

Ingwion laughed and turned to Findis. "And Arafinwë and Eärwen have three Reborn ellyn to deal with? I almost feel sorry for them."

"Don’t," Findis sniggered. "Eärwen wrote and told me that my brother has never been happier since Glorfindel and the Sinda... what’s his name?... Sador... came to live with them. I suspect it’s like having my other nephews back."

"Adolescent or not, he’s a menace," Ingoldo added.

Ingwë gave his brother his own cool look. "Odd that you would have such an opinion of one you’ve never met."

"It’s enough to know that he allowed my granddaughter to suffer harm," Ingoldo countered. "I don’t need to meet him."

"Well, at the moment," Ingwë said, choosing to ignore his brother’s dismissive comment, "we’re stuck with him."

"You can always send him back to Arafinwë, my lord," one of his councillors said.

"No. I will not." Ingwë’s tone brooked no contradiction.

"I don’t see where there’s a problem, Atar," Ingwion said in the ensuing silence at the High King’s declaration. "What happened tonight cannot be laid entirely at Glorfindel’s feet. Alassiel should bear some of the blame. Frankly, she only brought it upon herself."

"How can you say that?" demanded Tinwetariel hotly.

"Because, Aunt," Ingwion said with cool self-possession, "Lord Námo intervened on Glorfindel’s behalf, not Alassiel’s."

"Did Glorfindel really stick his tongue out at the Lord of Mandos?" Indil asked curiously. She had helped to take Alassiel to her room and so was not present at the end.

Ingwë nodded, smiling faintly at the memory.

"And Lord Námo didn’t kill him on the spot?" she asked incredulously.

Ingwion laughed. "Not only that, but Lord Námo actually laughed. I think for all his protestations to the contrary, the Lord of Mandos is quite fond of our troublesome Etyangol."

"Exiled no longer," Findis said quietly.

Ingwë nodded in agreement. "His relationship with Lord Námo might prove a double-edged sword, though. At any rate, no serious harm was done. Lord Námo has assured me that Alassiel will recover and perhaps she will have learned some wisdom from the experience."

"So you’re not going to punish the ellon?" Valandur asked, speaking for the first time.

"Should I?" Ingwë asked in surprise. He always valued his niece’s husband’s opinion.

Valandur shook his head. "I think being forced to relive one’s own death...." He grimaced. "I thought Alassiel’s screams were bad enough, but he just lay there, silent and unmoving, his eyes wide open in shock. The single moan that escaped his lips towards the end was more terrifying than anything I have ever heard. I had no idea what he was experiencing except for the description he gave us of his final moments. I hope if it ever came to it I could face such terror with as much courage as he showed tonight."

"Well said, Valandur," Ingwion exclaimed, giving his cousin-by-marriage a nod of approval. "Whatever else he may be, Glorfindel is not a coward. I for one look forward to getting to know him better."

Ingwë smiled at his son. "I am glad to hear that, yonya, because as of tomorrow, he’s your responsibility. You will teach him what he needs to know and perhaps he will return the favor."

Ingwion bowed his head in acquiescence and gave his atar his own smile. "Punishment for my rudeness?"

"Among other things," Ingwë nodded. "One thing — and I speak not as your atar but as your king — Glorfindel is not to set foot on Taniquetil."

"May I ask why, my lord?" Ingwion enquired formally, hiding any surprise he might feel at the High King’s edict.

"The Valar have decreed it so and we will honor their prohibition. He is free to wander through Vanyamar or to travel to Valmar, but he is not to step upon Taniquetil."

"Does he know this, Atar?" Indil asked.

"Yes. Lord Námo informed him in my presence."

Ingwion bowed his head in acknowledgment again. "It will be as you say, my liege."

"Good." Ingwë turned to Ingoldo and Tinwetariel, both of whom were glowering. The High King’s expression was stern and his voice icy. "Glorfindel is under my protection, Ingoldo... mine and my son’s. You may not fear me, but I know you fear Ingwion." He let the implications of those words sink in. "Do nothing to make me regret allowing you and your lady to remain in my court. Not after the last time."

Ingwë had the satisfaction of seeing Ingoldo blanch and Tinwetariel gasp in dismay. He nodded once, satisfied that he had gotten his message across. "That is all. Leave me, all of you. I wish to be alone."

One by one they stood and bowed to the High King, making their way out. Ingoldo and Tinwetariel left first; Ingwion lingered for a moment after everyone else had departed.

"I do apologize for my earlier behavior, Atar," the ellon said. "If I hadn’t goaded Glorfindel, perhaps none of this would have happened."

"If you hadn’t goaded him, yonya, someone else would have. You, at least, recognized your error and have attempted to make amends. I place Glorfindel into your care, Ingwion. Treat him with all the gentleness and compassion you have shown to others and you and he will do well."

Ingwion bowed. "I will do my best, Atar."

"It is all I have ever asked from my children," Ingwë said with a warm smile, standing up to go to his son. "The amazing thing is, they always manage to surpass my expectations." He gave his firstborn a hug and a kiss. "I am very proud of you, my son," he whispered.

"Thank you, Atar," Ingwion whispered back, his eyes wet with tears at his atar’s praise.

Ingwë gave his son another kiss on the brow before sending him off to his bed, then resumed his seat behind his desk. Dawn was fast approaching before he decided he had done enough thinking about the problem that was Glorfindel and sought his own bed for a few hours of sleep.

****

Heceldi: Plural of Hecel, "One lost or forsaken by friends", a name used by the loremasters of Aman for the Eldar left behind in Beleriand.

36: A Lesson in Forgiveness

The Lord of Mandos stood unseen, watching Lirulin tuck her sleeping daughter in, then sit by the bed, holding her hand. He did not like what he saw and wondered that no one, not even Ingwë, had noticed what was obvious to him — Lirulin was fading.

He knew that she had wanted to fade and join her husband in Mandos as soon as she had learned of Intarion’s death during the War of Wrath, but had forced herself to remain for her daughter’s sake all these decades until Alassiel had reached her majority. Now, she was fading indeed, and if something wasn’t done....

He shook his head. Even if his plan worked, it might already be too late. He sighed and allowed his Presence to be felt but not seen. Lirulin gave a slight shiver and looked about in wonder and not a little fear.

*Peace, child,* he whispered to her fëa. *Do not be afraid.* He was standing directly behind her now and let his hand caress the top of her head. Lirulin visibly relaxed, closing her eyes and leaning back into the chair. In seconds she was fast asleep. Only then did Námo manifest himself completely, coming to the other side of the bed to sit on its edge. He gazed down at Alassiel, still sleeping, and stroked her cheek. The elleth sighed but did not waken. Námo nodded, satisfied.

"Time to continue the lesson, child," he said quietly.

****

Alassiel was somewhere in the mountains, though she did not recognize them and she could not remember how she had gotten there. She was on a path leading towards a pass. Others were there with her but she could not see them clearly, except for one. He was golden-haired. His expression was stern and noble as he led them towards safety and she trusted him immediately, though she could not say why, for she could not remember who he was. It was dark and there was the smoke of ruin behind them... and screams.

She stopped to stare back along their trail. Flames suddenly leaped everywhere about them and then IT was there. She started screaming and could not stop.

"Alassiel!"

She finally stopped screaming, aware that someone had been calling her for some time. She looked about and found herself staring into the dark eyes of Lord Námo and shrank away from him.

"Are you... wh-where am I? Please... don’t hurt me..."

Námo reached for her and took her into his arms though she resisted and whimpered. But when nothing happened except that the Lord of Mandos began stroking her hair and rocking her, she relaxed somewhat into his embrace.

"Hush now, child. It’s not as bad as you think."

"You... you hurt me," she whispered forlornly, sounding lost and confused. "Wh-why did you hurt me?"

"I am sorry, child," Námo said. "You gave me no choice."

"What?" She pulled herself out of his embrace, fury beginning to replace the fear she had felt earlier at seeing the Vala again.

Námo’s expression was impassive but not cold. "You were being obstinate in your disbelief and your disdain for Glorfindel. I decided this was the only way to get through to you. You are becoming more and more like your anamillë, Alassiel, in your bitterness towards the Noldor. Your atar would not approve."

"Leave my atar out of this," she practically screamed. "He’s dead! He’s dead!" She started venting her hurt and fury upon the Vala, who took her back into his embrace and allowed her to pound on him to her heart’s content. Eventually, she calmed down.

"Yes, child, your atar is dead, and for all these decades you have wondered what he felt when he died. No one has ever told you how he died, have they?"

She shook her head, content for the moment to remain in his embrace. Námo began stroking her hair again.

"Nor will I tell you, but I can help you understand."

"How?"

"By letting you experience the death of another you know."

She shivered and gasped at the memory. "It was... it was..." but she had no words to describe the horror she had felt. Then she realized something and pulled back out of Námo’s embrace just enough to be able to look up at him.

"I remember what happened, but I don’t remember the pain."

"Nor will you. Glorfindel took the pain for himself."

"Why?" she asked in surprise. Glorfindel was the last person she would have expected to do that for her.

Námo smiled gently down at her. "It is after all his pain. I imagine he wanted it back."

She shivered again. "He died so horribly and probably for nothing," she said, her tone growing bitter. "My atar... my atar died for nothing."

"No one ever dies for nothing, child," Námo reprimanded her gently. "That is your anamillë speaking, not you... and not your atar."

For a long moment Alassiel did not speak. "Did Atar... was his death as... horrible as Glorfindel’s?"

Námo held her out so she could see him. He smiled at her with compassion. "All deaths are horrible, child, to one degree or another. I promise you, though, that your atar does not regret his death, nor should you."

She thought about it for a moment but shook her head, not willing or ready to acknowledge the Vala’s words. "I’m sorry, my lord, I can’t..."

"That’s all right, Alassiel. I don’t expect you to change the way you feel immediately. I do expect you to think on what I’ve just said. Can you do that, at least?"

She nodded, then another thought came to her. "Are you in trouble...for what you did to me, I mean?"

Námo raised an eyebrow at that and then laughed. "Perhaps. I should have gotten your and Glorfindel’s permission to do what I did first and I apologize for that."

"Why didn’t you?"

"Would you have granted it?"

She shook her head and smiled ruefully, acknowledging the Vala’s words.

"Sometimes, my dear," Námo said softly, "it is easier to ask for forgiveness after the fact than it is to seek permission beforehand."

Then, to Alassiel’s amazement, Námo suddenly went to his knees. "Ávatyara nillo úcarenyan, herinya. Ámet lavë lemya nildor."

For several long seconds the elleth just stared at the Vala kneeling before her and then slowly she held out her hand and he took it, kissing it softly. "Avatyarinyel, herunya," she whispered.

Námo rose to his feet and spoke sincerely. "Thank you, my dear. Your forgiveness means much to me."

Alassiel nodded absentmindedly, her thoughts already elsewhere. "Why me?"

"I think your cousin Ingwion said it best." He gave her a sympathetic smile at her enquiring look. "Others may not have believed Glorfindel but you were the only one stupid enough to say so."

The elleth blushed. "I was rather stupid, wasn’t I?"

"But that is not the only, or even the real, reason."

"Oh?"

Námo nodded. "Glorfindel needs someone with whom he can share his memories, someone who has experienced them to some degree and will understand what he is feeling."

"And I was elected," Alassiel said ruefully.

"More like volunteered," Námo laughed and was rewarded with a small giggle from the elleth. "Turn around, Alassiel. Face the memory."

Alassiel started, suddenly aware of her surroundings again. All the time she and Námo had been speaking the attack on the survivors of Gondolin had continued around them. She realized that Glorfindel had been fighting against the valarauco for some time.

"Glorfindel, come here!" Námo commanded in a loud voice and to Alassiel’s surprise, the golden-haired warrior stopped fighting and walked up the path towards them, the valarauco apparently forgotten.

"My lord?" Glorfindel said with a salute, raising his sword before him then flipping the sword over so that its point was in the ground. He placed both hands on the hilt, his feet somewhat apart. Alassiel knew that in such a stance the warrior would be able to lift his sword in defense against any who might come against him, should the need arise.

"Alassiel has been gracious enough to forgive me for what I did to her," Námo explained. "May I have your forgiveness as well, my son?"

Glorfindel stared at the Vala for a long moment, then glanced at Alassiel. "I never meant for you to suffer on my account, Alassiel." In a single fluid movement he was kneeling before her, his hands still on the hilt of the sword. "M’avatyaruvalyë nillo yando, herinya?"

Alassiel shook her head. "There is nothing to forgive. I have no one to blame but myself. I am sorry too for my rudeness, Glorfindel. May we be friends?" She held out her hand and Glorfindel took it without hesitation and kissed it lightly before rising.

"I would like that very much, Alassiel." He was rewarded with a brilliant smile. Then he turned to the waiting Vala and took a deep breath before going to his knees once again, the hilt of his sword now pointing towards Námo.

"You do not have my forgiveness, lord, for you did nothing to me to warrant my giving it to you. My own arrogance brought me to this place. Please accept my apologies for forcing you to chastise me as you have. I should never have tempted you in that way. I fear I am a trial to you."

"No more than any other, Glorfindel," Námo said quietly. "And less than most." He paused, looking at the sword. "Is that for me, child?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, lord. I would give you my sword as surety for my parole."

"And why do I need your parole?"

Glorfindel grinned slyly. "Is that a trick question, my lord?"

Námo grinned back. "No, child. I am genuinely interested. Why do I need your parole?"

Glorfindel suddenly looked uncertain. "I-I don’t think I can be... trusted anymore...."

"Glorfindel," Námo said, taking him by the arms and raising him. "I trust you more than most. More importantly, Manwë trusts you."

"H-he does?"

Námo nodded. "However, I will take your sword, not as surety for your parole, but in trust. It will be returned to you when you are ready to accept the responsibilities a sword demands of the one who wields it." So saying he took the sword from Glorfindel’s hands and slipped it into a scabbard that suddenly appeared belted around his waist. "Now, let us quit this dreary scene."

They found themselves standing in a lush garden under bright sunlight. Alassiel and Glorfindel looked around in amazement. Námo hid a smile. He held out his hands to them both. "Let us be friends, my children."

Alassiel gave her hand to Námo, as did Glorfindel. Then shyly, Glorfindel held out his other hand to Alassiel who took it, blushing prettily. Námo nodded in approval. "Be kind to one another, my best beloved. And Alassiel," he gave the elleth a piercing look, "take better care of your amillë." He then released their hands and gathered them into his embrace, kissing them on the brow. Both elves suddenly fell asleep and then their fëar melted away from the Path of Dreams, leaving the Lord of Mandos standing in the garden alone.

****

Manwë was waiting for him in one of the smaller antechambers when he returned to Ilmarin. The Elder King’s gold-ringed blue eyes were solemn as he looked upon his younger brother in the Thought of Ilúvatar.

"So you think it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, do you?"

"Did not Aulë learn that lesson?"

Manwë raised an eyebrow. "We are not speaking of Aulë here, my son."

Námo bowed, looking contrite. "Forgive me, my lord. I meant no disrespect."

For a long moment neither spoke, then the Elder King gestured. "Come here, Námo." His tone was grave and there was an echo of Another’s Voice in his.

Námo approached, never flinching from Manwë’s gaze. Manwë took him by the shoulders. "As Alassiel has forgiven you and Glorfindel insists on taking the blame upon himself, I, too, forgive you."

*And I, best beloved,* came the thought from the Timeless Halls and Námo closed his eyes, feeling himself go weak in the knees with relief as a light wave of Love swept through him, banishing all guilt.

Manwë, however, was not through with him. He shook his brother slightly to get his attention. Námo opened his eyes.

"I forgive you," the Elder King reiterated, "but if you ever think of doing anything like that again... Melkor will have company in the Void. Do we understand each other, best beloved?"

"Yes, my liege."

"Good. Then we will speak no more of it. Nai haryuvam imbë met sérë."

Námo allowed Manwë to take him fully into his arms and they embraced, giving each other the kiss of peace. Námo would have stepped out of the embrace then but Manwë held him tightly, unwilling to let him go.

The Lord of Mandos decided he didn’t mind at all.

****

Ávatyara nillo úcarenyan, herinya. Ámet lavë lemya nildor: "Forgive me my trespass, my lady. Let us two remain friends."

Avatyarinyel, herunya: "I forgive thee, my lord."

M’avatyaruvalyë nillo yando, herinya?: "Will you forgive me as well, my lady?" The interrogative particle ma, which is used in yes/no questions, has been elided.

Ilmarin: "Mansion of the High Airs". The dwelling of Manwë and Varda on Oiolossë.

Nai haryuvam imbë met sérë: "May we have peace between us." Literally, "May it be that we will have between us (dual) peace".

37: An Ancient Lullaby

Ingwion was there to greet Glorfindel the next morning when the Noldo opened his door.

"Your Highness," Glorfindel greeted the prince with a bow, his expression somewhat wary.

Ingwion smiled. "Atar is punishing me for goading you, Laurefindil."

Glorfindel found himself smiling as well. "And how is the High King punishing you, Highness?"

"By making you my responsibility."

Now Glorfindel scowled. "Contrary to the popular opinion of everyone from Manwë on down, I do not need a minder."

Ingwion shook his head. "Atar always assigns one of the family to mentor anyone Arafinwë or Olwë send us for fostering. My sister, Indil, for instance, has charge of Ercassë and Findis will oversee Elemmírë’s education. You are stuck with me."

Glorfindel was somewhat mollified and nodded. "Sorry."

"And the first lesson is this... if you call me ‘highness’ again I will pound you so far into the ground you’ll need to reach up to lace your boots. My name is Ingwion."

Glorfindel smiled somewhat wickedly. "And if you are ever so stupid as to call me ‘Laurefindil’ again I will return the favor. My name is Glorfindel."

Ingwion laughed and clapped the Noldo on the shoulder. "I think we will get along just fine. Come. Atar always has a breakfast meeting with his family and councillors on the first day of the week and the fosterlings also attend as part of their training."

Glorfindel gave Ingwion a quizzical look. "Is that what you call us...fosterlings?"

Ingwion nodded as they headed down the hall. "The others who came with you from Tirion are within five years of their majority so legally they are underage and must needs have a guardian. As High King, Atar is automatically their guardian and the rest of the family treat them like younger siblings. Believe it or not, for most, this is the first time they’ve ever been away from their families for any length of time."

"Homesickness?" Glorfindel raised an amused eyebrow.

"Sometimes," Ingwion acknowledged. "That’s why Atar likes his children or younger members of the family to take them in hand."

"Well, I don’t think that will be a problem with me, so don’t worry."

"I won’t," Ingwion assured him with a smile.

By now they had reached the private dining hall reserved for the royal family and their closest friends. Glorfindel looked about with interest. Save for the fact that the room itself was somewhat larger than the royal dining hall in Tirion, it looked very much the same, with sideboards loaded with food. There was no ceremony here; people took as much or as little as they pleased. Servers were discrete and unobtrusive, making sure that nothing was lacking, but otherwise they left Ingwë and his family to fend for themselves.

As soon as they entered, all conversations stopped. Glorfindel ignored it, for he had eyes only for Alassiel, who was sitting at one of the lower tables with a woman who looked enough like her that Glorfindel suspected this might be the elleth’s amillë. Glorfindel frowned and shook his head in disbelief. Could no one see? Did no one care?

Alassiel looked up when she noticed the silence, as she had been intent on cajoling her amillë to eat something. She looked towards the entrance and saw Glorfindel. Without thought, she stood up and ran up to him, smiling. Glorfindel, for his part, opened his arms wide and closed them about the elleth, swinging her in his embrace.

"Good morrow, Cousin," Glorfindel said with a smile. "You are looking fair this fine day."

"As are you, Cousin," Alassiel replied, planting a decorous kiss on his cheek before standing back. "Will you join me?" There was a hint of desperation in the elleth’s eyes that did not go unnoticed by either Glorfindel or Ingwion, but only Glorfindel understood its source.

"I would be honored," Glorfindel said with a bow. He stole a glance at Ingwion and smiled slyly, bending down in a conspiratorial manner. "That is, if you don’t mind sharing me with my Keeper."

Alassiel giggled, and Ingwion rolled his eyes, giving Glorfindel a punch on the arm, though all there could see it was in jest, for the prince was smiling.

"I think I can manage that, my lords," Alassiel said with a short curtsey before returning to her seat while Ingwion and Glorfindel went to a sideboard and began piling food on their plates.

There was a rustle of voices, most of them expressing disbelief that Alassiel would even acknowledge the Noldo’s presence much less give him a kinsman’s kiss. There were looks of disgust on some faces, and dismay on others.

Ingwë, meanwhile, sat in contemplative silence, reviewing the scene in his mind, ignoring all around him. Obviously, something had happened in the night between these two children and he suspected that Lord Námo might have had something to do with it. He watched as his son and the Noldo joined Alassiel and her amillë, who sat there somewhat listlessly. He saw Alassiel introduce Glorfindel to Lirulin and there was a glow about Glorfindel that had not been there before, or perhaps he had not taken the time to notice. He also noticed something else and silently berated himself for his blindness. He stood up and walked over to the lower table. All eyes were suddenly on the High King.

Alassiel, Ingwion and Glorfindel looked up to see Ingwë approach. Not sure of the protocol, Glorfindel rose and gave the High King a bow, though no one else at the table followed him. Ingwë waved a hand in dismissal.

"We do not stand on ceremony here, child. We are all family. Surely it is thus in Arafinwë’s household?"

"Yes, lord," Glorfindel acknowledged, "but I was not sure..."

Ingwë smiled. "Your courtesy does you credit, child. I am pleased." Then he turned his attention to Lirulin and his smile fled, to be replaced by a frown of reproach. "I am not pleased, however, with the fact that none of us, myself included, has noticed the distress of one who is family." He knelt beside Lirulin. "Child, why do you fade?" he asked softly and there was a collective gasp from the onlookers.

Ingwion started and stared at his atar. "Is this true, Atar? How could I not see it?"

"Yet, you saw it, didn’t you Glorfindel?" Ingwë asked, looking at the ellon with a contemplative air. "As soon as you saw Lirulin, you knew."

"Yes, lord. The signs are easy enough to recognize. I saw it too many times in Endórë. I cannot understand why no one has noticed. She is nearly faded. I do not think any can call her back to herself. It may be too late."

Alassiel gave a sob and Ingwion put an arm around her shoulders to comfort her. Then Lirulin herself surprised everyone by looking up at Glorfindel. "Tell me of Intarion," and her voice was as a whisper of smoke on a cloudless day, insubstantial and faint. "Tell me what I may find when I go to seek him in Mandos."

"I cannot, lady," Glorfindel said with regret. "Further, I would not, for such knowledge is not for the Living."

"Yet, you have been to Mandos. You know. Why will you not speak?" Lirulin suddenly stood up, anger bringing some color to her face, making her seem more solid than she had been.

"And what would you have me say, Lirulin?" Glorfindel also stood, his eyes dark with a flame that spoke of other worlds not known to the elves of Vanyamar. "Intarion is dead. He resides in Mandos. Someday he will be Reborn. That is all you need to know. That is all any need to know."

"How dare you?" Lirulin screamed and she turned and fled, but Glorfindel’s next words stopped her.

"Lirulin! If Intarion knew what you were doing he would be most displeased."

She turned slowly, shock and despair warring in her expression. "Does he even remember me?"

Glorfindel shook his head, his eyes sad. "No, lady, the dead do not remember their former lives. It is Námo’s gift to them that they not be burdened with regrets. If you fade, if you go to Mandos, you will have no memory of Intarion or Alassiel. Even if you meet, neither of you will recognize the other until you are again Reborn."

Lirulin went white at that and started to sway. Glorfindel was the first to reach her before she collapsed to the floor, weeping. He held her, stroking her hair. "Lord Námo will be displeased as well, you know," he said in a conversational tone as Lirulin continued weeping. "Oh yes. He’s none too fond of people who give up. He much prefers people who defy him, spit in his face, and tell him where he can take himself." He smiled, as if at some particular memory, then returned his attention to the woman sobbing in his arms. "Lirulin, Intarion is happy. He knows neither pain nor sorrow. The Shadow touches him not. He plays and sings and dances in the Light and knows only Joy. Can you not hold to that and live? If not for yourself, then for your daughter? Must Alassiel be orphaned twice?"

He began rocking her and then softly began to sing an ancient lullaby, one that none there had heard before except Ingwë, who went white as Glorfindel began to sing. Lirulin’s sobbing slowed and soon she was asleep. Glorfindel continued to sing, ignoring all.

Finally, he came to the end and motioned for several elves to come and bear Lirulin to the healers. "See that she is kept warm. Let them sing every glad song and lullaby they know. It will help keep her grounded." The elves looked at the Noldo in wonder but did not question him. Soon they were bearing Lirulin away. Alassiel made to follow but Ingwë stayed her.

"Let the healers see to her first, daughter," he said to her quietly and she nodded in reluctant agreement.

Glorfindel remained seated on the floor. No one else moved, except Ingwë, who knelt before Glorfindel, his face full of wonder.

"That song...." Ingwë said in a whisper.

Glorfindel answered without looking up, his attention focused elsewhere. "It’s one of my earliest memories of Mandos, being rocked to sleep in Lord Námo’s arms as he sang that song."

"Do you know whence comes the song?"

Glorfindel looked up then and shook his head. "It-it’s just a song," he said with uncertainty as he finally noticed the shock in Ingwë’s expression.

Ingwë reached out and ran a hand through Glorfindel’s hair. "Child, that song is the first thing I heard when I woke at Cuiviénen and saw the stars for the first time." He paused, tears beginning to wash down his face. "I often wondered who was singing it, for I never saw the singer.... Now I think I know."

"And you would be wrong, child."

Ingwë gave a gasp as he swung around to find the last person he had expected to see standing there. He scrambled to his feet, Glorfindel right behind him, and bowed deeply, as did every elf in the room.

Manwë stepped forward and placed his hands on the High King’s shoulders and smiled gently at him.

"My brother is rather fond of that particular lullaby, but he was not the one who was singing it to you as you woke for the first time in Arda."

"Then who...?"

Manwë embraced Ingwë, holding him tight. "Can you not guess, child? It was your Atar singing to you. It was Ilúvatar himself, welcoming his Children into the world as any parent will."

Then Ingwë wept, but no one paid any attention, for they were all too busy weeping themselves at the revelation. Softly, Manwë began to sing the lullaby, but he was not alone. Every elf there heard the voices of all the Valar join with the Elder King in singing. Every elf there ceased to weep, falling into a deep healing sleep.

When Ingwë came to himself sometime later he found he was lying on the floor next to Glorfindel, who had yet to stir. All around, elves were fast asleep, many with smiles on their faces.

Of Manwë there was no sign.

38: Ingwë Alone

Waking to find himself lying on the floor of his own dining hall, Ingwë couldn’t decide if he should feel amused or insulted that Manwë had treated him so cavalierly, but decided that the Elder King was simply being practical in placing him on the floor. It was best not to read too much into it, he decided as he climbed to his feet, brushing his clothes down. He wasn’t sure if he should wake anyone or allow them to come to themselves on their own. In the end he left everyone where they were and began to wander through the palace.

Everywhere he went he found his people fast asleep. He made his way into the city out of curiosity and discovered that the entire city was asleep. People appeared to have simply dropped where they were, though none looked as if they had suffered any injury and he suspected that the Valar, or more likely their Maiar servants, had made sure none suffered unduly.

He did not know what he should feel. The silence was deafening. Some impulse kept him walking through the city towards the northern gate, the gate that led directly to the road leading up into the mountain and the abode of the Valar. As usual, the gate stood open. What was not usual were the fourteen Maiar standing there apparently waiting for him. Each one wore a different colored surcoat on which was embroidered a different emblem, emblems that Ingwë knew only too well.

On seeing his approach, one of the Maiar stepped forward and bowed. Ingwë saw that this one wore a sky-blue surcoat with an eagle embroidered upon it.

"Greetings, High King, I am Fionwë of the People of Manwë."

Ingwë nodded his own greeting but said nothing. Long experience with the Valar had taught him the virtue of not speaking.

Fionwë gave the High King an appraising look, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Do not fear for your people, Ingwë, they are unharmed and will waken soon."

"I have no fear, my lord," Ingwë said quietly. "I trust Lord Manwë implicitly. I will admit though that I am at a loss to understand the meaning of all this. I little appreciate waking up on the floor of my own dining room and finding that the entire city is asleep. I wonder if I were to wander through Eldamar if I would find every one of the Eldar sleeping."

Fionwë raised an eyebrow at the High King’s words. When he spoke it was in formal tones and the amusement in his eyes was gone. "The Valar summon thee, High King. We are sent to escort thee."

Ingwë stared at the Maia for some time. "And the Valar deem it necessary to send fourteen of you where one has always sufficed in the past? Have I fallen so low in their esteem that they must needs assure my presence by force of numbers?"

Fionwë shook his head. "Say rather that our Masters value you too highly to do other than honor you with their most trusted servants as your escort."

"And if I refuse the summons?" Ingwë asked quietly. "I do not wish to leave my people alone and defenseless in their slumbers. Someone needs to keep watch over them."

Now Fionwë smiled and came to Ingwë, putting his hands on the High King’s shoulders with great familiarity. "Child, do you really think your people are alone? Look now." He breathed gently upon Ingwë’s eyes then turned him around. Ingwë gasped.

Everywhere he looked Maiar stood, each beside a slumbering elf. Each one’s gaze was intent upon the sleeping form over which they stood guard, never taking their eyes off their charges. Ingwë felt faint and Fionwë had to steady him.

"Come, Ingwë," the Maia whispered. "It is best not to keep the Valar waiting."

Ingwë nodded mutely and allowed himself to be drawn away from the city. Thus he found himself walking in the midst of the Maiar, making the slow climb up the mountain. More than once one of the Maiar had to reach out and offer the High King a steadying hand, as he was so lost in his own thoughts that he paid little attention to his steps.

In time they reached the summit and the mansions of Manwë and Varda, but rather than being led to the throne room as usual, he was taken to a small antechamber and asked to wait. There was another door on the other side of the room from where he had entered which he knew led to the throne room. The chamber was furnished with comfortable chairs and low tables and tapestries graced the walls. Light came from high clerestory windows. Refreshments were offered but he politely refused them, for all that his breakfast had been summarily interrupted. Finally, he was left alone.

Time passed. He began to pace, beginning to feel annoyed. They had dragged him all the way up here against his will only to make him wait? And what of his people? Were they awake yet? Did they even know he was missing? He began to fume, feeling ignored. Finally, he uttered an oath under his breath and yanked open the door that led to the throne room only to find his way blocked by two Maiar, one of whom was Fionwë.

"Does my lord require anything?" Fionwë asked blandly.

"What ‘my lord’ requires is for you to stand aside," Ingwë said, gritting his teeth.

Fionwë shook his head. "No, Ingwë, go back inside and wait."

It was like a slap in the face. Never had he been treated with anything but respect and now he was being talked to as if he were an errant elfling. What was going on? Why were they treating him with such seeming disrespect? He felt the blood drain from his face and his breathing turned ragged. Fionwë started to take his arm but he flinched and started backing away, looking at the Maiar in dismay.

"Ingwë, wait. Come back," Fionwë said, but the High King would not listen. Instead, he turned and ran to the other door, but found it locked. He pounded on it, yanked on the doorknob, practically sobbing in fear and frustration, but the door would not open. He felt panic rising within him yet could not understand its source, only knowing that it was overwhelming him and he could not stop it. He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and with a cry turned and slithered away from the touch, ending up crouching in the corner, eyes wide as he saw Varda standing over him, a look of deep concern on her face.

"Ingwë? What is wrong?" Her melodious voice was tinged with worry as she watched the High King of All the Elves crouch before her, his eyes white with terror.

He tried to answer but something inside him snapped and he felt himself unraveling. Waves of nausea hit and he was suddenly sick, vomiting at the Valië’s feet. His misery knew no bounds then and he was barely aware of his surroundings. He felt hands lift him up and begin removing his sick-spattered clothing. Then he was being guided towards a divan where he was lowered. A cool cloth was placed on his forehead and a warm blanket was thrown over his shaking body.

"Shock, my lady," he heard Fionwë say, but the words were meaningless to him.

He seemed to float in and out of awareness then, coming back to himself at one point to find Námo sitting on the edge of the divan stroking his hair and murmuring words he did not entirely understand. Námo seemed to know that he was aware again for he stopped his ministrations.

"Stay with us, Ingwë," the Lord of Mandos commanded, but the words made little sense to the elf and it took too much effort to stay focused. He felt strangely detached from everything, including himself and could feel himself receding. He lay there waiting, not caring that he was waiting.

Námo looked up at a spot beyond Ingwë’s line of sight, speaking to someone whom Ingwë could not see, nor did he feel he had the strength necessary to move enough to do so. "I think we’re losing him again. He’s still in shock, though I don’t know why. He shouldn’t have woken as soon as he did and I fear his fëa is wandering afar."

"Can we call him back?" Ingwë knew the voice but could not place it. It was warm and gentle and held great promise of comfort. Another’s hand began stroking the top of his head and Ingwë sighed as waves of peace began to flood him. He closed his eyes in relief, barely paying attention to the words being spoken above him.

Námo looked back down at Ingwë who was now nearly asleep again. "It will be difficult. He has fled far back into Time."

"Who, then, will follow?" Nienna asked as she continued stroking Ingwë’s head.

"Only the one whom he trusts the most," Námo replied, "for only that one will succeed in bringing him back to himself."

"Very well," the Elder King said. "Let it be so."

****

He was fleeing, but from what, he did not know, only that he should not remain still for very long, otherwise he would be caught and that would be a terrible thing. Where he fled, he did not know either, but there was a destination, a direction, and he took it.

Once, whatever pursued him nearly caught him when he paused for breath and looked around. This was nowhere in Aman that he recalled, though there was a haunting familiarity to it. He was staring up at mountains, not as high as the Pelóri, but high enough, and terrible enough in their serene and implacable beauty to give one pause. He stood there mesmerized by them, awed by them.

"Ingwë," came a voice from behind him. He started and turned, feeling the blood draining from him as unreasoning fear took over. He could not see who had called but felt that the person was close by. He could not be caught, he mustn’t allow himself to be caught. It was the only thought he had in his mind. He gave a small cry and began running towards the mountains.

"Ingwë!"

He paid the voice no heed, but ran, not realizing that running through the mountains and not over them should have been impossible, yet run through them he did. He did not pause on the other side, not even for the wide river that suddenly came into view. Somehow he crossed it, but had no real memory of doing so. He was not sure in which direction he fled, but the further he went the darker it became and only the stars lit the way.

****

He stopped running when the lake came into view. By now he was breathless and spent, collapsing to the ground before the wide waters that stretched into the darkness, its other shore hidden from sight. He had arrived at the place he felt he needed to be, but he did not know where he was. He searched his memory but came up empty. So, he lay on the shore of the lake, breathing in the dark green scent of the fir trees nearby and waited.

For what, again he did not know. For whatever pursued him? That thought at least brought him to his knees in an attempt to rise and flee. He could not be caught, mustn’t be caught. If he were caught...

"Ah, here you are, child," a voice came to him from out of the darkness and he screamed, flailing about in an attempt to rise to his feet and flee once again, but this time there was no escape.

Strong arms took hold of him and held him close even as he continued screaming and flailing about. Suddenly someone began singing and the music pierced through the fog of terror that surrounded him and he collapsed into the other’s embrace, weeping, uncaring now. He’d been caught and there was no help for it. He knew something dreadful would happen to him now and all he could do was wait for it.

The song continued on for some time and there was a familiarity to it that spoke to his fëa and in spite of his terror he found himself relaxing, allowing the one in whose arms he lay to caress him and soothe him with voice and hands until he fell asleep.

****

"Feeling better?"

He came to himself and found that he was still in the other’s arms by the shore of the lake, the stars glittering coldly above them, their light reflected in the dark waters below.

"Where am I?" he whispered as he leaned against his captor, feeling oddly content in his captivity as he stared out across the lake. He did not bother looking at the one holding him.

"This is Cuiviénen, child. The place of your Awakening in Arda."

Ingwë gave a small shiver and snuggled closer into the other’s embrace. He was beginning to feel lost again. "H-how did I get here?"

"You were drawn here by need."

Ingwë thought about that for a moment but could not decide what need he had to come here so he asked a different question. "Who are you? What are you going to do to me?" His fear was beginning to rise again and he tried to squirm out of the other’s embrace but was held firmly in place.

"Look at me, Ingwë," came the soft command and Ingwë finally looked up into the face of his captor. "Do you not know me, child?"

"No, lord," he whispered, his voice thin with fear. "Please... don’t hurt me," and he began weeping, hiding his face in the other’s chest.

"Oh, child. It was never my intention to hurt you," Manwë said softly. "Hush now. No tears, my best beloved. All will be well. Sleep now, sleep."

The Elder King began singing again, the same song Ingwë had heard before, and soon he was relaxing into sleep, his weeping stilled.

****

When he woke again, there was a small fire going and he was lying next to it, a blanket over him and a pillow under his head. He felt refreshed and his mind was no longer fogged by fear and confusion. He sat up and looked around. Someone came into his line of sight and his captor, as he still thought of him, knelt beside him holding out a goblet.

"Drink this, child," Manwë said and was pleased that Ingwë took the proffered goblet with only the slightest hesitation. He was somewhat concerned by the elf’s listlessness, as if Ingwë had resigned himself to some fate and was merely waiting for its doom to fall upon him.

When Ingwë finished drinking the water he handed the goblet back to Manwë. "I’m ready now," he said emotionlessly. He had been caught and could not escape. Best to accept whatever pain was bound to follow. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if he tried not to resist.

"Ready for what?" Manwë asked, stroking the elf’s hair.

"Ready for my punishment," Ingwë replied, then he gave the Elder King a forlorn look that pierced Manwë’s heart to the core. "Please...I’m sorry... d-don’t hurt me too much."

Manwë spoke barely above a whisper. "Why do you think you deserve punishment, child?"

"Be-because I ran away from you. I know I shouldn’t have, though I don’t remember why I shouldn’t have." This last was said with a note of apology and Manwë took Ingwë into his arms and held him tightly, rocking him.

"I’m not going to punish you, Ingwë," Manwë finally said. "You have done nothing to deserve punishment. You did not run away from me, best beloved. You were running toward Another, though you were not aware of it. That is not a reason for punishment, but for rejoicing."

"Another? What other?"

"Hush. Listen. Perhaps you will hear him."

And Ingwë listened. At first all he heard was his own breathing and the gentle lapping of the water nearby and the cheerful crackle of the fire next to him. Then he heard the trees humming their slow song of life and deep earth. Finally, he heard the remote song of the stars, a song of welcome to this Firstborn. He had almost given up hearing anything else. Then he heard it, a deep voice, full of bells, faint and clear. The voice was singing the song, the lullaby, that had so soothed him earlier. He looked up at Manwë in wonder.

"I hear him," he whispered in awe. "I hear him."

Manwë smiled and kissed Ingwë on the brow. "I am so glad, best beloved. Do you recognize the voice?"

Ingwë shook his head and snuggled closer into Manwë’s embrace, feeling somewhat bereft by his lack of knowledge.

Manwë hugged him closer. "That is your Atar singing to you, telling you how much he loves you."

"M-my atar? I have an atar?" Ingwë asked in wonder and Manwë nodded. Then Ingwë asked another question. "Wh-who are you, again?"

Manwë gave a light laugh. "I am Manwë. I am your elder brother. Atar has charged me to care for you."

"My elder brother... you’re my elder brother?"

"Are you not pleased that you have someone like me in your life, child? It’s what elder brothers are for you know. I will always care for you and love you and help you remember that your Atar loves you when you begin to forget again."

"Thank you," Ingwë said with all sincerity.

"You are most welcome, child," Manwë replied. "Now, go to sleep," and Ingwë found himself falling asleep once again, snuggled contentedly against his elder brother, feeling safe for the first time in a long time.

Manwë sat there, the Elf-lord sleeping in his arms, and listened to the Song that had greeted the Firstborn in their Awakening by the shores of Cuiviénen with only half an ear, for he was busy plotting the coordinates for taking them both back home. It would not do for Ingwë to remain here in the Past any longer than necessary. There had been enough damage done to his fëa already.

He looked down at the sleeping elf and smiled. Then he bent down and gently kissed Ingwë on the head as he waited for the High King to waken once again.

****

Note: While I have used the word 'lake' here to describe Cuiviénen, that is from Ingwë's perception at this point. According to the Silmarillion, Cuiviénen was a bay in the inland Sea of Helcar far to the northeast of Middle-earth where once the Lamp Ormal stood, or so the Loremasters say.

39: Rescue Mission Into the Past

Author's Note: Warning for intensity of certain scenes.

****

When Ingwë woke again he was still in Manwë’s arms. He looked up into the Elder King’s face with some confusion.

"Lord Manwë," he said, pulling himself out of the Vala’s embrace. "What has happened?" Then he took in his surroundings and he felt his jaw drop in astonishment. "This is Cuiviénen! How did I get here?"

"That, my friend, is a very long tale best told when we return home."

"Home."

Manwë nodded. "That is, if you are ready to return."

Ingwë nodded, still feeling bemused. Manwë stood and pulled Ingwe to his feet. "It may be best if you keep your eyes closed. The journey back may prove disconcerting to you."

The Vanya complied and allowed Manwë to hold him. Then, Reality seemed to lurch... sideways. He found himself clinging to the Elder King, biting his lips to stop from screaming. In the space of three breaths, though, Reality did another twist and righted itself. Ingwë found he could breathe normally again. He sagged against Manwë, unwilling to let go.

"Open your eyes now, Ingwe," Manwë commanded and Ingwë complied.

There was a sensation of swimming upwards and then he found himself staring into the eyes of, not only Manwë, but Námo, Varda and Nienna. Fionwë was also there as were Maranwë and Olórin.

"What has happened?" Ingwë asked, struggling to sit up. Fionwë gave him a helping hand.

"What do you remember, Ingwë?" Námo asked.

Ingwë shrugged. "Little enough it seems. I woke to find all around me asleep. Then I met Fionwë and his companions who brought me here. I remember I waited for a very long time..."

"How long?" Manwë asked.

Ingwë stared at the Elder King for a moment before answering. "It must have been at least an hour, my lord. But you know this!" he ended in protest, confusion beginning to take over again.

Manwë shook his head. "Ingwë, you were left alone for less than five minutes."

Ingwë sat there stunned. "But that’s not possible, lord. I waited and waited and no one came."

Instead of answering him, Manwë turned to Námo. "Could that be where the break occurred?"

Námo nodded. "Undoubtedly. Time dilation coupled with a temporal displacement of his fëa..." The Lord of Mandos paused, looking thoughtful. Then, to Ingwë’s everlasting surprise, Námo raised his right forefinger and began to trace a figure in the air. Where the Vala’s finger moved, a green glow appeared, taking solid form. Ingwë could see what appeared to be a glowing strip of vellum suspended in the air before the Vala. The ends of the strip were joined, but one end was twisted in some fashion.

Námo was moving his finger above the glowing strip, stopping at some point. "This is where the slip occurred. Here are the coordinates."

He began tracing in the air again, but this time it was a series of numerals, only Ingwë could not interpret their meaning. The other Valar and their Maiar servants, however, nodded in obvious familiarity.

"Are you sure it’s just a temporal displacement, lord?" Maranwë asked.

"Yes," Námo answered with a nod. "The time dilation occurred here," pointing to a particular point on the floating vellum, "and Ingwë’s fëa fled back to this point along the continuum." He moved his finger to another point which suddenly flared an incandescent blue. Ingwë had to hide his eyes for a second. "His hröa, however, remained here with us."

"Then it’s possible others will do the same if frightened enough," Olórin said with a grimace.

"But probably not that many, for which we can be thankful," Varda said fervently.

Manwë nodded. "I almost caught up with Ingwë here." He pointed at still another point along the strip of glowing vellum, which also flared blue. Manwë began writing his own set of numerals in the air. "Have the Maiar keep watch along these coordinates, plus and minus point-five, just to be safe. I already have Eönwë stationed at Cuiviénen just in case any get that far. Fionwë, you will oversee the rescue mission from this end. Olórin and Maranwë will aid you."

"Call on us if you need to," Námo said. "One of us will come."

The three Maiar bowed and left. Ingwë looked at the four Valar feeling completely lost. "Forgive me, my lord," he said. "I did not mean to cause any trouble."

Manwë shook his head and placed a hand on the elf’s head in comfort. "The fault is entirely ours, Ingwë, for which we sincerely apologize."

"You woke too soon, you see, and suffered a shock," Námo said with a rueful smile.

"Was I really at Cuiviénen?"

"Yes and no," Varda said, giving the Vanya a slight shake of her head, the crown of living stars above her shining as brightly as ever. "Your fëa fled back to the place where it awakened in Arda. Somehow you managed to do something we did not think you were capable of doing. You managed to flee into the Past."

Ingwë shook his head in bemusement, not sure what the Valië meant. "I doubt if I could repeat the performance, lady. I don’t remember how I did it the first time."

"That is well, child," Námo said, sounding grave, though Ingwë detected a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I doubt if my brother will be up to running after you again. You gave him quite a merry chase you know."

Ingwë blushed as the Valar laughed. "Do not be troubled, my son," Manwë said. "I quite enjoyed the exercise."

Before Ingwë could respond, though, Fionwë appeared, looking grim. Ingwë felt his blood run cold, though he did not know the reason.

"We may have a problem, my Lord Manwë," the Maia said with a bow to the Elder King.

"What is it, Fionwë?" raising an eyebrow at the Maia’s tone.

The Maia gave a sigh. "Glorfindel’s awake...and he’s armed."

****

Glorfindel woke to find all the elves about him sleeping... and the High King missing. Warrior instincts took over almost immediately and without any conscious effort on his part. He paused long enough to check on Alassiel. Assured that she was merely sleeping, he slipped out of the dining room, stopping just long enough to take a sword from one of the guards who had been standing watch at the doors but was now as fast asleep as everyone else. As he continued walking the silent hallways of the palace his alarm grew. Where was Ingwë? What had happened to them all that they had fallen into sleep?

He made his way through the palace and then out into the city when he could find no sign of the High King within the palace. As he wandered the streets he found himself looking up, searching the skies, his apprehension growing. He wanted to call out, but reason told him it was best to remain silent. If there was an enemy lurking in the city...

Enemy. The word stopped him in his tracks. Could there be some agent of evil stalking the elves of Vanyamar? He tried to remember what had happened before he fell asleep....

"Glorfindel."

He spun around, sword at the ready position, to find himself facing several Maiar, none of whom he recognized. One of them had his hand up.

"Give me the sword, Glorfindel," the Maia said soothingly. "You don’t want to hurt anyone, do you?"

Glorfindel backed slowly away. "Who are you? Where’s Ingwë?" he demanded. "What have you done with the High King?"

"My name is Manveru of the People of Manwë. Ingwë is safe and unharmed, child," the Maia said. "Would you like to see him?" Glorfindel nodded. "Then let me have the sword," Manveru continued as he held out his hand, "and I will take you to him."

It took a moment for Glorfindel to comply and when he did every Maia there breathed a sigh of relief. It was short-lived though. The Maiar led Glorfindel through the north gate and onto the road leading up the mountain to Taniquetil. Glorfindel took one look at their route and balked, fear beginning to take over as he recalled Námo’s prohibition.

"What trick is this?" he demanded hotly, backing away from the road. "You know I’m not permitted... Lord Námo said I wasn’t..."

He was beginning to panic, and the panic became worse when he realized he didn’t know why he was panicking. He saw Manveru speaking to him but he couldn’t hear what he was saying. His only thought was he had to get away. He wasn’t supposed to be here...

Manveru had just enough time to catch the elda before Glorfindel collapsed, uttering an oath for his stupidity. He was about to call upon his lord when the fabric of Reality shifted and both Manwë and Námo were there.

"I’m sorry, my lord," Manveru said contritely. "I was unaware of your prohibition..."

"Peace, Manveru," Manwë said kindly. "You are not to blame." He looked down at the elf for a moment then turned to Námo with a smile. "It’s your turn, this time."

Námo gave his brother Vala a wry grin. "What’s the matter, did Ingwë wear you out?"

Manwë laughed. "Happy hunting, my brother, and good luck. With this one, you’ll need it."

Námo laughed as well before motioning to several of the waiting Maiar to follow him down the Ages into the Past after a fleeing golden-haired elf.

****

"He didn’t come this way, lord," Fionwë said. He and his fellow Maiar stood with Lord Námo at the foot of the Misty Mountains giving their news. The Lord of Mandos looked more amused than perturbed at their report. There had been no sign of Glorfindel, though every Maia along the presumed route back to Cuiviénen had been alerted. So far, only a few of the Eldar had fled this way and all had been safely retrieved.

"Why am I not surprised?" Námo said to no one in particular. "Our little Balrog-slayer never does the expected, does he?"

"Where could he have gone, then?" Erunáro asked. He was Manveru’s brother in the Thought of Ilúvatar and one of Manwë’s most trusted warriors. Námo was glad to have him there. "Unless..."

Námo looked at the Maia appraisingly, pleased that one of them had figured it out. "Say on, Erunáro. Tell me your thoughts."

"He’s heading for Gondolin," Erunáro proclaimed with certainty. "The question is, how far back into Gondolin’s Past will he have gone?"

"Not far," Námo said. He quickly called up the image of Arda’s continuum for all to see. "Ingwë fled to Cuiviénen but only to this point here when all of the Eldar had already left on their Great Journey, so he was never in danger of meeting himself. I think the same will be true with Glorfindel. He will go to Gondolin but it will be at a point after his own death and none are yet alive in the city. I suspect Eru has had a hand in this, for which we may all be grateful." He gazed at the image for a long moment then pointed to a particular spot. "Here, I think. We will find him here."

****

Glorfindel fled. He wasn’t sure why he was fleeing, or from what; he could not remember. He only knew he mustn’t be caught. So, he would continue fleeing. He fled through darkness and across snow-covered wastelands, heedless of the ice flows. Finally he came to land, desolate under the stars until he was approaching a ring of mountains. He paused then, to catch his breath. Somehow he needed to get through the mountains. Something told him he would be safe from whatever was pursuing him if he could get to the other side. He looked back along his route, wondering who was after him and why. He shook his head. It didn’t matter. He only knew he mustn’t be caught. With that thought in mind he began running again, unaware that he was passing through the mountains, not over them.

When he found himself in a wide valley with the ruins of a seven-tiered city before him, he stopped again. This is where he had been heading. This was his destination. He started to climb the main street of the city that wound through all seven levels. He was looking for someone, but he couldn’t remember who.

He was nearly at the fourth level when he came upon a familiar courtyard. There was a fountain in the middle of it with statues of swans. He looked around and found the gaping entrance of what had once been his home. The emblem of his House carved above the lintel was the only thing that appeared undamaged. The doors to his home hung on broken hinges. The interior was a dark gaping hole. He started towards the entrance.

"Glorfindel."

He spun around with a gasp to find himself surrounded by Maiar. One stood by the fountain, clad as a warrior. Others blocked the road to the lower levels while still others stood beside the gate leading to the next level.

The Maia by the fountain started to walk towards him slowly, holding out his hand. "Time to go home, child."

Glorfindel shook his head in dismay, backing away. "I am home," he whispered. He was silently berating himself for having allowed himself to be so surrounded and wondered if he could make it into his house before they took him. Ruined or not, he knew his home intimately, as these Maiar would not. There were places he could hide and they would never find him....

He turned to run into the house only to plow into a Maia who grabbed him. He started screaming. In the end, it took three of the Maiar to hold him down. Námo approached, shaking his head, as he knelt beside the struggling elf. "Glorfindel. Glorfindel. Whatever are we going to do with you, child?"

He reached out and placed a finger on the ellon’s head and said a single word, plunging the still screaming elf into a deep sleep.

****

When Glorfindel awoke he found himself lying in the courtyard before his ruined home staring up at a ring of Maiar, all armed with swords, all pointed at him. They obviously weren’t about to take any chances with him. Reborn or not, he was a Noldo; worse, he was a proven warrior and they respected that. When Erunáro saw that Glorfindel was awake, he stepped aside to allow his lord entrance into the ring. Námo knelt by Glorfindel’s head.

"Awake at last, my little Balrog-slayer?" the Lord of Mandos asked and brushed his hand against the ellon’s head. Glorfindel shrank from the touch, closing his eyes, mentally steeling himself for the punishment he was about to receive. He’d been caught, after all; it was only to be expected.

Námo continued caressing the elf’s head as he spoke. "Why do I need to punish you, Glorfindel?"

"Because I ran away," he said softly, keeping his eyes closed.

"And why did you run away?"

"I was on the mountain," he said after a long pause. "I’m not suppose to be on the mountain."

"But you ran away. Isn’t that a good thing?"

Glorfindel shook his head and opened his eyes. They were full of despair. "I wanted to be on the mountain. I wanted to go up the road. I knew I shouldn’t but I wanted to anyway. I’m sorry... I know I have to be punished. I...I promise not to... scream too much."

"A promise I will not hold you to, child," Námo said decisively. He suddenly took the ellon by the shoulders and hauled him to a sitting position then grabbed the back of Glorfindel’s head to hold him steady and leaned down and kissed the ellon on the forehead. Then he sat back and waited.

Glorfindel stared at the Vala with incomprehension and then his eyes widened and he clutched at Námo’s arm before he started convulsing. Námo took the ellon into his embrace to support him as Love Imperishable swept through Glorfindel’s fëa with implacable purpose. His shrieks were loud and primal and the Maiar stood watching him in silent awe.

As the last wave of ecstasy passed through him, Glorfindel whimpered. "I’m sorry... I’m sorry... I tried not to scream."

Námo kissed him on the top of his head. "But I’m glad you did, child. Go to sleep now, best beloved." Glorfindel gave another soft whimper as he snuggled closer into Námo’s embrace and fell asleep once again.

****

This time when he woke it was by a small fire. A pillow cushioned his head and a light blanket covered him. He sat up to look around. None of the Maiar were present and Námo was sitting placidly by the fountain.

"This is Gondolin," Glorfindel said with some awe.

"Yes, it is."

"Am I dreaming?"

"No, you are not." Námo stood up and walked over to the elf, extending his hand to help him rise. "Explanations later. It’s time to go home."

Glorfindel looked around once more, seeing the ruin of his home, of his city, and knew at last that this place was not for him. It was a dead city and he was no longer dead. He looked at Námo and nodded. "Home."

Námo smiled down at him. "You may wish to close your eyes. The journey can be disconcerting when you are not used to it." He gathered the elf into his arms and Glorfindel closed his eyes, nestling his head against the Vala’s chest. Without giving any warning, Námo took them home. In spite of his good intentions, Glorfindel screamed once. When they finally arrived, Námo was not at all surprised to find that the young ellon had fainted.

****

Note on Valarin science: It stands to reason that any beings responsible for ‘building’ the universe would have advanced knowledge of the sciences and mathematics involved. I have shown them using that knowledge in such a way that, hopefully, does not go against the spirit of Tolkien’s intent. Ingwë and the elves, of course, would find such knowledge incomprehensible. Tolkien himself states that, "[the Valar] could move backward or forward in thought, and return again so swiftly that to those who were in their presence they did not appear to have moved. All that was past they could fully perceive..." [Morgoth’s Ring]. Although Tolkien does not say, I assume the Maiar have the same ability.

The "glowing strip of light with one end twisted 180-degrees before joining it to the other end" is, of course, what we know as a moebius strip, which is a two-dimensional figure with a single plane, rather than two. It represents the space-time continuum of our planet. Moving along the continuum in any direction, you eventually come back to your starting point. This means that the past will eventually become the future and the future will become the past depending on where you are along the continuum.

40: Damage Assessment

Glorfindel remained unconscious for some time after Námo brought him back to Vanyamar. Ingwë had insisted that his own people care for the ellon rather than any of the Powers or the Maiar.

"I think you have all done enough damage," Ingwë said to Manwë with barely suppressed anger. What had happened to him had been frightening, but his anger was directed at the Valar for placing him in a position of helplessness, knowing he could do nothing to protect his people. Manwë had not argued the point.

Besides Glorfindel, the only other "odd" case was Lirulin. She, in fact, was not a victim of the "temporal displacement of the fëar" (Ingwë memorized that particular phrase, pondering its meaning for a long time afterwards), but rather, waking of her own accord, she slipped out of her hröa and sought out the gates of Mandos on her own. Námo actually found her huddling against the main doors and decided a little shock therapy of a different kind might be in order. What he said to her, no one ever knew. All anyone knew for sure was that Lirulin woke in her hröa three days later asking for food and demanding to see her daughter. The healers were overjoyed, though understandably bemused. Námo was disinclined to tell any of his fellow Valar what he had said to Lirulin and none of them pressed the point. They were just happy to see the poor child reach for Life again.

All the other elves of the city woke feeling refreshed and invigorated and appeared to suffer no ill effects from what had happened. Nevertheless, for the next week or so Maiar walked unclad throughout the city, keeping an eye on the elves to assure that none were suffering unduly.

"Which elves were affected?" Manwë asked Fionwë, four days later, as the Maiar were giving their assessment reports to the Valar.

"Interestingly enough," Fionwë said, "save for Glorfindel, and if we discount Lirulin as a special case, all the other elves were older. All remembered Cuiviénen and the Great Journey. None of the younger elves were affected."

"Is that significant, do you think, my beloved?" Varda asked, noting the expression on Manwë’s face.

"Perhaps," Manwë nodded. "All these elves have entered or are entering the third stage of their existence. That might be our first clue."

"They all originally came from Cuiviénen," Oromë said. "I know most of them by name, for I spent much time among them. Yet, only these few were affected. Why not all the elves who left Cuiviénen to make the Great Journey?"

Aulë spoke then. "Perhaps, as Manwë says, their age is our first clue. Ingwë is the oldest Elda in Vanyamar and he woke first. Which brings me to another question? Why was he the only one affected by the time dilation? None of the others suffered it, only the temporal displacement."

"An interesting observation, brother," Námo replied. "I think Ingwë will prove to be the key to this mystery. I am thinking that he may have been the zero-point from which everything else flowed, which is why only he experienced the time dilation."

"A ripple effect, then," Manwë said with a frown. "So it’s possible that eventually all the elves would have been affected."

"Except they all woke up at the proper time," Varda said.

Manwë sighed. "I am afraid our good intentions backfired."

"Or not," Námo countered and all the other Valar gave him enquiring looks. "I noticed that in the two cases where the elf made it to his ultimate destination, neither arrived at any spatiotemporal coordinate where they were likely to meet themselves or others who knew them. I remarked to Erunáro as we were pursuing Glorfindel that possibly Eru himself had a hand in it, steering our fleeing elves to a spatiotemporal point well after the significant historical event in question. In Ingwë’s case, that was after the elves departed on their Great Journey; for Glorfindel, it was well after all had perished or fled Gondolin, leaving only a dead ruin."

"Then you think Eru was responsible...?" Yavanna started to ask, her expression one of surprise.

Námo shook his head. "Responsible for the near disaster to Ingwë and the others? No. Capable of taking advantage of the situation when it arose, I have no doubt." This last was said with a knowing smile.

"Nor do I," Manwë said, his eyes twinkling with humor as well. "I think this is a matter that will require long thought and much discussion. In the meantime, we should keep an eye on those, like the High King, who were affected. This might have been a fluke, or it might be a harbinger of things to come. None of them should have been able to do what they did, yet the evidence is before us. Unconscious ability or not, it is a dangerous gift and we will need to monitor the situation closely."

"And that brings us to Glorfindel," Námo said with a slight smile. "Our little Balrog-slayer is just full of surprises, isn’t he?"

There were rueful chuckles all around.

"If I didn’t know better," Varda said with a straight face, "I would think Eru inflicted Glorfindel on us purely for his high entertainment value. Ilúvatar obviously had a gleam in his eye when he brought that impossible ellon’s parents together."

They all laughed at that and Manwë opined that Varda was closer to the truth than any of them imagined. A wave of laughter from beyond the Circles of Arda passed through Aman and they knew that Eru was enjoying the joke as much as they.

"So why was he affected?" Aulë asked when the laughter had died down. "He’s quite young, even taking into account the period of time he spent in Mandos."

"He’s the only Reborn living in Vanyamar," Námo replied. "His fëa now exists on a slightly different level of Reality than those of the Once-born, as he so fondly calls them. I suspect that if any of the other Reborn had been here, they too would have fled into the Past."

They all pondered that in silence for some time, but none had an explanation for why Glorfindel was able to do what Ingwë and the other elder elves had done. In the end, it was decided to keep an extra guard on the ellon and Manwë ordered Manveru and his brother Erunáro to walk unclad beside Glorfindel until further notice.

"Glorfindel is not to be left alone for any reason," Manwë ordered and the two Maiar bowed and left to take up their duty.

"And now we must deal with Ingwë’s anger," Manwë concluded on a note of sadness. "I fear we’ve lost his trust. It may be difficult to win it back."

"We will have to tread carefully for a time, my beloved," Varda said with a nod of agreement. "I do not think trust has been entirely broken. Ingwë has sat at our feet too long and loves us too much to turn from us entirely."

"Let him come to us in his own time and fashion," Nienna added. "If we try to push ourselves back into his good graces, it will only make matters worse."

Manwë agreed and the meeting ended, but not before Olórin appeared with news of his own, his expression bland.

"Glorfindel is awake... and he’s not amused."

"Why am I not surprised," Námo said with a rueful shake of his head and then started to laugh. Soon the others joined in.

****

Glorfindel, in fact, was fit to be tied, literally. He had awakened in the infirmary wing of the palace demanding to see Ingwë, Alassiel and Námo (in that order). The healers attempted to calm him, insisting that he remain in the infirmary until they knew for sure he was fine. Since none of them understood anything at all about his condition, this was a moot point. Manveru and Erunáro, standing unseen in the Balrog-slayer’s room raised identical eyebrows at the maledictions coming from Glorfindel’s mouth, most of them in Sindarin, so the healers had no idea what he was saying, but they could guess at their meaning.

In the end, it took five Vanyar to hold Glorfindel down long enough for them to place restraints on him. All the time Glorfindel continued shouting, but when the final restraint was in place he collapsed and began weeping. The healers were glad to leave him to it, many of them already sporting bruises and even a bloody nose or two.

When all had left the room, the two Maiar manifested themselves just enough to lay their hands on the weeping ellon’s head and offer him what comfort they could. Eventually, Glorfindel cried himself into a fitful sleep.

Námo arrived, took one look at the restraints on Glorfindel and uttered an oath that left the two Maiar with their mouths hanging open. He knelt down and ran a hand over the sleeping ellon’s body, ascertaining its state, then with a single thought, unbound the elf and lifted him into his arms.

"Come with me," he said to the two Maiar and they hastily complied as the Vala strode out of the room and down the corridor to where several elves were gathered. One of them looked up to see Námo and the Maiar guards approach and blanched. The others, when they noticed, fell to their knees in obeisance.

"Who ordered the restraints?" the Vala asked in a quiet tone that fooled no one.

One of the elves looked up from where she was kneeling and tentatively raised a hand. Námo stared at the elleth for several moments, his expression unreadable. The healer started trembling. Námo nodded, as if he had received the answer he was looking for. "I am taking Glorfindel to Ingwë. He is no longer your concern."

Without waiting for a response, Námo left the infirmary wing and headed for the royal apartments. He found Ingwë in his study, closeted with his advisors who were making their own assessment of what had happened. All the elves, including Ingwë, shuddered at the cold expression on the Vala’s face. The fact that he was accompanied by two warrior Maiar didn’t go unnoticed either.

"My Lord Námo," Ingwë acknowledged, his expression carefully neutral. "Did you wish something?"

Námo’s smile was not at all pleasant. "I do not like what I am seeing, Ingwë. Your Chief of Healers will be here soon to explain. In the meantime, I will tend to Glorfindel myself. Have Ingwion come to Glorfindel’s room in an hour. He can give me a hand."

Ingwë bristled at the Vala’s tone, but bowed in acquiescence. Námo nodded once then strode out of the room, finally coming to Glorfindel’s room where he laid the still sleeping ellon on the bed and made him as comfortable as possible. Námo reached out and plucked the ellon’s favorite stuffed toy from its location in Tirion and nestled it into Glorfindel’s arms, giving him a kiss on the brow before sitting in a chair deep in thought.

One hour later there was a tentative knock on the door. Námo sent a thought that opened the door of its own accord. "Come in Ingwion," he said without looking up, his gaze still on Glorfindel, who had curled into a ball around the stuffed toy. Námo had been pleased at that for it meant that the elf had finally fallen into a natural sleep.

"M-my lord sent for me?" Ingwion said uncertainly. He had not been present when Námo had interrupted his atar’s conference and had been shocked when informed of Námo’s request. He had never had any fear of the Valar, only reverential respect, even love, but the Lord of Mandos was no one you wanted to be on the bad side of.

Námo looked up at the ellon and smiled. "Yes, child, come here."

Ingwion complied readily enough, though he still looked wary. He stared down at the sleeping elf, a look of surprise followed quickly by one of dismay flashing across his face as he saw Glorfindel cuddled with the stuffed toy. He feared his estimation of the Noldo was sorely misplaced. "Is he going to be all right, lord?" he asked somewhat stiffly.

"With your help, Ingwion," Námo replied, having taken notice of the ellon’s reaction to seeing Glorfindel but declining to comment. "He suffered a terrible psychic shock and I’m afraid the healers did not take that into account when they placed him under restraints."

Ingwion sucked in a breath and felt suddenly ill. Now that he knew what to look for he could see the bruises on Glorfindel’s wrists and shuddered.

"Wh-what do you wish of me, lord?" Ingwion finally asked, feeling more sympathetic towards the sleeping ellon.

"Stay with him," came Námo’s reply. "Let him see a familiar face, the face of a friend, when he awakens. He will make demands to see me, Ingwë and even Alassiel, though not in that order." Námo gave the elf a deprecating smile and Ingwion returned the smile with an understanding grin of his own. "Inform your atar when he awakens. Leave Alassiel out of this for now. She is with Lirulin and Lirulin needs Alassiel more at the moment than Glorfindel does."

"And you... my lord?" Ingwion enquired.

"I will be here as soon as he awakens. My people will inform me."

Ingwion found himself surreptitiously looking around, wondering how many unclad Maiar haunted this room. Námo hid a smile at the ellon’s curiosity and stood up. "Here, you might as well sit down. It may be a long wait." He motioned for Ingwion to sit and the ellon reluctantly complied. Námo clapped him on the shoulder and nodded.

"What Glorfindel needs now is a sympathetic friend, Ingwion. Findaráto is not here or he would fill that role. Are you willing to take your cousin’s place, if only temporarily?"

"I hope it’s more than temporary, lord," Ingwion said with some feeling. "I like Glorfindel. More than that, I admire and respect him... or that is...."

Námo’s expression softened and his tone became more solemn. "Be gentle with him, Ingwion. In many ways he’s younger than any twelve-year-old and has far to go before he reaches full maturity. Yet, never forget that once he was a lord of Ondolindë and stood mighty in the counsels of Turucáno. Never forget that he fought against my Fallen Brother’s Maiar slaves, though it cost him his life. His courage should never be in doubt however he might weep from time to time like any elfling bereft of a favorite toy, or act in a childish manner."

Ingwion nodded, chagrined at his earlier reaction. His heart went out to the poor child. "I want us to be friends, lord. Someday, I hope to love him as my brother... that is, if he will let me."

Námo smiled warmly. "I do not see where that will be a problem, child. Glorfindel gives of himself freely and openly. Treat him the same way and I know you and he will be otornor before long."

Ingwion smiled shyly. "I would like that. He’s... he’s so fascinating. Are all Reborn so fascinating?"

The Lord of Mandos chuckled. "No less fascinating than you are, my son, or any Eruhin, though I will admit that Glorfindel is a bit more fascinating than most." With that, the Vala took his leave, though not before planting a kiss on Ingwion’s brow in blessing and doing the same with Glorfindel, whose only reaction was to snuggle even closer around his stuffed toy.

For a long while Ingwion sat there staring at the sleeping ellon, contemplating the words the Lord of Mandos had spoken. Without conscious thought he began humming the ancient lullaby he had heard the Valar sing, unaware that Manveru and Erunáro had joined in.

****

Otornor: Plural of otorno: sworn brother.

Eruhin: Child of Eru.

41: A Slow Recovery

Glorfindel was barely stirring when Námo was suddenly there. Ingwion didn’t even have time to react. The Lord of Mandos placed a hand on the prince’s shoulder.

"Have someone find your atar, Ingwion," Námo said quietly, keeping his eyes on the slowly stirring ellon, still clutching his stuffed toy. Ingwion nodded and went to the door, calling the first person he saw and giving her his instructions. Then he returned to stand beside the bed in time to see Glorfindel open his eyes, to blink blearily up at him. If he noticed Námo standing there he gave no sign.

"Ingwion," Glorfindel’s voice was weak and hoarse. The ellon tried to sit up but seemed to have some trouble in coordination. Ingwion sat on the bed next to the ellon’s head and helped Glorfindel into a sitting position, using himself as a support for Glorfindel to lean against. The Noldo sighed from the exertion and closed his eyes.

Námo handed Ingwion a goblet filled with water. Ingwion nodded his thanks then placed the goblet to Glorfindel’s lips. "Here, meldonya, drink this. It will help."

Glorfindel dutifully opened his mouth and drank without bothering to open his eyes as Ingwion held the goblet for him.

"All of it, Glorfindel," Námo said, and the ellon opened his eyes in surprise, but did as the Vala commanded. When all the water had been drunk, Námo took the goblet from Ingwion and the prince shifted his position to make it more comfortable for Glorfindel to lean against him. Glorfindel still felt weak but his mind was clearing and he began to remember. He stared up at the Vala.

"Was it a dream?"

Námo shook his head. "Nay, it was not. Neither was it reality. Somehow you and others, including Ingwë, managed to slip into the Past." The Vala held up his hand to still Glorfindel’s questions. "I cannot tell you how it happened because we do not know. You shouldn’t have been able to do what you did in the first place and the fact that you did at all is troubling to us. We are sorry for any pain it may have caused you, child. It was never our intention."

Glorfindel nodded, feeling suddenly tired and leaned further into Ingwion’s embrace. "I woke up and the High King was gone. I couldn’t find him and then..." Memory became clearer then and he saw himself meeting the Maiar and being led towards Taniquetil. He looked up at Námo with fear in his eyes and tried to squirm out of Ingwion’s embrace, but to no avail. "I didn’t know... I didn’t know... I wouldn’t have... I wanted to but I..."

Námo sat on the edge of the bed and took the now weeping ellon into his arms and held him. "I do not blame you, child. No one does. If you had gone with Manveru it would have been well, for we had summoned you. That you misunderstood is not your fault. Hush now, there’s no need for tears. You’re safe and no one’s angry at you."

Glorfindel continued weeping for another minute, struggling to get himself under control. It was then that there was a knock at the door. Námo sent a silent word of command and the door opened of its own accord, admitting Ingwë. The High King entered and took in the scene at once, seeing his son rubbing Glorfindel’s back and whispering something in the ellon’s ear, words of comfort he had no doubt. He also noticed the stuffed toy that Glorfindel clung to with one hand as he nestled in Námo’s embrace and his heart went out to the Noldo.

He closed the door and sat in the chair by the bed, leaning over to place a hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the Vala’s presence. "I understand you were looking for me, child," he said softly.

Glorfindel looked up, wiping the tears from his eyes. "M-my lord, you are safe."

Ingwë nodded. "Yes, I am safe. I hear you had a bit of an adventure."

Glorfindel nodded but did not reply. He closed his eyes again and snuggled deeper into Námo’s embrace and, giving a sigh, fell asleep once again. "I’ll take him, my lord." Námo nodded to Ingwion as he passed Glorfindel into the prince’s embrace. The prince accepted the burden and held the sleeping ellon close to him, pulling the covers over them both and making sure the stuffed toy was firmly in Glorfindel’s grasp. It was then that Ingwë noticed the yellowing bruises on Glorfindel’s wrists and scowled.

He finally looked at Námo, who had not moved except to brush his hand against Glorfindel’s head, stroking his hair. "The Chief of Healers spoke to me at length," he said softly so as not to disturb Glorfindel. "If I had known..."

Námo nodded. "I know, Ingwë. I do not blame you. I do not even blame your healers. They were not to know what had happened to Glorfindel and were unprepared for his reaction upon waking." He paused and gave the High King a sad smile. "If you had let us help..."

Ingwë scowled again but did not contradict the Vala. "Will he be all right? No one else seems to have suffered much from the ordeal. Why is he..."

"Everyone else is much, much older than he, Ingwë," Námo replied. "And being Reborn did not help. He lost much of his ability to resist certain psychic disturbances once his fëa was returned to its primal state of innocence. He’s really very much the elfling in that respect. His recovery, I fear, will be slow. Great care must be taken to assure that he feels secure and loved and held blameless for what happened to him. That’s why I asked Ingwion to be here. Glorfindel already trusts him as a friend and that trust will be needed in the days and weeks to come."

Ingwë nodded, glancing at his son, who returned his nod with one of his own. "I want to help, Atar," the prince said. "After all, you told me he was my responsibility."

Ingwë smiled. "So I did. Very well. It will be as you say, my Lord Námo." His tone was somewhat stiff as he addressed the Vala directly and Námo grieved at that, though he gave no outward sign.

"Thank you," the Vala said simply. "He’s very precious to me. To us."

Ingwë stared at the Lord of Mandos for a moment as if gauging the level of sincerity in the Vala’s words. Finally he nodded. "And to me, as well."

****

Glorfindel’s recovery was indeed slow. He spent most of the next week or so sleeping, rousing just long enough to take in sustenance and attend to personal needs. Ingwion stayed with him most of the time, or Findis, when she found out what had happened to her "nephew".

Alassiel also came by, though he did not know it, being fast asleep, and she did not stay long, for she was concerned for her amillë. When Glorfindel woke Ingwion told him of Alassiel’s visit. The ellon smiled and his eyes brightened with interest for the first time since his "adventure", as everyone was calling it, for lack of a better word.

By the end of the second week, though, Glorfindel began to recover enough to take an interest in things again, though he was still too weak to leave his bed for any length of time. Ingwë visited twice and the two spent some hours comparing notes.

When Glorfindel asked, Ingwë described Cuiviénen to him, telling him what it had felt like to awaken for the first time to see the stars above him and hear the lullaby being sung to him by Ilúvatar. Glorfindel wept at Ingwë’s words and the High King took him into his arms to comfort him. Ingwë decided to distract the ellon with a question of his own.

"What was it like... being back in Gondolin?" Ingwë asked.

For a moment, Glorfindel did not respond, then, slowly, softly, he began to speak. "It was so... so lifeless. Not even the fountains ran anymore. The air was cold and unspeakably dead, as if a pall lay over all. It was home and it wasn’t. It was a city of the dead and I was no longer dead. I-I didn’t belong there anymore. I-I don’t th-think I belong anywhere anymore." This last was said with such a sense of despair that Ingwë tightened his hold on the ellon and began rocking him.

"You belong here, child, in Aman," he said. "This is where you were born and grew up. This will always be home, even if you don’t think so. Somewhere deep inside you know this to be true."

"In Gondolin..."

"In Gondolin, what, child?"

Glorfindel looked up at the High King. "In Gondolin I felt wanted and... and needed... and my king... my king loved me..." He couldn’t go on for he began weeping again.

"You’re wanted here, Glorfindel," Ingwë replied, hoping his words would get through the sense of desolation he heard in the Noldo’s words. "And needed. Arafinwë needs you more than you can ever guess, and Findaráto. You are loved by so many people, including ... including the Valar... Lord Námo especially, I think. Can you find no comfort in that, child? Can you not see past your pain and open yourself to the love that is all around you?"

"D-do you love me?" Glorfindel asked in a small voice, unsure of the answer.

"Oh, child," Ingwë said as he started to weep himself, but laughing at the same time. "I’ve loved you from the moment you stepped forward to introduce yourself and insulted me to my face. I could not help but love you at that moment."

Glorfindel giggled in spite of himself and settled deeper into the High King’s embrace, content to remain there for a time, feeling the softness of Ingwë’s beard as he ran his fingers through it. He was fascinated by the beard, never having seen any elf with one before. Eventually he fell asleep again. Ingwë had a time disentangling the ellon’s fingers from his beard when he wanted to leave.

****

By the third week, Glorfindel was finding his bed to be a prison and demanded to get up. Ingwion helped him dress and stayed close to his side as he walked the corridor outside his room, for Glorfindel had decided he wanted to eat breakfast in the dining room that morning. The ellon was white as a sheet before he had gotten too far and Ingwion had to carry him back to his room, much to Glorfindel’s embarrassment.

"Now, don’t fret so, meldonya," Ingwion admonished the younger elf. "I think you did very well to get as far as you did."

He set the ellon in a chair next to an embrasure overlooking one of the many gardens surrounding the palace. "Why don’t you sit here for the nonce and rest. I will bring you something cool to drink and a light repast. Later, we will try again. There’s no rush, you know."

"I’ve been nothing but trouble since I got here," Glorfindel complained with a scowl. "You must hate me."

Ingwion looked at the ellon in surprise. "Hate you! Whyever would I hate you, meldonya?"

But Glorfindel would not speak and Ingwion decided to let it pass for the moment. He was troubled, for the ellon’s emotional recovery seemed slower than it should have been. None of the others who had slipped into the Past appeared to be unduly harmed by the experience and seemed fully recovered. His own atar assured him that it was so. Glorfindel, on the other hand, was querulous and short-tempered most of the time and there was no joy in his eyes anymore. This grieved the older ellon more than anything. It was what had attracted Glorfindel to him in the first place, that joyfulness that seemed to be an integral part of him. He had wondered if all Reborn had that same sense of joy about them. Fearing for his new friend, Ingwion sought out the one person he thought might help.

"You wished to see me, young Ingwion?" Námo asked.

He had agreed to meet with the prince when Olórin gave him the message. Ingwion had simply spoken into the thin air later that night when Glorfindel was sleeping and made his request, confident that someone would hear. He was only surprised that Námo’s message arrived as quickly as it did, little realizing how desperate the Valar were to make amends. Ingwë had not spoken to any of the Valar since encountering Námo in Glorfindel’s room, nor had he come to Taniquetil on Valanya, the High Day among the Eldar, as was his wont, which grieved the Valar, Manwë especially. So it was with some relief that Námo agreed to meet with the prince.

They met in a courtyard on Taniquetil. Ingwion appeared overly nervous and Námo attempted to make him feel as comfortable as possible.

"I am concerned about Glorfindel," Ingwion said without preamble, deciding not to beat around the bush. He suspected that the Vala was quite aware of Glorfindel’s mental and emotional state, but had learned early in his life that for some reason the Valar appeared to want the Eldar to tell them what the Eldar suspected the Valar already knew. He never understood it, but he accepted it as what it was.

"As am I," Námo said. He knew what Ingwion was thinking and hid a smile. It would not do to tell the young ellon that it wasn’t a question of already knowing something on the part of the Valar, but rather a delight in listening to these Children tell them of their discoveries as they explored their world. The Eldar could little appreciate how new everything was to them and how much delight the Valar and Maiar took in seeing the universe through the Eldar’s younger eyes.

"I don’t know what to do to help him," Ingwion admitted forlornly. "He has no joy in him any more and I... I fear for him."

Námo looked upon the ellon sympathetically. He, of course, had visited Glorfindel several times in the past week, though he had not allowed his Presence to be felt by any of the Eldar and was equally concerned by Glorfindel’s listlessness. Not even a visit from Alassiel, when the ellon was awake, had seemed to help, though Glorfindel was relieved to hear that Lirulin was slowly recovering from fading and appeared to be wanting to live again. That had been a worry to him and he was glad for Alassiel’s sake, but it was not enough to drag him out of his own fit of depression.

"Can you help him?" Ingwion asked doubtfully when Námo did not immediately respond.

"What would you like me to do, child? I cannot order Glorfindel to be happy again."

"I-I just thought... I mean... he seems to like you... I don’t know why... oh! that didn’t come out the way I meant... I’m sorry...."

Námo started laughing and threw an arm around the prince’s shoulders and hugged him. "I don’t know why he likes me either, child, so we’re both in the dark about that."

Ingwion relaxed somewhat, embarrassed at his gaffe but mollified by the Vala’s words. "Sorry. I only meant that the two of you seem to have a special relationship and maybe you can talk to him or... or something," he ended lamely, now feeling even more embarrassed by his temerity in seeking out the Vala for such a paltry reason.

"Your concern for Glorfindel does you credit, Ingwion," Námo said. "And I am honored that you would seek my help in this matter. Glorfindel’s health is a concern for us all." The Vala sighed and stood up, staring at nothing in particular. "Unfortunately, our hands, my hands especially, are tied. Your atar’s anger precludes us from offering our help and we cannot intervene."

"Atar may have forsaken you, but I have not," Ingwion said with some heat as he too stood to face the Vala.

"Ingwion..."

"No, my lord," the ellon protested. "Atar gave me responsibility for Glorfindel. I am not an elfling needing anyone’s permission. I do not forbid the help of any, Elda or Vala. Glorfindel is more than my friend. I will not stand by and watch him fade just because Atar is in a temper over what happened. That is between you and him."

"He is your king, Ingwion," Námo said somewhat darkly. "Would you defy your king?"

Ingwion shook his head. "But he has not spoken to me as king, only as my atar. He has not decreed that none shall call upon the Valar. Indeed, many of our people still continue to serve you here and in Valmar, do they not?" Námo nodded and Ingwion continued. "Atar is not a tyrant, my lord. He may not like that I come to you for help, but he cannot forbid it."

For a long moment the Vala looked at the ellon standing determinedly before him and finally smiled. "I am glad one of you has some sense."

"Atar is angry, my lord," Ingwion admitted ruefully. "But his anger is directed more at himself, at his sense of helplessness, than it is directed towards any of the Valar. He’ll come around soon enough. You just have to give him time."

"He will be given all the time he needs, child."

Ingwion spun around to see Manwë and Varda standing there and bowed, suddenly feeling uncertain in the presence of the Elder King and his Spouse. Manwë smiled warmly and beckoned for the ellon to approach, laying his hands on Ingwion’s shoulders when he did.

"Glorfindel is fortunate to have so staunch a champion as you, my child. Never fear. We will do all we can to help your friend. He is too important to Aman, to Arda, for us not to."

"What will you do, lord?" Ingwion asked, feeling hopeful for the first time since coming to Taniquetil.

"Why, give Glorfindel what he most desires," Manwë said with a light laugh. "Or rather, almost," the Elder King amended. Then he proceeded to tell Ingwion his plan.

When the prince returned to Vanyamar, it was with a lighter heart.

****

Ingwion waited two days before deciding Glorfindel was strong enough. Glorfindel was able to make it to the dining room the day after his aborted attempt, though it drained him completely. He barely had the strength to lift a fork and Ingwion had to help him. Alassiel was there, as were Elessairon and the other Noldor, except Vorondil. They all greeted Glorfindel warmly and Alassiel helped feed him, much to Glorfindel’s embarrassment and secret delight.

"It is good to see you finally up and around, Glorfindel," Elessairon said with a grin. "I was getting bored."

"Oh, and why is that?" Glorfindel asked with something of his old enthusiasm.

"Nothing interesting has happened lately," came the reply. Elessairon gave Glorfindel a smirk.

"Except one of the palace cats decided to have her kittens underneath the High King’s throne," Ercassë said with a giggle.

"Well, you can’t blame me for that," Glorfindel said with feigned pique.

"Unfortunately, no," Elessairon said with a straight face and a mournful sigh.

That set everyone laughing, including Glorfindel, though everyone noticed how frail he sounded and grieved at the loss of joy that had permeated the ellon’s very being. Ingwion decided to take the Noldor and Alassiel into his confidence and they all brightened at the prospect of being a part of the "recovery mission", as Lómion put it.

The next day, Glorfindel was sitting in one of the gardens after breakfast conversing quietly with Alassiel, Elessairon, Lómion and the two Noldorin ellith. Ingwion appeared with a message tube in his hand, which he handed to Glorfindel.

"This came late last night," Ingwion said to a surprised Glorfindel. "You were already asleep, so I decided it would be best to wait until now to give it to you."

Glorfindel stared at the tube in his hand for a moment before opening it and pulling out the thin sheet of vellum inside it. The missive was wrapped with a blue ribbon to which was attached a large seal showing an eagle with wings outspread. He carefully broke the seal and opened the letter. Ingwion and the others watched as Glorfindel read what was written and saw the blood drain from the ellon’s face, yet, there was a look of joy that suffused the Noldo’s entire being and his eyes glittered brightly. It was the first time in weeks that Ingwion had seen such light in the younger ellon’s eyes and was glad.

Glorfindel looked up, his eyes wet with tears. "It’s from Lord Manwë," he said, speaking barely above a whisper. "He wants to see me. H-he says I can bring a friend...friends." He stopped, feeling hesitant, his expression suddenly uncertain.

"Would you like us to come with you?" Ingwion asked gently, indicating the others, and when Glorfindel nodded shyly, he gathered the ellon in his arms and hugged him. "We would be very honored, meldonya. Thank you."

The others all echoed Ingwion’s sentiment and Glorfindel smiled at the obvious warmth and love that he felt from the ellyn and ellith sitting with him.

"When and where does Lord Manwë wish to see you, Glorfindel?" Alassiel asked.

"Tomorrow evening in Valmar," he replied, pulling himself out of Ingwion’s embrace to answer the elleth. "I am to come at the second hour past sunset. Are... are you sure you all want to come?"

"Wouldn’t miss it for anything," Elessairon said with a wicked grin. "It’s bound to be interesting, especially with you there."

Glorfindel stuck his tongue out at the ellon and everyone laughed. The Valar’s plan seemed to be working already.

42: An Appointment in Valmar

The rest of that day and all the next was something of a trial for Glorfindel, not to mention everyone else, but they took it in good humor, understanding why. Valmar was a half day’s journey away, so the small party of elves left Vanyamar shortly after breakfast. Winter was approaching and the days were growing shorter. Sunset would be early and Ingwion wanted to reach the city in time for a meal, though he suspected Glorfindel would be too wound up to eat; he had barely eaten anything since receiving the Elder King’s summons.

Glorfindel, for his part, became more and more quiet as the day progressed and the journey to Valmar commenced. The others in the party did not try to press him to join in any merriment they might be engaged in, respecting his need for quiet, but neither did they exclude him. Thus, it was a lighthearted group that wended its way across the plain separating the two cities.

When Ingwion informed Ingwë of Manwë’s plan and his role in it, Ingwë gave his son a piercing look. "Be sure to take a suitable escort for the ellith," he said, then he almost smiled, the first time since the Incident. "I will leave it to you and the other ellyn to protect the denizens of Valmar from Glorfindel."

Ingwion actually laughed and promised to do his best. Thus it was that the party was augmented by an escort of guards as well as Findis and Indil to act as chaperones.

Valmar was a completely different city than any that the Eldar had built. For one thing there were only eight buildings, mansions actually, each surrounded by gardens and a large courtyard fronting a wide avenue, called the Landamallë Valion. The avenue ran northeast to southwest, between two mansions, with three mansions on either side of the wide street. Four other roads entered the city along the cardinal points, each with its own gate at the entrance of the city. At the northeast end of the Landamallë Valion, closest to Taniquetil, stood the mansion of Manwë and Varda. It was easily the largest building there, its porticos and colonnades reaching skyward. The mansion of Námo and Vairë stood at the other end of the avenue standing closest to the Máhanaxar and the more distant Halls of Mandos.

As one faced the mansion of the Elder King, Aulë and Yavanna’s mansion stood to the left of Manwë’s mansion with the North road, the Formenya Tëa, between them. Ulmo’s mansion stood opposite, the East road, the Rómenya Tëa, between his mansion and Manwë’s. Nienna’s mansion stood to the right of her brother Námo’s mansion as one faced it, with the West road, the Númenya Tëa, between them. Opposite was the mansion of Irmo and Estë with the South road, the Hyarmenya Tëa, between that mansion and Námo’s. Tulkas and Nessa’s mansion stood between Aulë’s and Nienna’s, while Oromë and Vána’s mansion faced it on the other side of the malinorni-lined avenue.

The town of Eldamas, where lived the Eldar who served in the city, lay on the outskirts of Valmar along the Formenya Tëa. This was the road that led directly to Vanyamar and Taniquetil. Halfway along this road as it curved towards the northeast, another road joined it leading north-northwest towards Formenos. This was the Mall’ Etelerroron, in memory of Fëanáro and Finwë. The Númenya Tëa led to Lórien and beyond to the House of Nienna by the shores of the Ekkaia. Several leagues along this road, before one reached Lórien, another road veered to the southwest leading to Mandos. It was known as the Mallë Mandëo. The Rómenya Tëa led directly to Tirion. The Hyarmenya Tëa wended its way through the farming communities that lay in the Southern Fiefdoms of the Eldar where the soil was the richest and the climate the mildest. There were dwellings of the Eldar along each of the roads, inns and shops mostly, catering to any of the Eldar traveling between various places in Aman, but the main town lay along the North road.

It was to this town that Ingwion led his party, planning to stop at a favorite inn of his, the Laughing Vala. They were expected, for Ingwion had sent messages ahead. Because the meeting with Manwë was to take place in the evening it was decided that they would remain overnight. Indeed, Ingwion planned to spend several days in Valmar with Glorfindel and the others. Námo had practically made it an order and Manwë had nodded his agreement.

"It will do Glorfindel and the others good to be away from Vanyamar for awhile," the Lord of Mandos had said, and Ingwion was wise enough not to question a Vala, especially this Vala, when being given a directive.

Eldamas straggled along both sides of the North road, with side streets leading away from the main avenue. The town was quite large actually and Glorfindel was a bit lost as Ingwion led them through a winding way across courtyards and squares towards the inn. He had no memory from his previous life of ever having been here before. Soon they reached their destination, horses seen to and rooms assigned. Glorfindel found himself being given a room of his own, much to his surprise and consternation.

"You’re not the only one with a message from the Valar," Ingwion said when Glorfindel asked him about the room. "I was given my own orders concerning you."

"But why?"

Ingwion shook his head. "I do not know, meldonya. I only know what I was told: you were to be given a room for yourself, this room to be precise."

Glorfindel looked disturbed and not a little wary. "Sometimes I wish they would just leave me alone," he whispered in anguish and Ingwion’s heart went out to the young ellon and he hugged him, offering him comfort.

"But is the alternative not worse, child?" he asked. Glorfindel had no answer, though he spent some time pondering the prince’s words. Finally, he sighed and nodded his head. Ingwion released him with a smile. "Rest now. I will have Elessairon come to you and help you ready yourself for your meeting. I will also have something light brought up for you as well. It would be well if you tried to eat. It will only leave the Elder King with a bad impression if you faint on him, you know."

Glorfindel couldn’t help but chuckle at that and nodded his agreement. Rest, of course, did not come easily or swiftly but Glorfindel found himself starting awake at the sound of a soft knock on the door. He called out, struggling to rise from his bed and saw Elessairon and Lómion entering, both already dressed in formal robes. Lómion carried a covered tray from which enticing smells emanated. Both ellyn were grinning.

"I’m glad you were able to rest, Glorfindel," Elessairon said. "We’ve brought you something to eat. Ingwion says you are to eat everything on this tray even if we have to hold you down and force you to eat it."

Glorfindel merely nodded. "Thank you," he said meekly and the two ellyn exchanged looks as Glorfindel took the tray and began to sip on the light meat broth that he found under the warming cover. There was also some fresh bread and a plate of fruit and cheese. There was no wine or beer, but there was a pot of flower tea — ninquë ariendë, his favorite. It was more than he had eaten in the last two days, but he suddenly felt stronger for it.

The other ellyn remained silent while Glorfindel ate. Elessairon went through Glorfindel’s bags and pulled out the clothes Glorfindel would wear to his meeting with Manwë. Lómion, meanwhile arranged for a tub to be brought to the room and hot water for a bath prepared. Once Glorfindel finished eating he stripped and climbed into the tub while the other two ellyn sat on the bed, idly talking, though Glorfindel said little, if anything, the entire time.

Once he was dried off, the ellyn helped him to dress. There was a knee-length midnight blue velvet tunic with a high collar trimmed with silver filigree embroidery set in a serpentine pattern. Green-blue tourmaline and yellow topaz were alternately set between the loops of the embroidery. The sleeves of the tunic were slashed and tight at the wrist. The spring-green watered silk lining showing through the slashes matched the color of the silk shirt that was worn underneath. There were also leather breeches, dyed a darker green. Glorfindel’s formal robe of blue-green brocade trimmed with yellow ribbon embroidery completed the ensemble.

As Elessairon helped Glorfindel with his braids, following the ellon’s instructions carefully, a knock on the door found Ingwion standing there, also formally dressed, and carrying a small round box. He grinned as he entered and nodded approval at seeing Elessairon helping Glorfindel. "I brought something for you," he said, laying the box on a table and opening it. All three ellyn gasped in wonder when they saw what lay within. It was a chaplet of gold in the shape of malinorë leaves intertwined with representations of elanor and niphredil in white gold and mithril, respectively. It was beautifully crafted, the leaves and the flowers seemingly real for all that they were made of metal.

"Wh-what does this mean?" Glorfindel asked with some trepidation. He was sure that there was some mistake.

"It means that no member of the Noldorin royal family goes before the Elder King without being properly attired," Ingwion stated, perhaps more firmly than needed, but recognizing the signs of rebellion in Glorfindel’s eyes. His tone was meant to forestall any further protest from the younger ellon.

Glorfindel started at Ingwion’s words. "I’m not..."

"Tell that to Arafinwë and Eärwen," Ingwion smiled gently and then he found himself hugging the Noldo who was suddenly crying. "There, there," he said soothingly, patting Glorfindel on the back to comfort him. "Is that any way for a Balrog-slayer to act? Now dry those tears. It’s almost time to leave."

With that he released Glorfindel from his embrace and brought the chaplet from the box, placing it on the Noldo’s head. Glorfindel sniffled a bit, wiping the tears with a handkerchief that Lómion conveniently produced. "My ammë never lets me leave the house without one," he said wryly and everyone laughed.

Ingwion nodded in approval at Glorfindel. "A proper prince. Come, let us go." He motioned Glorfindel to lead the way and soon the ellyn were standing in the common room of the inn along with the ellith and their escort. All were in formal dress. Even the guards wore their best uniforms. The other patrons of the inn, a mix of Vanyar and Noldor, stared open-mouthed at the sight. When two Maiar suddenly appeared in their midst, everyone scrambled to their feet and bowed, as did Ingwion’s party.

"Hail, Lord Glorfindel, Balrog-slayer," one of the Maiar said. He was wearing a white robe underneath a sky-blue surcoat with an eagle embroidered upon it. "I am Fionwë of the People of Manwë. This is Maranwë of the People of Námo. We have been sent by our lords to escort you and your party."

Maranwë gave them a short bow. He was attired similarly to Fionwë, save that his surcoat was black and was embroidered with Námo’s emblem of the Sun-in-Eclipse.

"Th-thank you," Glorfindel said nervously, looking a bit pale. He had been hoping for a meeting with the Elder King for so long but now that the moment had arrived he was suddenly unsure. The two Maiar gave him sympathetic smiles and Maranwë put his hands on either side of the ellon’s face, gazing intently into Glorfindel’s eyes. Glorfindel found himself falling into the Maia’s gaze, the depth of love that he felt coming from Maranwë was incredibly intimate, almost overwhelming, yet it did not excite or trouble him. Instead he felt himself becoming calm, calmer than he had ever felt in his life... in either life.

Then Maranwë released him from his gaze and Glorfindel took a shuddering breath. "Are you ready now, child?" the Maia asked gently and Glorfindel nodded shyly. With a nod, the two Maiar went to the door of the inn followed by Glorfindel and the others.

They walked as a group, the guards on the outside, feeling somewhat superfluous with the two Maiar there, and everyone else in the center with Glorfindel and Ingwion in the lead. Fionwë led them and Maranwë followed behind everyone else. The townspeople stood in open-mouthed wonder at the sight as the party walked through the town towards the northern gate leading into the city of the Powers. In the gathering gloom of night there was little to see of the city, but every mansion was lit up and lanterns glowed from the lower branches of the malinorni lining the avenue.

Fionwë led them through the gates leading to the mansion of the Elder King and then through the main courtyard where fountains merrily sang. A wide portico with three broad steps fronted the mansion, an incredible edifice made mostly from cut crystals of different hues. Sapphires seemed to make up its foundation with towers of amethyst and colonnades of amber. Walls made of blue quartz there were and floors made from beryl and meneluissar. Even at night the crystalline structure shimmered under the stars; in the brightness of day, it would positively shine. Lights from inside the structure made it glow in a rainbow of colors, though blue seemed to dominate.

Glorfindel found himself faltering in his steps, awe and fear mingling within him. The other elves were equally impressed by what they saw. All stopped and stared up at the residence of the Elder King and his beloved Varda in wonder. Fionwë looked back from the top step of the portico and smiled at them.

"Take your time, my children," he said quietly. "Have no fear. It is merely a building after all. The one who awaits you within is the one you have always known and love."

Glorfindel, however, was beginning to have second thoughts, feeling faint and suddenly overheated in his formal robes. Ingwion, by his side, noticed his distress and took him by the shoulders and made him sit down on the lowest step.

"Head between the knees, meldonya," he said softly as he sat on Glorfindel’s left. "Try to breathe normally."

Glorfindel did as he was told and the blackness eating away at the edges of his consciousness began to recede. He felt rather than saw someone sit beside him on his right and place a cool hand on the back of his neck. Then a goblet was being pressed to his lips and he drank the water gratefully. When he recovered his equilibrium he saw that Alassiel was sitting next to him, a worried smile on her face. It was her hand on his neck. Ingwion gave him a squeeze on his arm.

Glorfindel grimaced. "Sorry. I don’t know what came over me," he said in apology.

"Well, at least you were quiet about it," Ingwion said with a snort. "The first time I was brought here I started screaming."

Glorfindel stared at the Vanyarin prince in surprise. Ingwion nodded, smiling wryly.

"How old were you?" Glorfndel asked.

"About ten I think, maybe twelve," Ingwion replied. "I was being presented to the Powers you see, as Atar’s heir. All the Valar were gathered here in this mansion to meet me."

"Why here and not on the mountain?" Glorfindel asked.

Ingwion shrugged. "I do not know. I only know that I took one look at this place and started screaming. Atar was beside himself with embarrassment and Ammë was about ready to deny she ever gave birth to me." The prince started laughing and Glorfindel smiled in spite of himself. Alassiel and the others smirked.

"So what happened?" Glorfindel asked.

"He spent the better part of his stay here sitting on my lap and playing with one of my stars."

The elves found themselves scrambling to their feet and bowing as Varda stepped down from the entrance, the wreath of living stars shining brightly above her. Her expression was one of mild amusement.

"St-star?" Glorfindel stuttered as he stole a look at Ingwion.

Ingwion gave him a weak smile and whispered. "It was a very small star."

Varda laughed at that. "Small indeed, but it was the only thing that distracted him enough to shut him up so the rest of us could have a decent conversation."

Now Ingwion started blushing as the ellyn and ellith around him sniggered.

"I don’t think your parents allowed you to return here until you were well past your majority, did they?" Varda looked at Ingwion, and the amusement in her eyes was not at all condescending.

"Something like that," Ingwion laughed ruefully.

Varda nodded then turned her attention to Glorfindel, who was still feeling shaky. She held out her hand and after a moment’s hesitation Glorfindel took it. "My beloved awaits thee, child. Wilt thou not come?"

"Wh-what of my friends?" he stammered.

She smiled warmly. "They will be here when thou art ready to leave, but it is for thee to meet with the Elder King alone."

Glorfindel blanched slightly at that. He knew that practically speaking not everyone could accompany him to his audience with Manwë but he figured that Ingwion at least would be able to. Now he wondered if he really wanted to do this after all.

As if divining his thoughts, the Valië said, "It is not for thee to decide if thou wilt or no, child. The Elder King of Arda hath summoned thee this night. Come." And with that, she led him gently up the steps and Glorfindel could not deny her. Just as he was stepping across the threshold the ellon stopped and looked back to see his friends being led away by the two Maiar attendants towards a side gate that led into a garden. As Varda gently pulled him away the mithril doors silently closed, leaving him alone with the Queen of Stars.

****

Landamallë Valion: The Avenue of the Valar. Landamallë literally means "wide street" [landa "wide" + mallë "street]. Vali is an alternative plural of Vala.

Eldamas: Elftown. This name was most likely a designation used by the Valar and Maiar to indicate that part of Valmar where the Vanyar serving the city dwelt and later adopted by the elves for themselves.

Mall’ Etelerroron: Road of the Exiled Ones; reconstructed from Sindarin edledhron > Old Sindarin etledro(ndo) [ET, LED]

Mallë Mandëo: Road of Doom.

Formenya Tëa: Northern Road.

Númenya Tëa: Western Road.

Rómenya Tëa: Eastern Road.

Hyarmenya Tëa: Southern Road.

Malinorni: Plural of malinornë: the mallorn tree.

Ekkaia: The Outer Ocean west of Valinor that circles Arda.

Ninquë Ariendë: White Daisy. For the etymology of ariendë, see the Sindarin eirien. White daisy tea is a mild tea that is yellow-green in color.

Ammë: Hypocoristic form of amillë: Mother. 

Note on geography: In reading the Silmarillion and checking various sources, I could not seem to pin down an exact geography of Valinor except vague sentences, such as "Mandos lay to the west of Valmar (Silm)". There is even some confusion as to where, in relation to Tirion, Taniquetil lies. Some maps show it to the south-southwest of Tirion, others to the north-northeast. For purposes of this story, I have placed Taniquetil north-northeast of Tirion. Tirion lies directly east of Valmar and Lórien lies directly west, with Mandos south of Lórien. All other locations are based on this orientation.

The description of Valmar is, of course, from my own imagination, coupled with whatever descriptions I could find from Tolkien. I have based its layout on the ceremonial centers of the Aztecs and Mayans, especially the ancient city of Teohituacan in Mexico.

Note on the use of gemstones: The choice of gemstones making up the structure of the mansions of the Valar is deliberate, based on the spiritual and healing properties attributed to these stones throughout history and by different cultures. I have, of course, been highly selective of the meanings and powers of each gemstone to fit the parameters of my story and they may not always agree with the perceived wisdom of those who believe in crystal powers. To make it easier for readers to remember, I will repeat the meanings of any gemstones I use in future chapters so you do not have to keep referring back to previous chapters.

Blue-Green Tourmaline: Brings a joy for life. It promotes an appreciation for the many wonders that life has to offer. It encourages patience and openness and promotes peace, balance, and emotional purification.

Yellow Topaz: Symbolic of friendship and it strengthens one's capacity to give and receive love.

Sapphire: Symbolic of wisdom and purity.

Amethyst: A purple stone symbolic of spirituality and piety.

Amber: Symbolic of courage and the presence of Eru Ilúvatar.

Blue Quartz: Symbolic of peace and tranquility.

Beryl: The proper name for the Emerald: Symbolic of love, fidelity, faith and hope.

Meneluissar: Sky-blue stone; what we would call lapis lazuli, with the same meaning [meneluin "sky-blue" + sar "stone", with assimilation]. Symbolic of truth.

43: Meeting With the Elder King

Varda led him down a wide hall floored with alternating squares of beryl and meneluissar. Evenly spaced columns of white marble stood on either side of the central nave. The walls were made from blue quartz and the ceiling was a clear crystal that allowed one to see the sky. When Glorfindel looked up the heavens were full of stars all ablaze. Starlight seemed to be the hall’s only illumination, yet it was enough to see by. At the end of the hall was a tall door with two long panels, one of burnished gold, the other of mithril. Both panels showed a tree and Glorfindel knew that these were the Two Trees of distant memory. Varda looked down at her visitor and smiled, for Glorfindel could not see how the light of the Trees still shone through his own eyes, bright and clear.

As they approached the door, it opened of its own accord, the two panels splitting to admit them. Glorfindel took a deep breath and hoped that he would not do or say anything embarrassing. He wasn’t sure what to expect and his one other encounter with Manwë was no help to him.

"He won’t bite, you know," Varda bent down slightly to whisper in the elf’s ear. "He is particularly fond of elflings... and those who are elflings at heart."

Glorfindel blushed at that, still feeling a bit lost. He could well understand why Ingwion felt the need to scream when he had first come here as a child. Varda stopped before the door and turned to Glorfindel, placing her hands on either side of his face and gazing deep into his eyes. "Take a deep breath, child, and let it out slowly...again...and once more."

Glorfindel had no choice but to comply. As he followed Varda’s instructions he began to feel steadier and his mind felt less skittish, more focused.

"That’s it, child," Varda crooned. "There’s nothing to fear. All here are your friends."

Glorfindel took one more centering breath and nodded. "Friends," he echoed and Varda smiled and took him by the hand again and led him into the audience chamber, the doors closing silently behind them.

Glorfindel looked around and found that the room was smaller than he thought it might be, perhaps no larger than the royal family’s dining hall in Tirion. There were only two thrones on a dais which took up the back third of the room. The thrones were made of clear quartz that looked like ice, and the dais was made of blue quartz. The floor of the room was tiled in pure white marble. The walls were plastered and painted with colorful scenes from Aman depicting daily life among the elves and the Powers. The ceiling was made of the same clear crystal that formed the ceiling in the entrance hall. There were tables and chairs of richly grained wood and brocaded seats scattered about the room that oddly enough did not look out of place. It was towards one set of chairs that Varda led her charge.

Glorfindel saw that, beside the Elder King, two others were there. He was unsurprised to see Lord Námo but the other...

Glorfindel stopped short, shock making it difficult to breathe and then somehow he was kneeling on the floor and memory flooded him and his own sense of shame took him. He started to weep and stammer an apology but he found himself being lifted up and staring into the concerned face of Lord Ulmo.

"What tears are these, child? Why weep you so?" Ulmo’s voice was gentle for all that it was deep with the echo of the sound of the ocean in it. He stood tall, though not overly so, his long hair and beard were the blue-green of seaweed, trailing nearly to the floor. His eyes were a deep purple. He wore a sleeveless robe that fell to mid-calf. It glittered with cold iridescence in the starlight, reminding Glorfindel of fish scales. The robe was belted with coral in shades of pale pink and deep red. On his head he wore a garland of nénur entwined with hrívezellar. The dark green of the wintergreen leaves along with the nodding white flowers and scarlet berrylike fruit of the plant were a stark contrast to the yellow water lilies. His feet were bare as were his legs. The Ulumúri, the great horns of Ulmo, large conches nearly twice the size of Glorfindel’s head, hung across his chest.

Glorfindel could only shake his head at the Vala, unable to form the words he knew must be said. Slowly he went to his knees again, his eyes locked with those of the Lord of Waters. Ulmo allowed him to kneel, knowing that this was important to Glorfindel, though it was of no import to himself. Sometimes he forgot that these Children existed exclusively in linear Time and needed to act out what had already happened in their hearts.

"I’m... I’m sorry, my lord," Glorfindel sobbed. "Turgon wouldn’t... and I didn’t know..."

"Tush, child," Ulmo said, pulling the ellon to his feet once again. "I’ve never blamed you or anyone else for Turgon’s folly. Now, dry these tears." And much to Glorfindel’s surprise, the Lord of Waters gathered the ends of his long beard and began wiping the elf’s face. "Now, there. That’s better," the Vala said, a pleased smile on his face. Without further ado, he turned and brought Glorfindel to where Manwë and Námo still stood, patiently waiting. Manwë’s expression was warm, Námo’s was inscrutable.

The Elder King, Glorfindel saw, wore an ankle-length tunic with three-quarter sleeves of soft wool dyed a deep blue, almost indigo. It was slitted on both sides to the hips, the hem, neck and sleeves trimmed with grey squirrel fur. Underneath was a white shirt of the finest linen and breeches of undyed kid leather. The sleeves of the shirt were bloused and gathered tightly at the wrists. White on white embroidery covered the cuffs. Knee-length leather boots were on his feet. His chestnut brown hair was unbraided and was wreathed with a garland of laurel and golden oak leaves. His only jewelry was a mithril chain upon which hung a large uncut sapphire held in the claws of an eagle in flight, also made of mithril.

Námo was a study in contrast to the Elder King. He was dressed in an ankle-length tunic of unrelieved black velvet trimmed at the hem and wrists with sable fur. It had a high collar heavily embroidered in silver filigree and the sleeves were tightly gathered at the wrists. The tunic was belted with silver disks alternately etched with either Isil at full or with a representation of Telperion. His long blue-black hair was elf-braided, including, Glorfindel noticed, Sindar warrior braids entwined with moonstones, black opals and sea pearls as well as mithril and onyx beads in a pattern unfamiliar to him. He wore a coronet of mithril wrought in the shape of two stylized birds facing one another with their claws outstretched, their long tails joining in the back. Between the claws lay a single large diamond, its facets shimmering blue in the soft starlight that was the room’s only illumination.

Glorfindel belatedly noticed Varda’s attire and was amazed to see that the Queen of Stars wore only a simple sleeveless overgown of white samite slit up the center to just below her breasts so that the undertunic of blue watered silk showed through. The skirt of the overgown flared at the hem. The sleeves of the undertunic were tight to the wrists. She wore no crown nor garland save for the wreath of living stars above her head and a single star sapphire hung from a silver-linked chain that nestled between her breasts.

Of the four Valar, Varda’s dress was the most understated, yet Glorfindel could see that her ethereal beauty outshone them all. Manwë smiled wryly as he watched the elf take in their sartorial splendour and winked. "We peacocks can never compete with my beloved in either beauty or grace."

"But not for lack of trying," Námo quipped, a small smile gracing his face and the other Valar laughed. Glorfindel found himself relaxing as he listened to the light banter, the sick fluttering in the pit of his stomach easing.

"Come, child," Manwë gestured, "sit and be at ease. For all that we are formally dressed, this is a very informal meeting."

Glorfindel waited until all the Valar were seated before taking his own seat. A low table near the chairs contained plates of light sweets and fruits, a carafe of fruit juice and another of wine. Glorfindel eyed the table with interest, especially the carafe of wine. Varda smiled knowingly and began pouring some fruit juice into a cut crystal glass.

"I think you should not have the wine tonight," she said as she handed Glorfindel the glass, giving him a shrewd look. "You have not eaten much these past two days and the wine might prove somewhat intoxicating in your present state of mind."

"Yes, Lady," Glorfindel said meekly and dutifully sipped his juice while the others looked on with grins.

Manwë leaned over and placed a hand on Glorfindel’s arm and the elf gave him a questioning look. "I know what you hope to learn from this meeting, my young Balrog-slayer," Manwë said, "but I will not answer any questions concerning Turgon or his family." Manwë gave Glorfindel’s arm a squeeze to still any protest and Glorfindel closed his mouth and nodded meekly, looking down at his feet with a sigh, the light of anticipation that had been in his eyes since the day before suddenly going out.

Manwë looked at his fellow Valar and raised an eyebrow. Námo stood up and went over to Glorfindel who looked up with some trepidation, clutching the glass of juice as if it were his sole defense against whatever might come. Námo placed a comforting hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder as he leaned down to speak to him.

"I think you have more recent questions for us, hinya," the Lord of Mandos said quietly. "Questions of a disturbing nature, if I’m not mistaken." His voice was warm and his expression inviting and Glorfindel relaxed somewhat under his gaze and nodded.

"Then ask your questions and we will do our best to answer them," Manwë said as Námo gave the elf a nod and returned to his chair.

Glorfindel sat for a long moment thinking. So much that was strange had happened to him and he was not sure where he should begin. He finally asked the first question that came to him. "Wh-why did they restrain me?" It was spoken barely above a whisper and there was a hint of fear in his voice as if he were afraid of the answer.

The Valar sighed and Námo looked somewhat grim, which only made it worse for Glorfindel, believing that it was somehow his own fault.

"You did nothing wrong, child," Varda said, divining his thoughts. "Put your mind at ease there. The restraints were a mistake on the part of the healers who were unaware of what had happened to you and were unsure of your mental state. They sought merely to protect you and others from your hysteria when you finally awoke."

"What happened to me?"

"Tell us what you remember, Glorfindel," Námo commanded.

Glorfindel looked towards the Lord of Mandos, not really seeing him, his eyes becoming somewhat unfocused with memory. "I woke up and the High King was missing. I went in search of him but could not find him."

"My people tell me they discovered you with a sword in your hand," Manwë said, his expression carefully neutral. "Did you not relinquish your sword to my brother?"

The elf looked down for a moment before turning to the Elder King, his expression set. "Ingwë was missing, everyone else was asleep. I did not know what had happened and thought that some enemy had entered Aman and meant us ill. Even a thrall will arm himself with what weapon is at hand to protect himself. I relinquished my sword, Lord Manwë, I did not relinquish the right to wield one at need."

Manwë raised an eyebrow at the nearly belligerent tone of the elf sitting before him and hid a smile, though he was laughing silently, his fellow Valar joining him. "What happened next?" was all he said and Glorfindel could not tell if the Elder King approved or disapproved of his reply. Not having any other choice, he continued his tale.

"The Maiar... they said they knew where the High King was. They led me..." Glorfindel began to tremble, his face white with distress at the memory and tears fell from his eyes. He fell on his knees before Manwë without conscious thought of doing so.

"I-I wanted to so much...and they wanted me to... but I knew I couldn’t and... I’m sorryimsorry...." He was sobbing by now, his eyes closed in anguish, clutching the now empty glass to his chest and rocking slightly.

Manwë reached over and took the ellon’s head between his hands.

"Glorfindel, look at me," he commanded and Glorfindel opened his eyes. The Elder King’s gaze was warm and merry and Glorfindel found himself stilling as Manwë continued staring at him, willing him to calmness. "I place no blame upon you, child. Your reaction was commendable, if misplaced. All is well. Get up now and be comforted. Give your glass to Námo and let him fill it for you. That’s it."

Glorfindel found himself getting to his feet with Manwë’s assistance and retaking his seat, handing his glass to the Lord of Mandos without actually looking at anyone, shame at his childish action foremost in his mind. Manwë gave him a light kiss on the brow. "Now, none of that, my Balrog-slayer. Self-recrimination is a useless exercise. No one here thinks the less of you for your honest reaction. The fact that you tried to honor our ban however much you wished to do otherwise is all that matters here."

Námo handed Glorfindel his glass. "Drink," he commanded softly and Glorfindel complied, nearly choking on what turned out to be wine rather than the expected juice. Námo laughed at that. "I said ‘drink’, not ‘spit’."

"Th-this is wine," Glorfindel stammered in surprise and the Valar smiled.

"And a very good vintage it is, too," was Námo’s only reply. "Drink, child, and have no fear. It will not intoxicate you, merely calm you. Here, have a sweet." Námo reached down and took a plate, handing it to Glorfindel who stared at it in bemusement before selecting a strawberry tart. For several moments Glorfindel was busy eating the tart and washing it down with the light fruity wine that left him feeling refreshed and at ease, the fluttering in his stomach finally laid to rest.

"That’s better," Manwë said in approval. "Now, why don’t you tell us what you remember next."

Glorfindel took a deep breath before complying. "I was running, but to where or from what I do not know. Then I was... I was in Gondolin but it was...it was dead." He paused and took another sip of the wine. The Valar sat immobile and patient, allowing Glorfindel to set the pace. "Then there were all these Maiar surrounding me, telling me I had to go home. But I was home... at least... I thought I was..."

His voice faded and confusion clouded his eyes as he struggled to understand what had happened and failed. Námo suddenly stood up and then to Glorfindel’s everlasting surprise knelt before him, placing a hand on his knee. "We are so very sorry you suffered that, child. It was never our intention. Somehow you and a few others, like Ingwë, managed to do what you should not have been able to do. We cannot explain it, for we do not understand it ourselves."

Glorfindel stared at the Lord of Mandos in stunned surprise. "B-but you’re... you’re Valar! You’re suppose to understand everything!"

At that all four Valar started laughing, Ulmo’s laughter especially booming through the room. Námo stood up and pulled Glorfindel into his embrace and held him. "Oh child, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in ages," he exclaimed and gave the elf a fierce hug before releasing him, gazing at him with loving humor. "Only Eru understands everything, my good elf. We Valar may have a better understanding of things than you, but even to us much is still mystery, especially where you Children, Eldar and Atani alike, are concerned."

Glorfindel glanced at Manwë for confirmation at Námo’s words and the Elder King nodded. "When the Third Theme of the Ainulindalë was propounded, none of us had anything to do with the themes that denoted your coming into Arda. For that reason we know little of you and cannot predict the outcome of your actions with any certainty. We can only guess at them based on previous experience. Your presence is a mystery to us and we continue to learn more and more about you each day."

Glorfindel sat down, pondering the Elder King’s words. He looked about and saw the grave sincerity on the Valar’s faces. He finally turned his attention to Ulmo. "Did you know Turgon would ignore your warning, my lord?"

Ulmo shook his head. "Only that there was a strong possibility that he would, but I did not know for certain."

"Would you have sent Tuor anyway if you had known?" Glorfindel asked. He had always liked the mortal who had captured the heart of Gondolin’s beloved princess and was honored that he had been trusted by Tuor to see to his family’s safety on that horrendous night.

Ulmo stared sadly at the elf sitting before him. "Yes, child. I would have sent him regardless." He gave a deep sigh like the sound of surf on the beach. "Tuor’s destiny was always to go to Gondolin, whether Turgon heeded his words or not. More was at stake than Turgon’s pride or Gondolin’s continued existence. If Turgon had listened to Tuor that would still have not been any guarantee that Gondolin would not fall, only that it would not have fallen as it did and perhaps many more could have been saved than were."

Glorfindel felt the blood drain from his face at these words. "Th-then I was always meant to die, wasn’t I, whether Turgon had listened to Tuor or no."

Námo gave the ellon a sharp look. "Meant to? No one is meant to die, Glorfindel. That was not part of Ilúvatar’s original plan. Melkor corrupted Arda and all else flows from that, but Eru is supreme over his creation and will not allow that corruption to rule all. You were not meant to die, but you did. What you do with that experience is for you to decide. Even Eru will not interfere with your will in this. Learn from what has happened... or not."

"But everyone hates me because I died," Glorfindel protested and the Valar smiled at the ellon’s hyperbole.

"Not everyone," Manwë said gently, "but if you mean, there are some among the Eldar of Aman who are less than accepting of the Reborn, then you are correct. It is one reason we summoned you here, Glorfindel, to discuss this very matter."

Glorfindel stared at the Elder King in surprise. "It is?" His voice squeaked, and he reddened in embarrassment but no one laughed. If anything, they all had grave looks on their faces.

Manwë nodded. "Yes, and we will speak of it in due course during your stay here, but let us return to what happened to you recently."

Varda put a hand on Glorfindel’s arm and the ellon gave her his attention. "You are an enigma, my dear. All the other elves affected by what happened were elves who awoke at Cuiviénen. You are the only one from after that time who was affected. We think it’s because you are Reborn, but we do not know for sure."

"During your stay here in Valmar," Manwë said, "we would like to explore the ramifications of what happened further. In short," and here he gave Glorfindel a wry smile, "we would like your permission to... examine you."

"Ex-examine me... how?"

Manwë raised his right hand. "Do not fear. We will do nothing to you physically nor will you suffer any harm. In fact, you will probably not even notice anything, but we are curious and would like to relieve ourselves of that curiosity if you will allow us."

Glorfindel stared at his feet for several minutes weighing the Elder King’s words in his mind. The Valar remained still, waiting. Finally, he looked up. "Wh-what is it you want me to do?"

There was a sigh in the air that came from no one in particular, yet there was an obvious lightening of tension all around. Námo smiled. "Come to us in the morning. Bring Ingwion with you. We will explain all then."

"Meantime," Manwë said with a smile, "your friends are waiting for you outside. Go to them, child. They are feeling somewhat anxious on your behalf."

Glorfindel stood and bowed to Manwë and then to each of the other Valar in turn, ending with Námo. "In the morning?" he asked the Lord of Mandos.

"The third hour," Námo replied with a nod. "One of my people will come to escort you."

Glorfindel bowed again and then made his way to the door which opened silently for him. When the door closed again, leaving the Valar alone, Varda spoke.

"Do you think he suspects the real reason we summoned him?"

Manwë shook his head. "No, he does not, nor will he."

"All the pieces are in place," Námo said. "Findaráto and Sador are where they need to be, Glorfindel is here. Now we wait. It’s just a matter of time before they strike."

"We play a dangerous game, brothers," Ulmo said musingly. "We cannot predict the outcome of what might happen."

Manwë sat for a moment in complete stillness then nodded. "Fionwë," he said quietly and the Maia was standing before him, bowing.

"My lord sent for me?" the Maia asked deferentially.

Manwë nodded. "Double the guard on Glorfindel. Have Manveru and Erunáro remain in constant attendance. They are not to interfere with what will happen but if they think that our favorite Balrog-slayer is in danger of losing his life again they may interfere on his behalf but not before."

"Let’s hope that never happens," Námo said with a frown. "It would not do to tip our hand too soon. The Eldar need to believe that they are in control."

"Until they learn otherwise," Ulmo said with a dangerous smile on his lips and the others nodded in agreement, their own smiles equally dangerous.

Manwë glanced at the Maia. "Go. See that Glorfindel is left in peace for the next two nights. After that we will see."

Fionwë bowed and was gone. For several minutes no one spoke, then Manwë sighed and gave his fellow Valar a deprecating smile. "I’m really getting too old for this you know."

The laughter that followed was long and merry, setting the bells of Valmar ringing.

****

Beryl: Used to ward off demons and evil spirits. It is said to protect travelers from danger. The proper name for the Emerald: brings wisdom, growth, and patience and is considered symbolic of love, fidelity, faith and hope.

Meneluissar: Sky-blue stone or lapis lazuli; symbolic of truth.

Blue quartz: Symbolic of peace and tranquility.

Nénur: Plural of nénu: yellow water lily.

Hrívezellar: Plural of hrívezella "wintergreen", an evergreen shrub (Gaultheria procumbens) often found near water. It has nodding white flowers and scarlet berrylike fruit. [hrívë "winter" + ezella "green" (in Vanyarin Quenya only and adopted from Valarin)].

44: The Spiral Maze

Glorfindel was surprised to learn that the meeting with the Valar had only taken an hour. None of his companions questioned him about it but Ingwion gave him a strange look when Glorfindel told him about the meeting set for the next morning.

"And Lord Námo specifically stated that I was to accompany you?" Ingwion asked and Glorfindel nodded.

The Vanya looked troubled but when Glorfindel inquired, Ingwion merely shook his head and claimed it was nothing. Glorfindel could tell Ingwion was not willing to say more so he let it go. Instead, he took the time as they returned to the inn to study his surroundings, for in his anxiety earlier he had not noticed anything about Eldamas or Valmar. Now, however, he was relaxed enough to look about and take an interest in what he saw.

This time, there was no Maia escort, so Ingwion’s guards felt less superfluous than they had earlier. Even so, Ingwion planned to have them sent back to Vanyamar in the morning until he and his companions were ready to return to the High King’s court.

By the time they reached the inn, Glorfindel could feel himself flagging and within a few minutes of returning he was fast asleep, unaware that surrounding his bed were three warrior Maiar, while a fourth stood watch by the door.

Next morning found him and Ingwion standing in the inn courtyard surrounded by fourteen Maiar, all of them dressed in different colored surcoats with the insignia of the Valar embroidered upon them. Glorfindel looked suddenly ill and Ingwion was not amused. He glowered at Maranwë whom they recognized from the previous evening.

"Are the Valar so afraid of us that they need to send fourteen of you to fetch us hence?" the prince demanded angrily. He had always had the deepest respect for the Valar but recent events had begun to seriously erode that respect and he no longer cared how his words sounded or who they offended.

"I-I think they’re meant for me, Ingwion," Glorfindel said softly. "They want to make sure I don’t run away again." He looked at Ingwion wryly. "I recognize some of them. The last time we met... it was in the ruins of Gondolin and I... I’m afraid I wasn’t on my best behavior."

"Actually," Maranwë said blandly, "you were downright rude, but we forgive you." The other Maiar laughed lightly when Glorfindel ducked his head in embarrassment. Then Maranwë turned his gaze upon Ingwion, his mien suddenly grave. "You are mistaken, Prince Ingwion. Our Masters sent us as an honor guard out of respect for you and Lord Glorfindel. Come, the third hour approaches and they are waiting."

Ingwion glanced at Glorfindel who shrugged. "I did agree to this."

The prince sighed and nodded. "Lead us then."

All fourteen Maiar bowed respectfully to the two Eldar and soon Glorfindel and Ingwion found themselves in their midst as they walked down the street towards the Landamallë Valion, the people of Eldamas staring at them in open-mouthed wonder.

When they reached the Landamallë Valion, Glorfindel was surprised to see the Maiar turning right rather than left, so that they were all walking down the avenue. The Landamallë, Glorfindel could see was perhaps thirty feet wide and made of flagstones of various colors, mostly emerald green and garnet red with here and there a pleasing citrine yellow or a sapphire blue as well as pearl white, in a pattern that was too intricate to discern from the ground. The distance between one end of the avenue and the other was easily a quarter of a mile.

"Are we not going to Lord Manwë’s mansion?" Glorfindel asked the Maia walking next to him, a female with flowing silver hair who wore a deep purple surcoat with the harp of Estë embroidered upon it.

"Nay, child," the Maia said with a gentle smile, "we go to the mansion of my Lord Námo." Her voice was as musical as the nightingale and Glorfindel thrilled at the sound of it.

Surprisingly, it was Ingwion who suddenly stopped, looking, not fearful, but certainly uneasy. The Maiar stopped as well and Maranwë, who was at the head of the escort frowned and started back towards where Glorfindel and Ingwion stood. Glorfindel held up his hand and Maranwë stopped, an inscrutable look on his face. Glorfindel, however, ceased to pay any attention to the Maiar surrounding them, his eyes on Ingwion only, a look of concern and understanding on his face. He put a hand out and rubbed the prince’s arm.

"It’s all right, Ingwion. There’s nothing to fear. Lord Námo’s bark is worse than his bite, as the saying goes."

*I heard that!* came the surprising words that echoed through their minds. Ingwion gave a start, but Glorfindel just looked in the general direction of Námo’s mansion and stuck out his tongue, making a rude noise. The Maiar all rolled their eyes and everyone heard Námo’s laughter.

Glorfindel turned back to Ingwion with a wicked grin. "You see? Nothing to worry about. Come on. We don’t want to keep Them waiting. That would be rude," he remarked, evincing a virtuous air.

That set the Maiar laughing and even Ingwion gave Glorfindel a weak grin and allowed the ellon to take his hand and lead him. As they continued down the avenue Glorfindel looked about with interest. The Maia of Estë who said her name was Morilindë pointed out the various mansions, naming the Valar to whom they belonged and describing the gardens and other features that could be seen between the stand of malinorni that lined the street.

Half way down the avenue where stood the mansions of Tulkas and Nessa on their right and Oromë and Vána on their left was a fountain. It took up nearly a third of the space. In the center of the fountain rose a tower of deep green anarnasar, perhaps forty feet high. At the top of the tower were a number of bells of different sizes and they rang with just the slightest of breezes. This was the Mindon Nyellion, the Tower of Bells, that had once gone silent at the Mingling of the Lights during the Age of the Trees. Water rose up the central core of the tower and spilled out of spouts situated just below the belfry, cascading down into the fountain. The toll of the bells and the music of the fountain mingled together into a pleasing symphony that left the hearers with a lighter heart. Ingwion even laughed, though he knew not the reason for his sudden joy.

Soon they were walking through the carnelian gates leading to the mansion belonging to Námo and Vairë. Glorfindel saw an edifice whose walls were made mostly of rainbow obsidian, its black surface glinting with green and purple fire as sunlight reflected off it. Towers of amber rose above the main walls and the roof had the sheen of moonstones about it. For all its ominous look there was a sense of peace and serenity to the place that seemed to embrace all who entered it.

There was no sense of threat here. Námo might be the Doomsman of Arda, the Guardian of the Dead, and the Ordainer of Fates, yet he was also a Healer of Fëar and Comforter to those who mourned, whether they mourned the death of a loved one or the death of a relationship or even the ending of one phase of a life before the beginning of another. Most of the Eldar called him Mandos, the Dread Imprisoner, while some called him Námo, the Judge. Few, if any, called him Tiutalero, the Comforter, yet it was this role that Námo loved best of all those that were his to play.

The fourteen Maiar stopped at the bottom of the steps leading to the front portico. Maranwë turned and gazed at the two elves. "Here we leave you. Our Masters await you within. Eru’s grace go with you." He bowed, as did the other Maiar. Glorfindel gave Ingwion a quick smile and led them up the steps. As they approached the mithril doors, they opened silently to admit them.

Inside they found themselves in a softly lit chamber lined with tapestries of brilliant hues depicting scenes out of Arda’s history, many of them from before the time the Eldar awoke at Cuiviénen. The ellyn gazed around in wonder, for Ingwion admitted to Glorfindel that he had never been inside Námo’s mansion before. The hall was not large, perhaps twenty feet square. In the center of the floor was a spiral maze made of a mosaic of purple amethyst, pink tourmaline, marilla and meneluissar in a pleasing pattern that was soothing to both eye and spirit. The spiral began just where one entered the hall from the outside. There were no other doors.

The mithril doors closed silently behind the ellyn. Glorfindel looked at Ingwion with a frown. "I thought we were expected."

*You are, child,* came Námo’s words in their minds. *Walk the spiral and meet us in the center.*

Glorfindel stared at the mosaic lying before him, feeling bemused, then glanced at Ingwion whose expression was equally pensive. "So who goes first?"

Ingwion snorted at that and said, "I’m not the one they’re interested in. You may have that honor."

"But you’re older and haryon to the High Kingship, so you should go first."

"Ah, and as your prince, I hereby order you to go first." Ingwion was practically smirking.

Before Glorfindel could give a suitable retort, Námo intervened, his thought sounding more amused than angry. *All right you two. Don’t make me come over there.*

They both went white and started mumbling apologies like errant elflings. *That’s better. Glorfindel will walk the spiral first, then Ingwion may begin after Glorfindel has passed the first curve. Take your time, there’s no rush.*

Glorfindel swallowed nervously and stepped upon the spiral. At once a sense of calm permeated him. He could almost feel the flow of energy coming from the spiral as he stepped along it and hope was renewed within him. He found that he did not want to walk quickly, but set a deliberate pace that allowed his mind to go quiet. As he came to the first curve he could see Ingwion stepping onto the spiral, but then all else faded from his vision and he found himself alone.

"Ingwion!" he screamed and would have left the spiral altogether had not Námo’s voice sounded loud within him.

*Á PUSTA!*

Fear took him as he stopped cold, then Námo’s thoughts echoed in his mind again but now they were calm and soothing. *Fear not, my Balrog-slayer. Stay on the path. All who walk the spiral walk it alone though a hundred people be there beside you. Continue as you have. You and Ingwion will meet in the center. I give you my word.*

With that Glorfindel had to be content. As he continued to walk the spiral the sense of calm and serenity he had felt earlier returned and his heartbeat and breathing slowed, his mind quieted until he was nearly sleepwalking. How long he walked the spiral he never really knew, but at last he reached the center and as he did he found himself standing in another room, almost identical to the one he had just left save that when he looked down there was no spiral on the floor.

"Welcome, my best beloved."

Glorfindel turned around to find himself staring into the amused faces of Námo and Manwë. It had been Námo who had spoken.

"Welcome to my home."

Glorfindel started to bow but never completed it, for the room decided at the moment to start spinning and now he traveled a different spiral, one that led down to darkness.

He never felt Námo catching him before he crashed to the floor.

****

Anarnasar: Most Royal Stone; what we would call jade. While jade comes in a variety of colors, from white to violet, the deep green variety, which is the most prized, is known as Imperial jade, hence the name I have given it here. [an- "intensive adjectival affix" + arna "royal" + sar "stone"].

Carnelian: an orange-red gemstone. Symbolic of the power to ease the fears about rebirth (for the Eldar) and death (for the Atani).

Obsidian: Associated in our world with the Greek god of the Underworld, so an appropriate stone for the Lord of Mandos. A symbol of transmutation of negative energy to positive energy and transition from one state of being to another.

Amber: Symbolic of courage, protection on a journey (physical or spiritual) and the presence of Eru Ilúvatar.

Tiutalero: Comforter; from tiutalë "comfort" + -ro (agental suffix), literally, "the one who comforts".

Amethyst: A purple gemstone. A symbol of protection and the power to overcome difficulty.

Pink Tourmaline: A symbol of hope.

Marilla: Pearl. A symbol of purity and innocence.

Meneluissar: Sky-blue stone; what we would call lapis lazuli, with the same meaning [meneluin "sky-blue" + sar "stone", with assimilation]. A symbol of truth.

Haryon: Prince and heir to a throne.

Á pusta!: Stop, cease! (intransitive verb).

Note: The colors and insignia of the Valar, which are worn on the surcoats of their Maiar servants, are as follows. The colors and insignia, of course, come from my own imagination.

Manwë — sky blue: eagle

Varda — indigo: eight-rayed star

Aulë — golden-yellow: anvil and hammer

Yavanna — spring green: cornucopia

Ulmo — sea-green: trident

Nienna — dark grey: fountain (of Pity)

Námo — black: sun-in-eclipse (This insignia existed as Námo’s emblem long before the destruction of the Two Trees and the creation of Isil and Anar, though none recognized its significance until then. It is an example of Námo’s prescience.)

Vairë — silver-grey: loom

Irmo — white: rainbow

Estë — purple: harp

Oromë — forest green: oak tree

Vána Everyoung — blue-green: elanor and niphredil entwined

Tulkas Astaldo — blood-red: sword

Nessa — yellow: deer

45: Slipping the Leash

Glorfindel woke to see Ingwion staring down at him, the worried look on his face turning to one of relief.

"He’s awake, my lords," the prince said without taking his eyes off Glorfindel, and two people came into Glorfindel’s view. Ingwion stood up so Lord Námo could sit beside Glorfindel then moved to stand on the other side of the couch. Lord Manwë stood behind his brother Vala. Both had expressions that were unreadable to the elf and he wondered if he was in serious trouble.

"Well, my best beloved, how are you feeling?" Námo asked, placing a hand on the elf’s forehead. "You had us worried there for a bit."

"I’m sorry, my lord," Glorfindel said faintly. "I don’t mean to be such a nuisance."

Námo smiled. "You’re not a nuisance, child. Annoying sometimes, but definitely not a nuisance." Glorfindel couldn’t help but grin at that and Námo nodded. "Rest for a while. There’s no hurry."

"What happened?"

"You fainted," Manwë said, and smiled when Glorfindel grimaced. "Don’t worry. It’s the most common reaction amongst the Eldar who walk my brother’s spiral maze, so you’re in good company."

Glorfindel looked at Ingwion. "Did you faint, too?"

Ingwion blushed and shook his head. "I threw up."

Námo chuckled at Glorfindel’s expression. "The second most common reaction to walking the spiral."

"So, why do you have it?" Glorfindel asked, feeling somewhat confused.

Námo’s expression became unreadable again but there was a glint of humor in his eyes. "It cuts down on repeat visitors."

Glorfindel gave the Vala a jaundiced look. "You must be a lot of fun at parties."

Both Valar laughed at that. "You have no idea," Manwë said with a wink at Námo who laughed even harder. "Now, if you’re feeling better, perhaps we can get on with the reason for your visit," Manwë continued and Glorfindel nodded.

Ingwion gave him a helping hand up and Glorfindel took a quick look around. The room was similar in size to the Spiral room, but that is where all similarities ended. For one thing there was no spiral maze on the floor. For another, in each wall was a door, presumably leading to other parts of the mansion. The only furniture was the low couch Glorfindel had been lying on. Crystal globes suspended from the ceiling provided illumination. Námo led them to one of the doors and soon they were traversing a short corridor, entering another room at the end of it.

Inside they found several people waiting. Varda was there, as were Ulmo and a third Vala whom Ingwion identified as Aulë. Half a dozen Maiar were also there, all wearing the emblem of the Lord of Mandos on their black surcoats. All of them stared at the ellyn as they entered and Glorfindel felt himself go weak again, suddenly having second thoughts.

*Too late for that, I’m afraid, dear,* Varda’s thoughts sounded sympathetic in his mind.

Námo gestured to one of his servants, who approached. "This is Tindomerel," the Vala said to the two elves. "She will see to your needs while you are with us. Go with her and we will join you presently."

Tindomerel gestured and the two elves followed her to the other side of the room towards a sideboard where food and drink could be found. "You might find this to your liking," she said as she poured some fruit juice for them. It smelled and tasted of strawberries, much to Glorfindel’s delight and he eagerly drank it, remembering a day which he and Ecthelion had spent getting drunk on strawberry wine. Ingwion was slower to accept the drink but after a cautious sip he too drank with relish. Neither elf felt the need for food at that moment and so declined Tindomerel’s offer to fill some plates for them. Instead, Glorfindel took the time to look around.

This room was larger than the other room, perhaps forty paces across. There was only the one door through which they had come. High clerestory windows provided them with illumination. The walls were plastered and painted with geometric shapes in soothing shades of mauve and grey. The floor was tiled with rainbow obsidian flagstones. A large star pattern in the center of the floor was made from isilsardi, shimmering blue-white in the light of day.

Námo and the other Valar were standing on the opposite side of the room from Glorfindel and they appeared to be communing silently, for he could see no movement of mouths or even of bodies. It was as if they were statues. He took another swallow of the juice, the last of it, in fact, and suddenly felt somewhat disjointed. He was having trouble focusing and nearly dropped his glass, save that Tindomerel rescued it from his hand at the last minute. He began to feel panicky and suddenly he was running towards the door. He nearly reached it when someone grabbed him from behind and he began shrieking. Manveru, who had remained unclad all this time at Manwë’s orders, manifested himself and lifted the elf into his arms and brought him back to the center of the room where he laid him on a raised bed. Other Maiar stood around the bed holding the ellon down. Glorfindel never stopped shrieking.

Then Námo was there, and Varda.

"Glorfindel! Look at me," Varda commanded and though he stopped yelling and stared up at the Valië, he never stopped struggling. Varda placed a cool hand on his brow, never taking her eyes off him. He found himself falling into her gaze and he started whimpering, though he was unaware that he was doing so.

Varda reached up and plucked one of the living stars from her wreath and held it above her, then let go so that it was suspended in the air. "Look at the star, Glorfindel," she bid him and he had no choice but to obey. It was a beautiful star Glorfindel realized, pulsating gently and its rhythm soothed him so he began to calm down and soon he was lying still, his gaze never leaving the star.

"That’s right," Varda said softly. "Keep your eye on the star. Do you remember me telling you I gave Ingwion a star to hold when he was very young? This is the same star."

Glorfindel nodded but otherwise he did not acknowledge the Valië’s words, so engrossed by the pulsing rhythm of the star sending calming waves through him.

Varda looked up at Námo. "He’s ready. We should do this quickly."

Námo nodded, silently ordering the Maiar to release Glorfindel, then turned to where Ingwion was standing white-faced and terrified in Tindomerel’s arms.

"Come here, Ingwion," Námo said and Tindomerel released the ellon who stumbled towards the Vala with a sob. Námo took him into his embrace and began rubbing Ingwion’s back to soothe him.

"I know you’re afraid, child," Námo said gently, "but you have no reason to be. Glorfindel is unharmed, as are you."

"Wh-what did you do to him?"

Námo sighed. "Nothing."

The elf pulled himself out of Námo’s embrace, a look of disbelief on his face. "Nothing? NOTHING? Then why was he shrieking as if all the valaraucar of Melkor were after him? He was fine until... until..."

Námo nodded. "Until he drank the juice."

"Wh-what was in the juice and why wasn’t I..." Ingwion gave him a look of horror and he tried to back out of the Vala’s arms but Námo was implacable and suddenly Ulmo was standing behind him as well, blocking all escape.

"Wh-what... what..." but he couldn’t get the words out and he was beginning to panic but then Námo was holding his head between his hands and gazing into his eyes and Ingwion fell into them, lost in the depths of love that seemed to surround him and he became quiescent.

"That’s it, Ingwion," he heard Námo say. "Take a deep breath and let it out slowly... again." Ingwion found himself following the Vala’s instructions and soon he was coming back to himself, finding that Ulmo had taken him into his embrace, his long beard and hair tickling the back of Ingwion’s neck.

Námo was speaking again. "There was nothing in the juice, Ingwion, I promise you. Glorfindel is experiencing a psychic break. His fëa is trying to leave his hröa and we don’t know why. It manifests itself physically with his becoming panicky and attempting to run away. I need you to help me keep him grounded. That is why you are here."

Ingwion looked at the Vala in confusion. "How?" he asked but Námo only shook his head.

"There’s no time to explain properly. Will you trust me? I promise, nothing will happen to you or Glorfindel. We seek to save him, but we need your help to do it."

For a moment, Ingwion just stared at Námo and then he gave just the briefest of nods and suddenly he found himself lying on a hard surface looking up. He moved his head and saw that he was lying on a raised bed next to Glorfindel. Varda was leaning over him with a smile as she reached up to pluck another star from her wreath.

"Look at the star, Ingwion and breathe normally. No, do not fear. This will just help you to remain calm and focused but you will be completely aware of everything that happens. That’s better. Now reach out with your right hand."

Ingwion complied and then felt someone place Glorfindel’s hand in his. He automatically grasped it and the physical contact seemed to sharpened his focus so that he was now aware of movement around him, though he never took his eyes off the star. In fact, he found that he had no desire to.

Then Námo was standing next to him, rubbing his forehead. The Vala’s touch was soothing and Ingwion leaned into it gratefully. "Your task is very simple, my young prince, yet vitally important. Reach out with your fëa and see if you can feel Glorfindel’s fëa. That’s it. Do you sense the bond between you?" Ingwion nodded, his eyes wide with wonder. He knew of the marriage bond, such as his parents enjoyed, but he had never experienced anything like it before. Námo smiled encouragingly.

"That is the bond of friendship and brotherhood that you both feel for one another," the Vala explained. "You must keep hold of that bond. If you feel Glorfindel slipping away from you, you must use that bond to pull him back. Do you understand?"

Ingwion nodded. "That’s good. If at any time you think you cannot hold the bond you are to let us know," Námo said, and Ingwion nodded again as Námo squeezed his arm in encouragement.

Námo straightened and stepped back, then he began addressing the Maiar, though Ingwion had no idea what the Lord of Mandos was talking about and several words did not make sense. Listening to the Valar and Maiar speaking to one another he realized they must be speaking in a mixture of Quenya and Valarin, more for his benefit than for theirs, and suspected that those words he did not understand came from the language of the Valar themselves, a language in which he knew only a few basic words.

"Let’s do this people," Námo said, reminding Ingwion of his atar when Ingwë spoke as High King. "Tindomerel, keep an eye on them. Let Varda know if either becomes agitated. Maranwë, I want a complete mapping of their genomes. We need to know if this is a genetic aberration or not. Manveru, you and your fellow guards keep watch. Glorfindel is likely to try to slip his leash again."

Then, to Ingwion’s surprise, Námo gestured and it seemed as if a globe of golden light enveloped him and Glorfindel while the Valar and Maiar stood outside. Two ladder-like structures appeared floating in the air. One was over Glorfindel while the other was suspended above him. The structures twisted along a central core like a spiral staircase and the ‘rungs’ were half one color and half another in no particular pattern that Ingwion could understand — blue and green, yellow and red. Its purpose was incomprehensible to him and anyway, the gently pulsating star was more interesting to look at.

Of course, the blue-green strip of light that was floating in front of Námo was equally interesting, and equally incomprehensible to the elf so he ignored that too, though he noticed that it was twisted at one end before being joined to the other end and wondered at its significance.

While he continued staring at the pulsating star he half listened to what the Valar were saying to one another as they gathered around Námo and the glowing strip of light.

"The initial break occurred at these coordinates," Námo was saying, writing numbers with his finger in midair and Ingwion found himself feeling not at all surprised by that. "Then he fled along this temporal corridor."

"Nearly at right angles to the corridor down which Ingwë and the others fled," Aulë said, looking thoughtful.

"Significant, do you think?"Manwë asked.

"Perhaps, or it may mean nothing at all," Aulë replied.

Ulmo spoke up next. "The timing is interesting, don’t you think?"

"How do you mean, brother?" Námo asked respectfully. Ingwion, of course, could not know that, among the Valar, Ulmo was considered one of their chief engineers and a scientist of great depth of knowledge and wisdom.

"Just this," and Ulmo reached out and wrote his own set of numbers. Whatever their significance, they were lost on Ingwion, but every Vala there, and not a few of the Maiar, gasped.

"Why didn’t I see that?" Námo asked, sounding perplexed and for some reason Ingwion felt a frisson of fear or shock at the Vala’s tone that must have registered somehow because Tindomerel spoke up, her voice calm and remote.

"Ingwion’s heart rate just went up, my lady," she said, addressing Varda.

Námo and Varda were suddenly beside him, passing through the golden light as if it weren’t there. Varda placed a hand on his forehead and he began to feel calm again.

"That’s it, child," she said. "Breathe normally and relax. You’re doing fine."

Námo smiled down at him and squeezed his arm. "You’re doing well, Ingwion. You have shown much courage in this and your atar would be very proud of you."

The words gave Ingwion much pleasure to hear, though in truth, he felt more confused than brave. He nodded, nonetheless, for some reason disinclined to speak. Varda continued stroking his forehead but Námo turned back to Ulmo.

"Glorfindel’s been re-embodied for three years now. That particular date has come and gone twice since then. Why now?"

Ulmo shrugged. "I do not know, but it is interesting nonetheless, don’t you think?"

At that moment Glorfindel gave a moan and started to convulse. Námo shouted. "Hold him down! Ingwion, whatever you do, don’t let go of Glorfindel’s hand."

"He’s slipping his leash, my lord," Maranwë called out.

"Ingwion, call him back!" Námo ordered and Ingwion did what he had been instructed to do, though he wasn’t sure he was doing it correctly. Aulë spoke up then.

"No! Let him go. We need to see where he is headed. We can retrieve him later."

"Too dangerous," Námo protested, "and his fëa may suffer from the shock."

"He needn’t go far," Manwë intervened, sounding as calm as a summer’s day.

Námo hesitated for a moment and then nodded, turning to Ingwion. "Let him go, child, but don’t sever the bond just yet." Ingwion reluctantly complied, breathing deeply as he loosened his tie with Glorfindel. He felt the ellon slipping away and bit back a sob, fearing the worst. Varda was there, soothing him, encouraging him to keep his eyes on the star above him and soon he was feeling more relaxed. Indeed, he was nearly asleep.

"I wonder where he is trying to get to," Manwë mused as he stared at the glowing blue-green strip. Ingwion noticed vaguely that a golden dot seemed to be moving along it.

"Not Gondolin," Ulmo said, pointing at the glowing strip. "Look, the spatial coordinates are all wrong."

"And the temporal coordinates as well," Manwë said. "He doesn’t seem to be leaving Aman at all and the timeframe is not even the recent past. It’s within point-oh-six of the present moment."

"So where is he trying to get to?" Varda asked. "Last time he said he was trying to get home, but even he has admitted that Gondolin is no longer home for him. So what does ‘home’ mean to him now?"

"Tirion?" Manveru asked.

Something sparked Ingwion’s memory and he struggled to speak. He couldn’t understand why it was proving to be so difficult. Námo was there, kneeling beside him.

"You don’t need to speak, Ingwion. We will hear your thoughts."

Ingwion nodded and tried to make his thoughts clear. *Not Tirion.*

"Where then?" Manwë asked. "Certainly not Vanyamar."

Ingwion shook his head, frustrated, and he felt Námo place a soothing hand on his arm. "Stay calm, Ingwion. Your inability to speak is merely temporary, a consequence of your expending energy to maintain your bond with Glorfindel. Just relax and formulate your thoughts slowly. We will understand."

Ingwion took a deep breath and tried again. *Not a place... Findaráto... and... and....*

"And Sador," Námo finished for him and the elf nodded, grateful that someone understood. Námo stood and looked down at the elf and smiled in approval. "Well done, best beloved. I do believe you are correct."

"Yes," Manwë added. "Good work, yonya." He smiled warmly at the ellon and Ingwion felt indescribably pleased at the Elder King’s praise.

"In that case, we had best retrieve him immediately," Ulmo said, looking grave. "This close to the present..."

At that precise moment everyone, even Ingwion, heard a mental shout from Irmo. *NÁMO! Will you kindly come pick up your fugitive elf. Findaráto is having a fit."

Ingwion couldn’t tell if the Lord of Lórien was angry or amused, though none of the Valar in the room seemed particularly upset. Námo merely rolled his eyes.

*Coming, hánonya.* He gave Manwë a wry grin.

The Elder King returned his smile. "Go. I will see to things at this end."

Námo gave Manwë a brief bow, then gestured to half the Maiar and they were gone. Manwë turned to Ingwion and smiled. "You’ve done very well, child, but I can see that you are exhausted. You can let go of Glorfindel’s hand now."

Ingwion, however, shook his head. "Glorfindel...." he spoke barely above a whisper and was appalled at how weak he sounded.

Varda plucked the two stars out of the air and replaced them in her wreath. "Glorfindel is safe, Ingwion. You’ve done your part. Now it’s time to rest." She smiled down at him as she gently disengaged his hand from Glorfindel’s. "Go to sleep, my dear. You’ve earned your rest."

With that, Ingwion felt a great weariness steal over his limbs and his eyelids grew heavy. In a matter of minutes he was fast asleep. He never felt Manwë gently cover him with a blanket or give him a kiss on the forehead.

****

Isilsardi: Plural of isilsar: Moonstone. A symbol of truth in self-reflection and showing what ‘is’ [isil ‘moon’ + sar ‘stone’].

Hánonya: My brother.

46: A Belated Begetting Day

When Námo and his ‘rescue squad’, as Irmo later called them, arrived in Lórien it was to find the Lord of Lórien holding Glorfindel at arm’s length by the neck as the ellon was struggling to escape. They were in one of the pavilions used by the elves as lodgings. Finrod, on the other hand, was crouched behind a cot screaming "He’s deadhesdeadhesdead...." while Estë attempted to calm him.

Estë looked a bit put out. Irmo looked faintly amused. He gave Glorfindel a gentle shake when the elf began swearing in Sindarin. "Stop that, you naughty elfling," he said then turned to his older brother in the Thought of Ilúvatar. "You need to keep better track of your pets, Brother. I don’t like them upsetting my guests."

"I’ll try better next time," Námo laughed, then gestured for Manveru and the other Maiar to take Glorfindel in hand while he knelt in front of the still screaming Finrod.

"Findaráto! Na quildë!" Námo’s voice was deep and commanding and Finrod obeyed almost immediately, giving a slight hiccup as he nestled further into Estë’s arms looking lost and forlorn. "That’s better, hinya. Glorfindel is not dead."

"But..."

Námo put a finger to Finrod’s lips. "He is not dead. I give you my word. He suffered a psychic shock recently and he seems to be slipping out of his hröa and running off at the slightest provocation. We don’t know why but we’re trying to help him."

Finrod looked over the Vala’s shoulder to where he could see Glorfindel’s fëa between two Maiar. "N-not dead?"

Námo shook his head. Finrod, though, did not seem to find comfort in that and began weeping quietly. Estë gathered him closer into her embrace and began crooning a lullaby to help calm him. Námo stood up and faced his brother.

"I’m sorry about this, hánonya," he said. "Glorfindel gave us no warning and we wasted time thinking he was returning to Gondolin."

"Well, as long as it doesn’t happen again..." Irmo gave Námo a wry look and Námo snorted good-naturedly. Irmo then sighed, looking at the still weeping Finrod, shaking his head in disgust. "All my good work wasted."

"Can you not ease his memory, my lord?" Manveru asked as he and his brother, Erunáro, gripped the still struggling Glorfindel a little harder.

Irmo shook his head. "It’s not something we do lightly and not without Eru’s permission."

*Which you have,* came Manwë’s reply. *For both of them.*

Both Fëanturi sighed with relief. Irmo gave Námo an ironic look. "Well, I’ll take care of Findaráto while you see to your pet Balrog-slayer."

"Since when has he become my pet Balrog-slayer?" Námo asked with an amused smile and a quirk of an eyebrow.

"Since just now. Off with you, hanno. You’re beginning to give this place a bad reputation."

Námo laughed and embraced his brother, then turned to the Maiar. "I’ll take him."

At that Manveru and Erunáro gave the Vala relieved looks and gratefully handed Glorfindel over to him. Námo held the ellon tightly. Whether he recognized the Vala and knew that he was safe or he had simply exhausted himself, Glorfindel became quiescent almost as soon as Námo embraced him.

"Time to go, best beloved," Námo whispered in the elf’s ear and then they were gone.

****

Glorfindel opened his eyes and saw Námo looking down at him. He had no idea what had happened or how much time had passed. His last conscious thought was wondering if he could have some more of that delicious strawberry juice....

"What was in the juice?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Námo gave him a small smile. "Nothing. How do you feel?"

Glorfindel shook his head, not interested in answering Námo’s question. "Why?"

It was probably not the most cogent question he had ever asked, but Námo did not seem to have any trouble figuring out what he was trying to say.

"We don’t know. We think a memory triggered something and you panicked. Next thing we knew you were trying to run away."

"I seem to be doing that a lot lately," Glorfindel said somewhat acerbically. "And I seem to do it whenever I’m around one of you." He closed his eyes with a sigh, wishing he were back in Lórien with Sador... and Finrod. Life was getting too complicated for him and he longed for the simplicity of living that he remembered as he wandered through Irmo’s gardens.

Námo’s expression turned grave. "Look at me, Glorfindel," he said quietly and Glorfindel reluctantly opened his eyes, unable to ignore the command he heard in the Vala’s voice. Námo knelt by the bed and began stroking the ellon’s head. Glorfindel sighed and leaned into the Vala’s hand. "You have a right to feel resentful, Glorfindel," the Lord of Mandos said quietly, "even angry, but you need to direct that anger in the proper direction. Neither I nor anyone else is responsible for what has been happening to you. One of the reasons we asked you to come to Valmar was that we’d hoped to find an answer." His smile was ironic. "You gave us quite a merry chase, you know, and gave my brother Irmo a scare."

"Huh?" Glorfindel asked in disbelief.

"He claimed you were upsetting his guests, appearing like that from nowhere."

"Finrod!" Glorfindel cried as he attempted to sit up, but Námo held him down.

"Finrod does not know you were there, child. Now, lie still so I can examine you."

"Ex-examine me?" Glorfindel clutched the blanket covering him with some trepidation.

Námo merely nodded and stood up. He held his hands approximately six inches above Glorfindel’s body and moved them slowly up and down. When nothing untoward seemed to be happening, Glorfindel began to relax. In fact, he relaxed so much, he fell asleep.

****

The next time he awoke, Námo was gone, but Ingwion was there.

"You know, you are one crazy Noldo," the Vanyarin prince said with a grin.

"I’m glad you approve," Glorfindel retorted somewhat sourly.

Ingwion laughed loudly at that and pulled Glorfindel into his arms and gave him a fierce hug that nearly squeezed the breath out of him. "Indeed, I do, hanno. You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened in my life in a long time and I will be forever grateful to the Valar for introducing you to me."

"You’re welcome."

Ingwion released Glorfindel from his embrace with a start and the two ellyn were stumbling to their feet with Glorfindel nearly falling on his face as his legs got tangled in the blanket. It took a minute for him and Ingwion to straighten themselves out and attempt some kind of bow as the Elder King looked on with amusement, shaking his head ruefully.

Manwë gestured and both elves went to him. He laid a hand on each of their shoulders, looking into their eyes. Somehow he managed to capture both their gazes at the same time. Glorfindel found himself falling into azure blue ringed with gold, the blue calming him and the gold warming him. He felt a wave of something near to ecstacy that did not physically excite him but left his fëa feeling replete, all desires satisfied in a way he could never fully comprehend. He gave a deep sigh of contentment as he came back to himself. Manwë nodded in satisfaction.

"That’s better. Now, you both have had a busy day. I suggest you take advantage of Lord Námo’s hospitality and avail yourself of a nice soaking bath and a light meal afterwards. We have a surprise for you, my young Balrog-slayer." Manwë gave Glorfindel a gentle smile and Glorfindel gulped, looking suddenly nervous.

"I-I don’t like surprises," he said faintly.

"Ah, but you’ll like this one," Manwë assured him. "Now, the bathing chamber is through that door." He pointed to one of the doors in the room. "You’ll find all that you need there including fresh clothing. Take your time. When you’re ready leave by the door you will find opposite this one."

"H-how long have we been here, my lord?" Glorfindel asked.

"It’s now the fourth hour after sunset," came the surprising answer, surprising at least to Glorfindel. Then the Elder King was gone, leaving the ellyn quite alone.

The bathing chamber proved to be everything the Elder King promised and soon the ellyn were sighing in contentment as they slipped into the steaming hot water. Ingwion stayed only a little while but Glorfindel was reluctant to leave the bathing pool at all. Eventually Ingwion convinced the Noldo to come out by pouring a pitcher of cold water over his head. The shock caused Glorfindel to shriek in pretended rage as he leapt out of the pool to chase the Vanyarin prince around the room, threatening dire punishment. Glorfindel was laughing so hard, though, that when he finally caught up with Ingwion, his threats didn’t sound very convincing and both elves fell to the floor in mirth.

"Well, as long as you’re out," Ingwion said with a smirk once he got himself under control, "you might as well get dressed. I don’t know about you but I could eat something right about now. We’ve missed two meals today already."

Glorfindel agreed and soon they were both dried off and dressing. Glorfindel pulled on a cream-colored shirt of fine linen and fawn breeches made of light wool. The cuffs and neck of the shirt were embroidered in blue and green thread in an intricate geometric pattern. Over this was a tunic that came to just below the knees. It was a deep azure blue lined in light blue satin and embellished with silver thread embroidery and sea pearls. The sleeves came to just below his elbows. The neck was round and there was a front placket for ease of donning. A silver brooch set with an emerald cabochon closed the slit. The tunic was cinched at the waist by a leather belt, intricately tooled, the clasp of which was silver and in the form of two intertwined birds. Fawn leather ankle boots completed the ensemble.

Ingwion was similarly dressed except his tunic was a deep forest green lined with yellow-green satin. It was embellished with gold thread embroidery and yellow topaz. A brooch made of gold set with a star ruby graced his throat. The clasp of his leather belt was in the shape of gold leaves linked together.

Ingwion helped Glorfindel braid his hair, the gemstones and beads carefully placed. Ingwion gave a sigh of envy as he finished the last braid. Glorfindel gave him a sad smile and shook his head.

"These braids come at too high a cost, hanno," the Noldo said. "Do not envy me or them. Neither is worth it."

Ingwion gave Glorfindel a pensive look. "Would you have done things differently?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Do you mean, would I have turned back and followed Arafinwë? I don’t know. I don’t think anyone can know. I only know that I didn’t, for whatever reason or for no reason. I didn’t turn back. All else flows from that." He paused as he stood in front of an ornate mirror and gazed into his reflection. He took one of his braids in his hand. "Every time I braid my hair I am reminded of what I had to do to earn them and sometimes the very memory sickens me." Then he turned back to Ingwion, letting go of the braid. "But I have accepted those memories and these braids remind me of who I am, truly am."

"Who are you, then?" Ingwion asked, barely speaking above a whisper.

Glorfindel smiled ruefully. "Someone who has died... and lived to tell about it."

Ingwion snorted at that and soon the dark mood that had descended on them lifted and the ellyn left the bathing chamber. While they had been bathing and dressing, Ingwion had told Glorfindel as much as he knew of what had happened, which was little enough.

"I’m afraid I didn’t understand most of what was being said or done," Ingwion admitted as they traversed a long hall, "but I do know everyone was very calm about it, almost as if they have fëar running away from them every day of the week."

Glorfindel snorted at that but otherwise did not comment. They came to a door and stopped. Ingwion gestured to Glorfindel. "Go ahead and open it. The surprise is for you."

"I hate surprises."

"You’ll love this one. Go on."

Glorfindel sighed but complied, steeling himself mentally for some kind of shock, but when the door opened and he stepped into the room, all was in darkness. He gave Ingwion a glance and shrugged. Ingwion followed him in and gently closed the door. There was nothing but silence, then, softly, slowly, a single white candle flickered into being. Then another appeared and another and soon the entire room was awash in candlelight as a hundred candles were lit. The ellyn gasped in wonder. Every candle was held by a Maia, except for the fourteen held by the Valar themselves and the seven held by the elves who had accompanied Ingwion and Glorfindel to Valmar.

As the candles flamed into existence a song was heard, soft at first, but as the number of lit candles increased, it swelled to a crescendo of sound that caused Glorfindel’s fëa to soar. As the last candle was lit the song came to an end on a high note of solemn joy. There were no words to the music and Glorfindel could not ascertain its source. It was as if the very room were rejoicing in his presence.

Glorfindel stood there in awe, and tears fell heedless from his eyes. Manwë stepped forward and beckoned for the two ellyn to approach. He smiled as he placed a hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder. "Happy Begetting Day, my Balrog-slayer."

Glorfindel’s eyes widened. "Be-begetting day?"

"Oh, we’re a little late in celebrating it," Námo said as he joined the Elder King, "but we didn’t think you would mind."

Glorfindel looked around the room at all the people grinning at him. "This... this is for me?"

Manwë nodded. "Does it please you?"

Glorfindel could only nod, overcome with emotion. He wiped the tears from his face. "Thank you," he whispered.

"You’re most welcome, child," Manwë replied in a gentle tone, giving the ellon an encouraging smile. "Now, do you want to see your gifts first or eat first?"

"G-gifts? I have gifts?" he asked in wonder. He had quite forgotten about Begetting Day celebrations and was having difficulty trying to remember the rituals that went with them.

For some reason everyone found that funny and light laughter rang through the chamber. Ingwion clapped Glorfindel on the back. "It isn’t a proper Begetting Day without them, you know."

"And here’s your first gift, from us," Námo said, gesturing to include the other Valar and Maiar, as he handed Glorfindel a small box. The elf opened it to find a ring. It was gold and the central gem was a teardrop-shaped peridot, its green light glowing gently against the gold in which it was set. Surrounding it were several small citrines. Glorfindel gasped at the gift and looked up at Námo, who merely smiled.

"Try it on."

Glorfindel took the ring from the box and placed it tentatively upon his left ring finger. It fit perfectly. As soon as Glorfindel slipped the ring on he felt strengthened in spirit and hope was renewed within him. He gazed at the Lord of Mandos and smiled. "Thank you, my lord."

That seemed to break the ice and the other elves gathered around Glorfindel to offer him their gifts. Elessairon and Lómion gave him a joint gift of a new knife with a mithril hilt and a tooled red leather sheath to go with it. Findis gave him a small book of poetry, beautifully illuminated, while Alassiel shyly gave him a sword pendant made of gold with little flakes of emeralds and rubies on the pommel.

"Until you are given your own sword back," she whispered. Glorfindel smiled hugely and gave the elleth a light kiss on the cheek before undoing the clasp and putting it around his neck. The sword hung just under his throat for all to see.

Ercassë and Elemmirë gave him different colored ribbons, mostly greens and golds with some shades of blue and red. "In case you want to do any more ribbon embroidery," Ercassë said with a sly grin. Everyone laughed because all knew that she was considered an expert in the art. She and Glorfindel had often amused themselves by seeing who could make the most realistic looking flowers.

Ingwion and Indil gifted Glorfindel with the chaplet of gold in the shape of malinornë leaves that he had worn to his meeting with the Elder King the evening before.

"Atar gave it to me so you might wear something appropriate for your meeting with my Lord Manwë," Ingwion explained, "but I do not think he will mind that Indil and I have gifted it to you. It actually was a bride-gift to our Aunt Indis when she married Finwë. I’m not even sure how it ended up in Vanyamar. Anyway, as you are a member of the Noldorin royal family, it rightly belongs with you."

"Should it not go to Findaráto, instead?" Glorfindel asked, not sure if he could accept such a princely gift.

Indil shook her head, her grey eyes merry. "Findaráto has his own set of coronets and crowns. I don’t think he needs another. I think it looks very nice on you." With that, she took it from the box where it had lain and put it on Glorfindel’s head. Everyone clapped and Glorfindel turned an interesting shade of red, much to their amusement.

But the best gift of all was from Olórin, who suddenly appeared, wearing a wide smile. Glorfindel went to him and gladly hugged the Maia in greeting.

"So, I see Valmar is still standing in spite of your presence," Olórin said with a wink and Glorfindel laughed, his eyes bright and merry. Everyone there secretly rejoiced, for it was the ellon’s old laugh, full of joy, and they were pleased to see the light of the Trees shining once again in his eyes.

Olórin handed the ellon a small green velvet bag with long drawstring ties that would allow one to wear the bag around one’s neck. "Happy Begetting Day, child," he said and kissed Glorfindel on the brow.

Glorfindel stared at the bag for a moment, suddenly looking pensive.

"Glorfindel, what’s wrong, hinya?" Námo asked quietly, silently alerting the Maiar. The ring he had given the ellon had been especially designed by Aulë to give Glorfindel strength to resist the psychic breaks from which he had been suffering and to promote a sense of hope, joy and optimism in his life. It was hoped that the ring would offer the elf some small protection and prevent any further slippage of the fëa. Glorfindel would not know how closely he was being watched at that particular moment in case he ‘slipped his leash’ again.

Glorfindel looked up at the Vala with a frown. "Which Begetting Day?"

Everyone breathed a mental sigh of relief, though Námo sent a silent warning to the Maiar not to relax their vigilance too much. Outwardly, Námo smiled. "Does it really matter, Glorfindel? A Begetting Day is just a way to celebrate one’s coming into Arda. It does not matter when you celebrate it, only that you do in acknowledgment of the gift of Life that Ilúvatar has granted you out of love for you."

Glorfindel pondered the Vala’s words for a moment then nodded, giving Námo a shy smile. "Now, why don’t you open Olórin’s gift," the Lord of Mandos said with a grin, "before your companions all die of curiosity and I have to open another Hall in Mandos just for them."

Glorfindel laughed at that, as did everyone else, and he opened the bag to reveal a square of blue silk in which lay a single large tumbled beryl. Glorfindel gasped. "Olórin! This is beautiful. Wherever did you find such a perfect stone?"

"Oh, you know, here or there," Olórin said with a laugh and Glorfindel gave him a glad hug. He showed the stone eagerly to his friends before putting it back in the bag and slipping it over his head, pushing the bag under his shirt next to his skin.

Manwë suggested that perhaps they might like to have some refreshments and soon they were all eating and drinking, Glorfindel sticking to water, though it was the sweetest water he had ever tasted and left him feeling refreshed and invigorated as he had never felt before. It was a joyful celebration that went on for some time.

Eventually, though, Glorfindel began to feel his energy flag and it was decided that he should remain in Námo’s mansion for the night along with Ingwion as a precaution. The other elves bade the two ellyn good night and left with Olórin as escort. Soon only the two ellyn, Námo, Ulmo, Manwë and Varda were left, Vairë having given them her farewells earlier. If there were any Maiar about, they remained unseen by the two elves.

Manwë smiled at Glorfindel and Ingwion. "A very busy day for you both. Go and rest. Tomorrow you should spend the day wandering the city and relaxing. I believe Lord Ulmo would like you to visit him as well."

Glorfindel and Ingwion looked to the Lord of Waters, who nodded. "Come at the second hour past the nooning and we will talk."

Then only Námo was there and the Vala showed them to a small bedroom with two beds. "Sleep well, children. Do not fear, for no evil may enter here and my people will guard you." With that the Lord of Mandos bowed, leaving the two elves alone. For a few minutes they talked softly as they prepared for bed but soon the only sound was their light breathing as they both slipped onto the Path of Dreams.

Neither was aware of the fourteen warrior Maiar who filled the room with their invisible presence, half of them warding Glorfindel, the other half Ingwion. Námo, it seemed, was not taking any chances.

****

Na quildë!: Be silent!

Peridot: A green gemstone considered protective against evil and when set in gold, especially helpful against night terrors. It signifies strength, both individual and within a relationship, as well as the promise of new growth in years ahead.

Citrine: A bright yellow gemstone symbolic of hope and strength. It dissipates negative energy and promotes warmth, joy, and optimism in one’s life. Ideal for helping anyone to get through the tough times in life, and Glorfindel certainly can use all the help he can get right now!

Ruby:considered to be the most powerful gem in the universe. It is the symbol of royalty. It gives the wearer the ability to see things in a true and correct manner.

Beryl: The proper name for the Emerald: used to ward off demons and evil spirits. It is said to protect travelers from danger, brings wisdom, growth, and patience and is considered symbolic of love and fidelity, as well as faith and hope. Aragorn refers to it as an ‘elf-stone’ [FOTR, I, 12 "Flight to the Ford"] when he finds the beryl left at the Bridge of Mitheithel by Glorfindel. It is possible that this is the same beryl with which Olórin gifted the Balrog-slayer.

47: The Will of the Valar

Glorfindel and Ingwion woke the next morning, both feeling refreshed. Námo was not there to greet them but one of the Maiar serving him offered to show them the way out once they had dressed and broken their fast. Glorfindel’s fear that they would have to walk another spiral to leave proved groundless when the Maia showed them to a plain wooden door that led down a set of stairs on the west side of the mansion. Glorfindel stopped at the top of the stairs and stared over the high walls surrounding Námo’s residence to where the Ezellohar and the Máhanaxar stood beyond the western gate of Valmar.

"Many visitors to Valmar take the opportunity to visit the Trees and the Ring of Doom," the Maia said, pretending not to notice how white Glorfindel suddenly looked.

Ingwion, however, took Glorfindel by the shoulders and turned him away from the sight, his expression one of gentle concern. "I know the others will want to go there, but you do not have to, otornya. We will go and visit Lord Ulmo as he requested instead."

Glorfindel glanced at the Maia, a questioning look on his face. The Maia, in turn, merely nodded. "No one will force you to go there, child. Indeed, I think I can safely say that Lord Námo would strongly counsel against it in your present state." The Maia suddenly smiled and a small chuckle escaped his lips.

"What?" Glorfindel asked, struggling not to smile in turn, for the sound of the Maia’s laughter was infectious.

"Only that when my Lord Námo said as much to me earlier he sighed and opined that you would consider such advice as an open invitation to do just the opposite."

Now Ingwion sniggered and Glorfindel laughed outright. "And my Lord Námo would be correct, but not, I think, today. Today, I just want to enjoy myself."

"Then that is what you should do," the Maia said approvingly. "Come, your companions are waiting for you."

With that they went down the stairs and found themselves in a small rose garden. The Maia led them along a series of paths that took them to the front of the mansion and out the main gate to where Alassiel, Elessairon and Lómion were waiting.

"The others have decided to remain in Eldamas this morning, so it’s just us," Alassiel explained.

Glorfindel and Ingwion gave the Maia a respectful farewell, then the five of them wandered up the avenue towards the Mindon Nyellion where they sat on the edge of the fountain and watched the play of water and listened to the gentle tolling of the bells.

"What do you want to do?" Lómion finally asked. "We spent yesterday wandering the city and seeing what there is to see, but neither of you had that opportunity. We do not mind joining you if you want to explore Valmar or Eldamas."

Ingwion shrugged. "I have been here many times, but I know Glorfindel has not, so it is for him to say."

"Thanks," Glorfindel said with a quirk of an eyebrow, then he shook his head. "I have no specific plans. I would just like to wander and visit the gardens and such."

"We didn’t go out to the Ezellohar, yet," Alassiel said.

Ingwion scowled slightly at the elleth’s words and everyone saw Glorfindel pale. Alassiel looked at them in confusion.

"But everyone wants to see the Trees," she said plaintively.

"I do not need to see the Trees, child," Glorfindel said quietly, feeling suddenly old. "I remember the mingling of their Lights." He sighed and the younger Noldor gave him looks that bordered on awe.

For all that he seemed younger than they in many respects, they were suddenly reminded that this was an elf who had witnessed the Darkening of Valinor and had joined in the Rebellion against the Valar. Elessairon found himself staring at the gems glittering in Glorfindel’s braids and began to realize just what the ellon had meant about their cost. He shivered slightly at the thought and noticed that Ingwion seemed unaffected by Glorfindel’s words. Belatedly he realized that the prince was even older than Glorfindel.

"Then we need not go there," Elessairon said decisively. "There will be other opportunities. For now, let us just wander and enjoy ourselves."

So that is what they did. Ingwion told them that he and Glorfindel were expected at Ulmo’s mansion in the afternoon and Lómion suggested that they have lunch at the inn so Ingwion and Glorfindel could freshen up for their meeting with the Lord of Waters. In the meantime, the five friends wandered up and down the avenue admiring the various mansions and gardens. All the gates were open and they were encouraged by the few Maiar they saw to visit any and all of them to their hearts’ content.

Each of the mansions was different in architecture and design, reflecting the personality of their owners. Tulkas’ mansion was many-storied and a great courtyard in front was used for physical contests. Oromë’s was low and surrounded by great trees that supported the roof of the building. Ingwion informed them that beyond Aulë’s mansion, bordering the plain, was a great court which held some of each of the trees of Arda.

Eventually, they made their way back to the North Road and wended their way through the narrow side streets to the inn where they met the others and enjoyed a quiet meal before Glorfindel and Ingwion excused themselves to get ready for their meeting with Lord Ulmo.

Glorfindel fished out his second best tunic from the wardrobe, a blue-green brocade with wide sleeves and trimmed with red fox fur under which he wore a shirt of heavy muslin dyed a royal blue. His breeches were made of fine wool also dyed a royal blue. The only jewelry he wore was the sword pendant and the peridot ring. He tucked the beryl in its bag under his clothes. His new knife he left behind, knowing that to go so armed before one of the Powers was not considered polite. He decided not to wear anything on his head, but stopped before the mirror to check that his hair was still properly braided before joining Ingwion in the common room.

This time, there was no escort for them and they simply made their own way to Ulmo’s residence. The front gate was a single carved marilla and when they entered the courtyard they saw that the mansion, smaller than many of the others, sat in the middle of a lake. Its foundation was made of nenairë and was submerged in the crystal blue water. They could not see any way to cross over to the mansion until they came closer and discovered that a causeway of half-submerged stepping stones led to the front portico.

With a shrug Glorfindel stepped lightly upon what appeared to be the cast-off shells of giant sea turtles. It was necessary to cross carefully, but Glorfindel had no fear of slipping and soon he and Ingwion were walking up the pearlescent steps to the front entrance carved from living sea rock. A Maia stood in the entrance, obviously expecting them. He bowed.

"Greetings, Prince Ingwion, Lord Glorfindel. I am Salmar of the People of Ulmo and bid you welcome to my Master’s abode. He is expecting you. Please, come this way."

The Maia turned and the two elves followed him through a number of small courtyards each with its own fountain, no two the same in shape or size. Salmar eventually brought them to one such courtyard where a fountain in the shape of dolphins graced the center of the court. Ulmo was waiting for them there, looking much the same as he had appeared the previous day. He smiled as Salmar ushered them into his presence.

"Thank you Salmar," Ulmo said to the Maia. "See that none disturb us." Salmar bowed and left. Ulmo gestured to the elves and they joined him by the fountain where they saw some chairs were set around a table laden with fruit and drinks. "Come, sit and we will talk."

They sat and Ulmo took a moment to pour them some drinks which turned out to be a mild fruit beverage reminiscent of pears. It went down smoothly and quenched their thirst. As they sipped their drink, Ulmo spoke.

"My brother Valar have other concerns that require their attention, so I agreed to speak to you about your thoughts concerning how we may help ease the tension between the Reborn and the... Once-born."

The Vala gave Glorfindel an amused look and the ellon blushed. Ingwion looked at him in surprise. "Is that what you call us?"

Ulmo, however, answered. "An apt enough description, young prince. It is not meant as an insult... well, at least, not all of the time." Ulmo gave a short laugh and Glorfindel blushed even further, though he did not contradict the Vala.

Ingwion gave Glorfindel an appraising look and nodded, turning to Ulmo. "You were saying, my lord?"

"We are aware of the resentment many of the Amaneldi have towards those whom they see as having rebelled against us and are therefore not deserving of our forgiveness." Ulmo’s expression was grave and there was no levity in his eyes. "We Valar will not, indeed cannot, interfere with what happens between the various factions of elves. That is something you will have to work out for yourselves. We will, however, lend whatever aid and advice you may seek from us, save for direct intervention."

"Why?" Glorfindel suddenly asked.

"A fair enough question," Ulmo said. He looked at the two ellyn sitting before him and his face became graver. "To be blunt, Aman and her people were raped."

The two elves sucked in their breaths at that but did not interrupt.

Ulmo nodded at their reaction. "Yes, raped. A nasty word, but appropriate. Melkor raped us and then Fëanáro...." He shook his head, as if to clear it of such dark thoughts. "At any rate, the healing has been slow and painful. We Valar have done what we could to heal the wounds but much work needs to be done among the Eldar. They must want healing for healing to occur."

"And some there are who prefer to suffer an open sore spilling out the pus of their anger upon their fellow elves than to seek healing," Glorfindel remarked without emotion, as if speaking of the weather.

"Yes," was Ulmo’s only comment.

For a time none moved or spoke. Ingwion pondered the Vala’s words. His initial reaction to Glorfindel had been less than sterling and he regretted it, for he found much to admire in the Reborn Noldo and welcomed him as a friend. He understood better than most of the Amaneldi what the rebellion had cost them all and agreed with Ulmo about the need for healing. He was at a loss, though, to know what any of them could do about it.

"Why have none of the Vanyar been released from Mandos?" Glorfindel asked, breaking the silence that had come between them.

"For that, child," Ulmo said, his sea-green eyes becoming a darker shade of purple-green, reminding the elves of a storm gathering upon the ocean, "you will have to ask my brother Vala. Lord Námo has the care of the Dead and only he can answer your question. I will say this, though: nothing is as it seems and all is done in accordance with the Indómë Eruva."

"Valar valuvar," Glorfindel muttered.

Ulmo smiled thinly. "Only in so far as our rule conforms to the Will of Eru, Glorfindel. As are you, we Valar are free to make our own decisions, but always we strive to make them in light of Eru’s Will for Arda. We do not always succeed, but we never stop trying."

"I think the greatest resentment lies among the Vanyar," Ingwion commented. Ulmo nodded in encouragement.

"They do not understand why Rebel Noldor are being released before their own people who remained loyal to the Valar," Ingwion continued.

"Many of the Noldor who remained behind wonder as well," Glorfindel added. "Only the Teleri do not seem overly upset by any of it."

"Most of their people have already been released, though admittedly not all," Ingwion opined.

"Is there a pattern?" Glorfindel asked the Vanya, almost forgetting Ulmo’s presence, much to the Vala’s amusement.

Ingwion shrugged. "If there is, I don’t see it."

Glorfindel shook his head and sighed, closing his eyes. His tone, when he spoke, was bitter. "I do not see what we can do to alter people’s opinions. I cannot speak for others, but personally, I’m tired of apologizing for my life, for either life. I did what I did, no less than they, and suffered the consequences, no less than they. If they have a complaint, they are looking at the wrong person. They should be importuning Lord Námo, not me. I didn’t decide that I would die as I did and I didn’t decide that I would be Reborn when I was, either."

Ulmo put a hand on Glorfindel’s arm. "Sérë, hinya. Á lery’ ahatya. Á nuhta sárë sanwer herien óretya."

Glorfindel opened his eyes and saw the love and concern in the Vala’s eyes and taking a deep breath, let the bitterness go, knowing that it would be of no real use to him. "Ávartyara nillo, herunya. Sometimes the grief overwhelms me."

"Grief, child?" the Vala enquired gently.

Glorfindel nodded. "Grief. Grief that all that we built was ultimately destroyed. Grief that all that we loved was ultimately lost. Grief that I and others like me will seemingly spend the rest of the Ages of Arda apologizing for our lives and our deaths and..."

Ulmo stood up then and gathered the ellon in his arms and held him as he started weeping, silently alerting Manwë and Námo in case the emotions the elf was experiencing proved too much for him. Unknown to Glorfindel or Ingwion or any of the Eldar strolling along the Landamallë Valion, two hundred warrior Maiar descended upon Ulmo’s mansion, ringing it with ethereal swords of light, ready to stop one golden-haired Noldo’s fëa from running away. Their presence proved unnecessary, but none of them minded. They were there for their lords’ bidding and performed whatever task given them with joy and gratitude for the opportunity to serve.

Glorfindel eventually calmed and apologized again for his breakdown, but both Ulmo and Ingwion assured the ellon that apologies were unnecessary.

"You have a right to feel distraught, Glorfindel," Ingwion said, giving the Noldo a pat on the shoulder. "I regret that I ever did or said anything to make things worse for you."

"At least you were willing to be corrected in your misconceptions, young prince," Ulmo said. "That speaks well of your character. Others are not so willing to learn the error of their ways."

"I can be naught but who I am," Glorfindel said as he resumed his seat, staring at his feet. "I can do naught than what I have done already. If the Amaneldi do not want to understand, I cannot force them to do otherwise. Maybe it would be best if all the Reborn settled elsewhere away from the Amaneldi. No doubt the elves of Tol Eressëa will welcome us."

"Is that what you truly want, Glorfindel?" Ulmo asked.

Glorfindel looked up at the Vala, his expression grim. "What I want, my lord, is to return to Endórë. What I want is to serve my king again. What I want is my life back!"

He stood up suddenly and moved away from the other two, stopping only when he found himself inexplicably blocked, not realizing that at that moment twenty of the two hundred Maiar surrounding the mansion now ringed Glorfindel, preventing him from leaving the courtyard. Ulmo stood up and followed the ellon, pulling him backward into his embrace. Glorfindel did not resist. For a moment they stood there, neither looking at anything in particular.

"What you want, you cannot have," Ulmo finally said in a whisper. Glorfindel sobbed, nodding. "What you have, you do not want, though it is what you need."

"What do I have?" Glorfindel asked, unconvinced.

"What you have is the friendship and respect of some of the most powerful elves of Aman. What you have are two brothers who love you."

"Three brothers," Ingwion said, coming to stand beside the Vala, giving Glorfindel a brief kiss on the forehead. "Three brothers who love you."

Glorfindel started sobbing harder as Ulmo nodded, smiling warmly at the Vanyarin prince.

"What you have," Ulmo continued, turning his attention back to Glorfindel, "is the love and forgiveness of the Valar, and more importantly, Eru. What you have, child, is an opportunity to live as Eru always meant for you to live if you will just accept it."

"Perhaps if you and the other Reborn just continue to live your lives under the grace of the Valar," Ingwion said hesitantly, feeling his way, "those who resent the Reborn will see they have nothing to fear from you."

"Why would they fear us?" Glorfindel asked, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hands.

"You represent the unknown to them," Ulmo answered. "You have done something they will never experience or understand and that frightens them."

"Frightened people oft are a danger to themselves and others," Glorfindel said with great confidence, speaking from painful experience.

"Then you must show them that there is nothing to fear from the Reborn," Ulmo replied. He turned Glorfindel around to face him and put his hands on the ellon’s shoulders. "Go now. No decision need be made at the present moment. It is enough that we have talked. Spend the rest of your stay in Valmar among your friends. My brother Manwë will wish to speak with you all before you return to Vanyamar. Until then, I’m ordering you to have a good time."

The Vala feigned a stern look and Glorfindel found himself grinning in spite of himself. "Valar valuvar," he said softly and Ulmo chuckled.

"Indeed."

****

Marilla: Pearl. A symbol of purity and innocence.

Nenairë: Water-sea, from nén "water" + airë "sea"; what we would call aquamarine with the same meaning. It is believed that when submerged in water this gemstone becomes particularly powerful as a healing stone as well as a protective talisman against dangers at sea and against poisoning.

Indómë Eruva: The Will of Eru.

Valar valuvar: "The will of the Valar will be done." This is an attested phrase and translation found in The War of the Jewels, p. 404.

Sérë, hinya. Á lery’ ahatya. Á nuhta sárë sanwer herien óretya: "Peace, my child. Let go thy rage. Do not allow bitter thoughts to continue to rule thy heart."

Ávartyara nillo, herunya: "Forgive me, my lord".

Note: I adapted some of the descriptions of the various mansions from Karen Wynn Fonstad’s Atlas of Middle-earth.

48: Echoes of the Past, Storms of the Present

Glorfindel and Ingwion left Lord Ulmo’s mansion shortly thereafter, never knowing that the two hundred Maiar had come and gone, though a contingent of warriors still ringed the two elves on Manwë’s orders. The elves made their way back to Eldamas, wandering the streets in a random manner, stopping to admire a building or a fountain or to buy a sweet. Glorfindel decided to take Ulmo’s last words to heart and set out to enjoy himself. He had seen little of the town and wanted to explore. Ingwion was more than willing.

The Maiar in their midst smiled indulgently at the two elves, especially when Glorfindel reacted to something with childlike glee. Everything fascinated him and he often stopped to speak to this person or that, asking questions about the town and its inhabitants. Most recognized the prince who was obviously this strange elf’s companion and so remained respectfully polite in his presence, though not a few looked askance at Glorfindel’s outlandish braids shimmering in the afternoon sun. Glorfindel ignored the looks, determined not to let them upset him. He meant what he had said earlier: he was tired of apologizing for his life and was no longer going to do so. The Amaneldi would just have to accept him as he was... or not.

Ingwion found himself seeing Eldamas and its people as if for the first time through Glorfindel’s unjaded eyes. He took delight in "discovering" the town with his friend, and was surprised to find that one or two places were completely new to him.

"I never knew this was here," he said in surprise when the two came suddenly upon a small fountain in a courtyard off a narrow alley. It was a graceful structure of gleaming white marble with veins of deep blue depicting Ulmo and Ossë riding sea creatures that neither elf could put names to.

"I wonder who made it and why they hid it away here?" Glorfindel asked. The elves remained in the courtyard for some time enjoying the quiet and admiring the play of water plashing from the fountain. The Maiar warriors, of course, could have told them about the fountain and its maker, but as the elves were unaware of their presence, they weren’t asked.

The sun was setting as the two friends made their way to the inn where they joined the others for the evening meal. As before, no one pressed them to speak of their meeting with the Vala. Instead, they entertained each other by describing their favorite sights in the city. Alassiel was intrigued by Glorfindel’s description of the fountain and said that she would like to see it before they left. The others nodded in agreement.

"When do we leave?" Glorfindel asked Ingwion curiously.

"When the Valar say we may," Ingwion replied with equanimity.

Glorfindel looked surprised and somewhat concerned. "I-I don’t understand."

Findis leaned over and placed a hand on Glorfindel’s arm. "You were summoned here by Lord Manwë, Glorfindel. You may not depart without the Elder King’s leave to do so."

"Are you that anxious to return to Vanyamar, otornya?" Ingwion asked with a smile and Glorfindel shook his head. "Good. Because I for one am enjoying myself. Now, what should we do tomorrow?"

With that, everyone but Glorfindel began offering suggestions. Glorfindel sat back and let the flow of conversation pass over him. He would not mind remaining in Valmar for another day or two, but for some reason the thought of remaining for longer than that made him nervous. He was unaware that he was rubbing the peridot ring, though the Maiar took note and passed the information along to their lords.

No one noticed the hooded figure sitting in a dark corner of the common room observing Glorfindel and his friends for a time before leaving. No one, that is, but the Maiar.

****

It turned out that no one in their party had yet gone out the west gate of the city to see the Trees and the Ring of Doom.

"It would be a pity not to see them while we are here," Lómion had said the night before.

"Then you should go," Findis had said, indicating the four younger Noldor. "The rest of us will take our ease here."

So it was decided, but in the morning, as they were readying themselves to leave, Glorfindel joined them, much to everyone’s surprise.

"Are you sure?" Elessairon asked, looking at the golden-haired elf doubtfully.

Glorfindel gave him a grim smile. "Am I sure I want to do this? The answer to that is... no. Do I need to do this? The answer to that is... maybe. If I find it too distressful, I will turn back."

Ingwion offered to accompany them, but Glorfindel said he did not need a minder and anyway, it would be fun just for the Noldor to have an outing of their own. "I don’t know about the others, but you Vanyar are beginning to get on my nerves," Glorfindel joked and Ingwion obliged him by sticking out his tongue at them. They left the inn in a merry mood.

When they reached the end of the avenue, however, the mood shifted. They had walked the length of the Landamallë in lighthearted banter, stopping to admire the Mindon Nyellion for a moment before continuing. Glorfindel’s mood darkened as they came abreast of the mansion of the Lord of Mandos and the others became quiet as they all stopped to look through the front gate. There was nothing about the mansion that looked ominous or threatening. The courtyard before it was bright and colorful with many flowers and birds singing in the arbors. There was, in fact, a sense of peace and serenity about the place.

"The peace of the grave," Glorfindel muttered to himself, and only Elessairon heard him.

They did not linger but made their way through the golden gate out onto the Númenya Tëa. The Ezellohar and the Máhanaxar were some distance to the left of the road. A small path led directly to them. As they approached, the elves fell silent, awed beyond measure at the sight of the Green Mound and the dark husks of the Trees looming above them. They did not venture onto the Mound, but remained a respectful distance from it. They were the only visitors.

Glorfindel stood there staring up at the Trees, remembering. He twisted the peridot ring on his finger and its touch brought him comfort. His glance, however, wandered from the dead Trees to a spot to the south of it and without conscious volition he found himself leaving the others, moving along the path past the Ezellohar.

"Glorfindel, wait!" Elessairon shouted, his voice sounding harsh in the silence that seemed to permeate the very air around them. Not even birds could be heard here.

Glorfindel paid no heed but continued walking, indeed, almost running. The others ran after him and Manveru silently ordered a full alert as he and his companions took up positions around the Máhanaxar, still invisible to the elves.

Glorfindel did not stop running until he was in the center of the ring of thrones. The other elves stopped as well, but stood at the perimeter between two of the thrones. Glorfindel turned slowly around, his lips moving, but what he said they did not hear. Suddenly, he stopped and pointed to one of the thrones.

"Lord Manwë sat there," he said in a voice loud enough for them to hear. Then he pointed to another throne. "And Lady Varda was here." One by one he pointed to the various thrones, naming their occupants as the other elves looked on in wonder and consternation. When Glorfindel pointed to Námo’s throne, he hesitated before naming the Lord of Mandos. For a long moment he simply stared at it before glancing at his friends, giving them a brief, sad smile.

"I screamed," he said in a flat voice. "Screamed and screamed and screamed, but it did no good."

The younger Noldor did not move but stared at Glorfindel with a mixture of horror and pity. Glorfindel did not notice.

"They made me see... many things. People think we deserve judgment and they are correct, but they little think of the consequences of judgment, not all of them having to do with punishment." He shook his head and went silent, unwilling or unable to say more.

The others simply stood there, unsure how to react, seeing this Noldo in a new light, for he was far older than they, in spirit if not in body. It was a sobering thought and the ellith found themselves shivering, though the sun was warm on their skin.

Glorfindel gave a final glance at Námo’s throne then turned and walked towards his friends. "Let’s go," he said softly and they followed him silently back to the city.

More than one Maia breathed a sigh of relief to see Glorfindel leave the Ring of Doom. Námo, who had been standing invisibly by his throne and listening to Glorfindel, nodded grimly at the retreating figure.

****

They returned to the Laughing Vala to find that Ingwion and the Vanyarin ellith were not there. When the others decided to go look for them Glorfindel declined to join them.

"I think going out to the Ezellohar was a mistake," he said. "I want to just stay here and relax. Go, enjoy the day. I will see you this evening."

The others reluctantly left him sitting in the common room quietly nursing a goblet of wine.

Hours later, when all of the elves met in the common room, it was to discover that Glorfindel was not there, nor, when they inquired, had any of the inn’s staff seen him leave earlier. A quick glance in his room showed that all his clothes were still there; only his cloak was missing... and his new knife.

"Perhaps he decided to spend the night in one of the malinorni," Elessairon said, half-jokingly, remembering how Glorfindel seemed to like to sleep in trees back in Tirion. Ingwion was near to panic, for he feared the implications of Glorfindel taking his knife and would have rushed out to scour Eldamas and Valmar for the missing elf if Findis had not stopped him.

"He may have simply gone for a walk, Cousin," she said, "and taken the knife to be sharpened. It is still early yet. Let us dine and no doubt he will come in looking none the worse for wear."

The others all said the same and Ingwion was forced to acquiesce, not willing or perhaps unable to articulate his concerns in such a way as to make any sense to the others. But when the hours of the night deepened with still no sign of Glorfindel, even Findis looked worried.

"If he has not returned by morning," she said, "we will search for him."

No one slept.

****

Morning came and with it drear clouds out of the west, though the rain held off. Ingwion refused to break his fast and stated categorically that he was leaving to look for Glorfindel and the rest were free to do as they pleased.

Findis and Indil offered to remain at the inn, in case Glorfindel wandered in while the others were out. Alassiel elected to go with Ingwion along with Elessairon to Valmar; the others agreed to look for him in Eldamas.

"Go to that fountain he told us about," Alassiel suggested at the last minute. "Perhaps he’s been there all along."

Ingwion smiled for the first time since finding Glorfindel missing. "That’s a good idea, Cousin. I had forgotten about the fountain. Glorfindel was intrigued by it and may have decided to find out more about it."

The others agreed to start their search there while Ingwion and his party went to Valmar. "Perhaps he received a summons from one of the Valar," Elessairon said, though he did not sound confident about it.

Ingwion shook his head. "Even if that were true, and Glorfindel neglected to leave us a message, the Valar would have sent us word, knowing we would worry otherwise."

Ingwion walked quickly towards the north gate, then made his way down the main avenue. He never bothered to stop at the Mindon Nyellion, nor at any of the mansions along the way.

"Ingwion, where do you go?" Alassiel cried out. "Should we not stop to ask if Glorfindel is visiting one of the Valar?"

Ingwion shook his head, reluctantly stopping to answer the elleth’s question. "He would not voluntarily seek out any of the Valar... except perhaps for one."

"Lord Námo," Elessairon said, divining Ingwion’s intention.

"Yes, though I don’t think he is there or Lord Námo would have sent us word."

"Then where..." Elessairon began but Alassiel interrupted.

"He’s gone back to the Ezellohar."

Ingwion nodded. "Or to what lies beyond," and they all shivered slightly at the thought.

Ingwion resumed his walk and the other two were quick to follow. Soon, they reached the west gate and made their way towards the Green Mound. By now the clouds were dark and menacing. The wind had stiffened and Elessairon took hold of Alassiel to help her along. There was no sign of Glorfindel anywhere near the Mound and they continued on to the Ring.

It was there that they found their first clue that Glorfindel had possibly returned there earlier.

When they reached the Ring, they found the ground all churned up and Ingwion told the other two to stop and remain where they were until he could ascertain its meaning. He followed the signs back into the Ring, signs of scuffling and what appeared to be someone being dragged away. There, near the throne that Glorfindel claimed belonged to Lord Námo, he found evidence that someone had been attacked by several others. In the gathering gloom of the oncoming storm he saw something he thought he would never see.

Lying in the grass before Lord Námo’s throne was Glorfindel’s new knife, stained with blood.

****

They returned to Valmar with the knife. Alassiel went white at the sight of it in Ingwion’s hands. Ingwion’s expression was unreadable but his eyes burned with a deep flame that made it hard for any to look at him, so terrible was his expression. Without a word to either of his companions, the prince strode up the Landamallë, heedless of the deluge that now burst upon them.

"But surely the Valar would not permit such violence in their midst," Alassiel protested as she struggled to keep up with the longer legged ellyn.

"Lord Ulmo warned us that the Valar would not interfere with the internal strife of the Eldar," Ingwion stated baldly and would say no more. He went straight to Manwë’s mansion, stopping only when he reached the front portico to find two Maiar waiting for him, their expressions grim.

"You cannot enter, Prince Ingwion," Erunáro said gravely, staring briefly at the knife gleaming in the elf’s hand. "Lord Manwë will not see you."

"Then I will stand here until he does." Ingwion’s voice was cold and implacable. "I will not leave of my own volition otherwise."

The two Maiar exchanged glances, then Erunáro bowed. "So be it. Come."

The other Maia stepped aside and the three elves followed Erunáro down the nave to another door which opened silently for them. Neither Alassiel nor Elessairon had yet been inside the mansion of the Elder King and his Spouse and in spite of the gravity of the situation they took the time to admire it. Ingwion, however, ignored everything except the need to see the Elder King and learn the fate of his otorno. They entered what appeared to be a small audience chamber, the same one in fact in which Glorfindel had had his interview with Manwë only a few days before.

Manwë was there, sitting on his throne, with Varda next to him. Ingwion was not surprised to see either Námo standing beside Varda or Ulmo standing beside Manwë. None of the Valar looked happy to see the elves. Elessairon and Alassiel suddenly felt ill at ease and slowed their approach to the thrones; Ingwion never faltered. He stopped a mere two feet from the dais, dripping wet, staring straight at the Elder King. Without bowing or otherwise showing his obeisance to them, he threw the knife at the Vala’s feet, the sound of it hitting the floor loud and ominous.

"Where is he?" Ingwion whispered, his voice tight with barely controlled rage. "What have you done with him?"

Manwë stared at the knife lying at his feet for a moment before looking up. Alassiel found herself collapsing to the floor at the expression on the Elder King’s face and Elessairon felt the blood rush from his head. He never felt Erunáro grab him from behind and ease him gently to the floor next to the now unconscious elleth. He struggled to remain conscious, willing himself to remain a witness to whatever disaster was about to befall the heir to the High Kingship of Eldamar.

"Is that any way to greet me, child?" Manwë asked gently, though his expression remained stern, even terrifying.

Ingwion refused to be baited. "Where is he?" he repeated, even more softly than before.

Manwë stared at the prince for another moment, shaking his head. "I will not tell you. This is something you must discover for yourselves."

"Is he alive?" This question was directed at Lord Námo.

"For the moment," was that Vala’s only reply, his voice as cold and as implacable as Ingwion had ever heard it.

"I need to return to Vanyamar or at least send a message..."

Manwë raised a hand. "You do not have my leave to do either, child. You and your companions will remain here in Valmar and no message will be sent for now."

Ingwion stared at the Elder King in disbelief, and then the dam of emotion he had carefully constructed all the way up the Landamallë broke. He turned his wrath first on Ulmo, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You said there would be no interference on the part of the Valar," he shouted angrily before turning his attention back to Manwë, "and now you refuse to let me even warn the High King of what has happened? MAKE UP YOUR DAMN MINDS!"

An appalled silence followed, broken only when someone started weeping. Elessairon realized it was the prince, who had collapsed all the way to the floor after his outburst, heedlessly lying in a pool of rainwater. His face was hidden in the crook of his left arm; his right fist pounded the floor in futile rage.

"Ingwion, Ingwion, what are you doing?"

Elessairon turned his head to see two other Valar standing nearby staring down at the supine prince. One was Tulkas, his golden hair shining even in the gloom, for the storm still raged above them, an echo of the storm occurring below the crystal ceiling. The other was Oromë. It was he who had spoken.

The Vala gave a short bow to Manwë before going to the prince who still wept and lifting him up, gave him a slight shake, his expression not unkindly. "Have you forgotten everything I ever taught you about the Hunt, child?" he asked quietly.

Ingwion did not respond, going still, the light in his eyes flaming with something bordering on glee, dark and manic. Elessairon struggled to understand what was going on, but could not. He leaned against Erunáro who had never released him and felt the Maia stroke his hair, sending soothing waves of comfort his way.

"Is this what this is, my lord?" Ingwion finally asked, speaking in a harsh whisper that sent chills up Elessairon’s spine. "The Hunt?"

Oromë nodded.

"And is Glorfindel the Hunted?" Now Ingwion’s tone became dark again with anger.

"Nay, child," Manwë said. "He’s the bait."

Ingwion looked between the various Valar, their expressions ranging from neutral (Ulmo) to feral (Tulkas) and took a deep breath, stepping back from Oromë’s embrace. He walked over to the knife and picked it up, then, turning to Oromë and never taking his eyes off the Vala, he sliced the palm of his right hand and began calmly bloodying his hair.

"When you sound the Valaróma, my lord," he said flatly as he ran his bloody palm through his golden locks, "I will join you in the Hunt... and Eru help anyone who gets in my way."

Lightning lit the sky and thunder crashed above them. Elessairon chose that moment to finally succumb to the terror gripping his heart and fainted.

****

Otorno: Sworn brother.

Valaróma: Oromë’s horn which he sounds before a hunt, especially against any evil creatures of Melkor.

49: Plots and Counterplots

Vorondil was glad to see Ingwion and Glorfindel leave for Valmar. He had felt uncomfortable around the Reborn from the very beginning. Glorfindel’s presence unnerved him in a way he could not entirely understand. When the trip to Valmar had been proposed, he had declined to go and in truth he did not think the others minded him remaining in Vanyamar. It just made things easier all around.

The High King had asked Lord Valandur, Lady Findis’ husband, to act as Vorondil’s mentor, but the Noldo was not pleased with the arrangement. He found the Vanyarin lord to be rather dull and even a bit slow. He was certainly no warrior, being more of a scholar. Vorondil despised scholars. He had always regretted that he had not been born early enough to participate in the War of Wrath. The thought of wielding a sword and fighting set his blood pounding and he was hard-pressed to keep his emotions in check.

His own atar had fought in the War of Wrath long before he was born and he had listened eagerly to the stories when he was younger, little aware that what Aldundil had told him was a varnished version fit for elflings. Vorondil would never know or understand the true horror that his atar had witnessed and suffered. Not even Aldundil’s beloved wife knew the full story.

Thus, Vorondil lived in a fantasy world of great deeds and glorious battles and resented the Reborn in their midst. They did not deserve a second chance. They had forsaken Aman and the Valar, whom Vorondil respected, even feared. They should not have been allowed to be re-embodied. The fact that the Reborn he knew were warriors of great renown did not seem to matter. Vorondil both admired and hated them and his contradictory attitude caused him much emotional pain, though he rarely acknowledged it.

The warrior initiation ceremony he had witnessed had stirred his blood as nothing had in a long time and he resented the fact that that low-born potter had been recognized as a warrior by the Tol Eressëan elves. That was laughable. The idea of the stupid little Sinda being a warrior and being allowed to wear warrior braids had made Vorondil literally throw up when it was convenient to do so.

When Glorfindel and his friends had finally left Vanyamar, the first thing Vorondil did was to give himself warrior braids. He had purchased some colored beads and gemstones and did his best to copy the pattern Findaráto had used with Sador’s braids, but he was not always sure of the correct sequence of twists or the order in which the stones and beads were placed. Still, when he was done, he thought he had done a good job and felt a thrill of pleasure race through his fëa as he admired himself in the mirror.

He felt safe in wearing the braids here in Vanyamar for no one had remarked on the braids that Glorfindel sported and so he assumed that no one understood their significance and would not take him to task for wearing what he had not earned the right to wear.

Vorondil had found a kindred spirit in the Lady Tinwetariel, her antipathy towards the Reborn obvious, and when they had reached Vanyamar, he had met Lord Ingoldo, who also despised the Reborn. The ellon was often in their company, ostensibly to learn more of statecraft and trade, as Lady Tinwetariel, whatever her failings, was considered a shrewd bargainer and knew much about the ins and outs of trade and trade agreements.

The day Glorfindel left for Valmar Vorondil was sitting with Lord Ingoldo and Lady Tinwetariel in the parlor of their apartments, sipping a light wine and nibbling on cheese and fruit.

"So, what do you think of the recent events, young Vorondil?" Ingoldo asked, giving the younger elf a shrewd look. "How did you react to the Song?"

It was what everyone was calling the lullaby the Valar had sung to them. Vorondil gave a slight shiver. When the Valar had started singing, every nerve in his body had screamed, though he could not say why. The music had captured him and left him both replete and bereft at the same time. He did not like to think on it too often.

"I little liked waking to find myself with my face in my porridge," he said with a scowl. "And then, all that ruckus with Glorfindel and the High King refusing to see or speak to anyone for several days... I’m sure that damn Reborn Noldo was behind most of that. Nothing happened until he started singing that ridiculous lullaby and then Lord Manwë showed up."

He gave another shiver and took a swig of his wine, barely tasting it. It had been a shock to see Lord Manwë himself standing in the middle of the dining hall and Vorondil had felt a sense of guilt at the sight of the Elder King, though he could not recall why he should feel guilty about anything.

Ingoldo and Tinwetariel exchanged glances. Tinwetariel nodded slightly to her husband, then turned to Vorondil with a smile. "Yes, it was rather unsettling and I agree with you. I have no doubt that we can lay much of the trouble of the last few weeks squarely at Laurefindil’s feet."

She, for one, refused to sully her mouth with that ellon’s outlandish name and insisted on calling him by his Quenya name even in his presence. It amused her to see him struggling to control his wrath whenever they were in the same room together. It was Laurefindil who had humiliated her in front of her brother-in-law and his court and she would never forgive him for that. More than anything, she wanted revenge and she meant to get it.

Vorondil gave her a shrewd look of his own. "So what are you saying, my lady?"

Tinwetariel shrugged. "Why, nothing at all. I think, though, it would be best if Laurefindil never returned to Vanyamar, don’t you?"

Vorondil sucked in his breath at the implications. "You mean... he should not be able to return ever?"

Tinwetariel and her husband effected shocked looks. "Oh no!" Ingoldo exclaimed. "We do not mean to suggest any such thing. We merely think he should go back to Tirion... preferably in disgrace."

"If we can show how irresponsible the Reborn Noldor really are," Ingoldo added, "using Laurefindil as a prime example, then the Valar might reconsider their plans of releasing them from Mandos."

"While releasing the Vanyar dead instead," Vorondil added with a knowing grin. "Oh, mistake me not, my lady," he said when Tinwetariel looked to take umbrage at his words. "I entirely agree. None of the Exiles should be released from Mandos. It’s bad enough the survivors were permitted to return to Tol Eressëa, but at least they continue under the ban to some extent and will never enjoy full pardon by the Valar, and certainly not by the Amaneldi. No, the Etyangoldirin dead should remain that way. Let the Valar release those who were innocent of any wrongdoing, such as your own son, but let the Exiles remain as houseless fëar until Arda is Remade. It’s quite frankly more than they deserve anyway."

The two older elves looked at Vorondil in amazement, suddenly unsure in the face of the ellon’s bitterness, but they had already committed themselves and could not turn back.

"So, how best can we discredit the Reborn?" Ingoldo asked.

"Taniquetil," Tinwetariel said suddenly. "Do you not remember Ingwë warning us that the Noldo has been forbidden to step foot on Taniquetil?"

Ingoldo smiled in an unpleasant way. "Ah, yes. Now I remember, though I fail to see how that helps us."

Vorondil raised an eyebrow, a thought coming to him. "He’s been forbidden to ascend Taniquetil, you say? That must be why the meeting with the Elder King is taking place in Valmar." He went silent for a moment before continuing. "What if Laurefindil were found on the mountain where he doesn’t belong?"

"Can we do that?" Tinwetariel asked doubtfully.

Ingoldo nodded. "Yes, and it will be easier to accomplish when he is in Valmar."

"How so, my lord?" Vorondil asked.

"Laurefindil will not be as heavily guarded in Valmar as he would be here. It will be easier to get to him. I understand from overhearing something my nephew said to my brother that the Noldo will be sleeping in his own room at the inn where they are all staying. I do not know the reason for it, only that the request to give Laurefindil his own room came from Taniquetil."

Vorondil frowned. "Could there be any significance to such a request?"

Tinwetariel snorted. "Only that the Valar seek to keep their pet happy. Have you noticed how they practically fawn over him. I’m surprised they haven’t made him a collar with his name on it attached to a chain so they can lead him around like one does one’s favorite hound."

Ingoldo laughed and Vorondil smiled. The image of Glorfindel on all fours with a collar around his neck, leaning against Lord Námo like some dog begging for approval, while the said lord held his chain was too funny and Vorondil reveled in it with secret delight. Perhaps if they could get the Valar angry enough with Glorfindel, that would truly be his fate for all the ages of Arda.

"So, what do we do?" Vorondil asked nonchalantly, though neither of the older elves were fooled. They could see the depths of hatred the ellon held for Glorfindel and were pleased. It would make things easier.

"Perhaps you would like to help," Ingoldo said carefully. "I have people loyal to me in Eldamas who can aid you in removing Laurefindil from Valmar. After that, what you do to him is up to you, though I would caution you to refrain from killing him. There has not been any Kinslaying since Alqualondë and I don’t think you want to start now."

"But, how do I get there?" Vorondil exclaimed. "It would look odd if I suddenly changed my mind and decided I wanted to go to Valmar after all."

"What if you were given the opportunity to go hunting with me tomorrow?" Ingoldo replied with a sly smile. "I plan to visit the royal hunting lodge and will be gone for several days. It’s on the way to Valmar and once outside the city, no one will know that you are not with me. All who travel with me are loyal to me and will not betray me. You can continue on to Valmar with one of my own people who will contact my agents there while I take the Mall’ Etelerroron to the lodge."

Vorondil stared at his goblet of wine for a moment thinking through the implications of what Lord Ingoldo was saying and then looked up with a smile, raising his goblet in salute. "Sounds good to me, my lord. I think I will take you up on your kind offer to join you for a few days of hunting." Now he started laughing. "And who’s to say what game I might find?"

Now they were all laughing with Tinwetariel laughing the loudest and sounding the most cruel.

****

So it was arranged and the next day Vorondil left Vanyamar with Ingoldo and four others for a week of hunting. Vorondil made a point of seeking Lord Valandur’s permission, since technically speaking, he was still a minor and could not just leave of his own accord. Valandur gave the ellon a slow, shrewd look and Vorondil was hard-pressed to keep a neutral expression on his face. Finally, the Vanyarin lord nodded.

"I think some time away from the city will do you good," and Valandur said nothing more about it. Yet, as soon as Ingoldo and his party left the city, Valandur went to see Ingwë. What he said to the High King, no one ever learned, but within the hour, messengers were being sent to Taniquetil and Valmar under the High King’s seal.

****

"Here is where I leave you, youngling," Ingoldo said. "My road lies yonder." He pointed to a narrow track that led northward into the wilderness, then he pointed southwest. "Your route lies there. Tulcaner will escort you. You may stay at the Inn of the Evening Star. It’s not far from where you will find Laurefindil. I have sketched a layout of the inn. Tulcaner will ascertain which room is the Reborn’s for you. I know of only two single rooms in that inn and either one will be easily accessible to you from the outside."

Vorondil nodded, feeling excited and sick at the same time. Finally, he was going to be doing something heroic, to cleanse his beloved Aman of the filth that was the Reborn. "Good hunting, my lord," was all he said as he took the map Ingoldo held out to him.

Ingoldo smiled. "And good hunting to you, Vorondil. When you have done what you need to, Tulcaner will lead you to the lodge so it will appear as if you have been with me all this time. I’ll even hunt some extra game and declare them yours."

Vorondil nodded again, looked at Tulcaner, who grinned, then set off with the guard towards Valmar. Ingoldo sat there on his horse for several minutes watching the two wend their way down the road before giving the order to head north.

A quarter of an hour later a lone rider traveled down the road, stopping at the intersection of the two roads to look at the prints on the ground. It did not take long for him to catch up with the two elves heading for Valmar, though he hung back far enough that neither noticed him. Thus, it was that Vorondil was observed by at least one person from Ingwë’s court entering Eldamas. The traveler took note of where the two elves turned into the inn and then went on to Valmar to deliver his message to the Elder King.

50: Taken

Glorfindel sipped his wine but could not relax. His thoughts kept wandering back to the Ring of Doom and the way he had felt, or not felt, while standing in the center of it, speaking of his Judgment.

He finally went to his room, requesting the noon meal be sent up to him. Until then, he lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. When the servant came up with a tray, he thanked her and set about eating, though he little tasted it. He placed the tray out in the corridor and then resumed his place on the bed, still thinking. Eventually, he fell asleep.

Something woke him, but he did not know what. By the slant of the sunlight streaming through his window, he knew it was late afternoon, though it would be several hours before he was due to meet the others for the evening meal. He felt suddenly restless and a need to escape the confines of the inn took him.

He grabbed his cloak and at the last minute picked up his new knife and strapped the sheath to his belt, feeling unaccountably better for it. He was reminded of the way he had felt early in his re-embodiment, wishing for a sword with which to protect himself, though there was nothing to guard against in the gardens of the Reborn.

He started towards the door, then hesitated. He did not want to be seen and he did not want to have to answer any questions that might be asked. A quick look out the window convinced him that he could leave that way without trouble. He did so, careful to close the window after him. Thus, Ingwion never realized which way Glorfindel had taken when he left the inn.

****

Vorondil was feeling bored. Tulcaner had scouted the Inn of the Laughing Vala and had learned that Glorfindel was going to remain there that day. He and the other elves who were a part of his plans had decided to take the elf from the inn by way of the window to the ellon’s room. The window in question looked out on a narrow alley that ran behind the inn. No one would see them.

However, their plans went awry when one of Tulcaner’s men reported that Glorfindel had joined the party of Noldor going to the Ezellohar at the last moment. Vorondil nearly screamed in rage. Then luck found them, for the Noldor returned earlier than expected and Glorfindel did not leave the inn when the others left again a while later. Here was his chance. Tulcaner, however, counseled caution and so they waited, Tulcaner inside the inn, Vorondil in a courtyard across from it, nursing some wine.

Thus, it was Vorondil who saw Glorfindel nonchalantly strolling out of the alley onto the street fronting the inn, and head towards the north gate of Valmar. Vorondil quickly made his way to the inn and gestured to Tulcaner.

"There you are, sir," he said, attempting to sound like a respectful servant. "My lord bids you to come at once."

Tulcaner raised his eyebrow at the ellon but complied without a word and soon the two of them were walking swiftly down the street after Glorfindel.

"Alert the others," Vorondil ordered quietly. "I will follow the Reborn."

"Where do you think he goes?" Tulcaner asked, but Vorondil did not know.

Glorfindel apparently did not know either, for he seemed to be wandering aimlessly, stopping here and there and admiring this and that, never staying at any one place for very long. This was fortunate for Vorondil for it gave the others time to catch up with him. There were six of them, not including Vorondil and Tulcaner. Vorondil did not know what grievance they might have against the Reborn, but he suspected their hatred was more against the Exilic Noldor. It didn’t matter, so long as they did as he ordered.

Glorfindel eventually made his way to the north gate and entered Valmar proper, strolling nonchalantly down the avenue, though he did not bother to stop at the fountain where the bells tolled sweetly in a light breeze.

As he reached Námo’s mansion, he stopped and stared through the carnelian gate for the longest time. Vorondil and the others were hard-pressed to look as if they were merely sightseeing and the young Noldo fumed.

"What is he doing?" he whispered to Tulcaner in frustration as he leaned against a malinornë pretending to be fishing a stone out of his shoe.

"Maybe he wants the Lord of Mandos to come out and play," Tulcaner said and Vorondil gave the Vanya a horrified look. One did not jest about the Valar, especially THIS Vala. He shook his head in dismay.

"Look, he’s leaving," Tulcaner said with a nod and Vorondil quickly put his shoe back on and they resumed trailing after the former Balrog-slayer.

Glorfindel passed through the west gate, then took the path to the Ezellohar. Vorondil was elated. "He’s alone," he whispered to Tulcaner and the others who had stopped where the path to the Mound met the Númenya Tëa. "Wait until he is far enough from the road so no one will see."

They nodded and the seven Vanyar and one Noldo made their way towards the Trees. When they did not see Glorfindel there Vorondil felt a moment of panic until he remembered the Ring of Doom and silently pointed in that direction.

They found Glorfindel standing in the center of the Ring, staring at one particular throne, apparently deep in thought. Thus, it was with some surprise when he spoke without even looking at them.

"Welcome to the Máhanaxar, gentlemen. I’ve been expecting you."

The eight elves stopped in shock. Glorfindel turned slowly to face them and Vorondil noticed that he wore a knife sheathed in red leather. He swallowed nervously, suddenly aware that he was not armed. Indeed, he did not think any of them were.

Glorfindel spoke again, a feral smile on his face. "Eight of you. How flattering."

His tone sent a frisson of fear up Vorondil’s spine and he had the sick feeling that Glorfindel did not think the odds were terribly against him.

"Wh-what did you mean... you were expecting us?" Vorondil asked, and Tulcaner hissed in disgust at the fool of a Noldo.

Glorfindel’s smile merely deepened. "Before Turucáno hid us away behind the Echoriath, I spent nearly fifty years hunting and being hunted by orcs and other fell creatures of Melkor. Do you think even now I do not know when I’m being followed?" He laughed suddenly, though it was not a pleasant laugh and even Tulcaner shivered slightly at the sound of it. "You children have much to learn." Now his voice went cold and the light that gleamed from his eyes was darkly joyful.

Vorondil felt the sudden need to vomit. Instead, he whispered, "Take him." His companions needed no other urging. Two of them advanced on Glorfindel from either side, effectively blocking his way. Glorfindel could have retreated to the other side of the ring and could have even made his escape, but he never thought to do so. He was not surprised to find himself being followed; he was somewhat taken aback to see Vorondil there and even more surprised to see him wearing warrior braids, though he hid it successfully enough.

Nor did he fear them. Vorondil he discounted and while the others were unknown factors, they were also Vanyar, not terribly noted as warriors, and they were unarmed, or so he thought. Tulcaner growled at Vorondil to stay out of the way, then reached behind his cloak to pull out a short sword. Two others did the same. Vorondil saw Glorfindel’s eyes widen at the sight of the swords but to his surprise the Reborn Noldo did not otherwise flinch. Instead he moved deliberately towards one of the thrones. The Vanyar attempted to circle him, but he reached the throne first, pulling his knife out of its sheath.

No one spoke. Then Glorfindel made a come-on gesture and his expression was so arrogant that the three armed Vanyar attacked as one. Glorfindel dropped beneath their guards and swept Tulcaner down, slicing him on the sword arm, then, using the hilt of the knife, he attempted to knock him out, though it was only a glancing blow and the elf never lost consciousness. It was enough for Glorfindel to grab the sword from him. The other two elves, however, recovered enough to turn on him at the last minute and pin him to the ground, knocking both sword and knife from him.

With a mighty effort Glorfindel attempted to throw them off and, had it just been the two attackers, he would have succeeded, but now three other elves joined the fray and while they held him down Tulcaner and another systematically began beating him into submission until at last Glorfindel passed out.

Only then did Vorondil approach, looking down on the now bloody and unconscious elf, his expression full of hate. For a moment he stared at Glorfindel, then he kicked him in the ribs and spat on him, bending down to remove the peridot ring from Glorfindel’s finger before turning away.

"Bring him," he ordered. Two of the elves grabbed Glorfindel by the arms and began to drag him out of the Ring. Tulcaner retrieved his sword, clutching his wound and muttering dark curses.

In their haste to leave no one remembered Glorfindel’s knife.

****

Manveru watched with clinical detachment as Glorfindel attacked Tulcaner and then as the Vanyar grabbed him. He was faintly amused that it took five of them to hold Glorfindel down while the other two took turns beating him mercilessly. The other Maiar stood around the Ring, their own swords of light drawn, waiting for the signal from Manveru to intervene if necessary.

Manveru knew that many of his fellow warriors looked upon the Vanyar with disdain, and admired the Balrog-slayer for his coolness in the face of insurmountable odds, though Manveru suspected that Glorfindel did not think they were that insurmountable. When you’ve fought against a Valarauco, the Maia reflected, seven Vanyar, only three of them armed, probably did not look too threatening to you.

The beating went on longer than any of the Maiar liked and it took a direct order from Tulkas, who suddenly appeared among them, to stop any of them from interfering.

"The beating is severe, but not life-threatening," the Vala said, looking stern. It was rare enough to see this particular Vala looking so grim that it gave the Maiar pause. Then, Tulkas laughed. "We will play this game to the end and these Children will see who is truly in control."

So they stood by and watched as Vorondil approached the unconscious elf and kicked him in the ribs before spitting on him. They observed the Noldo reaching down and removing Glorfindel’s ring. That action alone caused Tulkas to scowl and several of the Maiar standing nearby flinched at the Vala’s expression. Then they looked on as the Vanyar dragged Glorfindel away. Two of the Vanyar left for Eldamas where they would retrieve their horses and meet the rest of the party on the North Road where that way met the Mall’ Etelerroron. The others would cut across country. In the dark, now that the sun had set, there would be none to see.

Tulkas ordered Manveru and two other Maiar to follow the elves and so they watched as Tulcaner ordered the elves to stop as he pulled out a vial from an inner pocket and forced the contents down Glorfindel’s throat.

"Fúmella juice," he said in explanation. "It will keep him out for hours."

The trek across country was done in complete silence, two of the elves taking turns dragging Glorfindel behind them, heedless of whether he sustained further injuries. Only Vorondil and Tulcaner did not help. When they finally reached their rendevous point with the horses, Tulcaner advised Vorondil to continue to the hunting lodge.

"It will be best if you are not seen anywhere near Taniquetil. Anardil here will see you safely to the lodge. I will see that your plan for this Noldo is carried out."

Vorondil reluctantly agreed and in short order the two parties split. The Maiar ignored Vorondil and followed Tulcaner, who lashed the still unconscious elf to one of the horses. Then the Vanyar continued along the road, leaving it about a league from Vanyamar and moving north and east around the mountain to a little known path that wound its way up Taniquetil. Tulcaner pointed it out to the others.

"Here we leave the horses. We must hurry. The way is long and I want to be off the mountain before dawn."

"What exactly do you plan to do with this rebel Noldo, Tulcaner?" one of the others asked. "Leave him on Lord Manwë’s doorstep?"

The others laughed at that and Tulcaner nodded. "Just about. Let’s get going."

Thus, six Vanyar dragged Glorfindel up the mountain unaware of the three Maiar trailing them. An hour before dawn saw them at their destination — the north wall of Ilmarin where no gate stood. They threw Glorfindel against the wall where he landed in a boneless heap, then made their way back down the mountain.

Glorfindel never stirred. The three Maiar settled around him to keep their vigil.

****

Fúmella: The poppy plant, the juice of which is a narcotic.

51: Return to Lórien

The journey to Lórien was both joyful and extremely uncomfortable for Finrod. It was joyful, in that he had a chance to renew his friendship with Laurendil; uncomfortable, because of Laurendil. The former ranger of Dorthonion alternated between being furious and depressed throughout the entire trip and even Manwen could not lift his mood. Finrod had the urge to order Laurendil to smile, just to see if he could get away with it, but decided against it. Laurendil needed to come to terms with things on his own. In the meantime, Finrod made his acquaintance with Manwen, and the two spent several hours speaking Sindarin about the people and places they remembered in Beleriand.

"I fled Doriath when it fell and met Glorendil along the way," Manwen said. "In spite of everything, we somehow found each other there on the edge of ruin and fell in love. After the War of Wrath we decided to travel east into Eriador and eventually settled in a place called Lórinand, a kingdom of Silvan elves, which lies on the other side of the Hithaeglir."

"When did you sail?" Finrod asked.

"Only a couple of years ago," Laurendil said, joining the conversation. "I-I couldn’t stop dreaming of the sea and Manwen had been experiencing the sea-longing for longer than I."

"You resisted for so long, husband," Manwen said sorrowfully, "and in the end you were barely conscious."

"I did not want to leave Ennorath," Laurendil said flatly. "There was nothing for me here. There still isn’t."

"Not even your family?" Finrod asked gently.

Laurendil did not answer and Finrod let it go. He recalled that Rialcar had been one of the elves who refused to go into Exile. Perhaps the parting between son and father had not been as amicable as his own parting with Arafinwë had been. He had detected a certain coolness between Laurendil and Rialcar when they were together, though there was no outright hostility on either elf’s part.

They stopped for a couple of days in Valmar. Manwen was awed by the city, Laurendil bored. He refused to accompany them on their tour of Valmar and Eldamas, electing to remain at the inn until they were ready to resume their journey. Thus, nearly a week and a half after leaving Tirion, they arrived before the gates of Lórien.

Lord Irmo was there to meet them as they dismounted from their horses, welcoming them with a warm smile and warmer words. Finrod greeted the Vala courteously, Manwen shyly, and Laurendil not at all, even going so far as to refuse to look at the Lord of Lórien. If Irmo was upset by the Noldo’s lack of manners, he did not show it. Finrod, on the other hand, had had enough of Laurendil’s sulking.

"Laurendil, you forget yourself!" he barked, not even trying to hide his annoyance.

Manwen stared at him in shock, never having known him when he was King of Nargothrond. Their escort looked suitably impressed by their prince. Laurendil went white and then abruptly turned around and walked quickly away back down the road. Manwen started to follow, but Finrod held her back.

"Stay here, all of you," he commanded the other elves and went after the nearly fleeing ellon. "Laurendil! Hold!" he shouted and the former ranger stumbled to a halt, obedience to a superior, and most especially to his king, too ingrained not to heed Finrod’s command. He stood there in dejected silence waiting for Finrod to approach.

"You disappoint me, cáno," Finrod said. "I expect better from my people." He spoke quietly yet there was the sting of a reprimand in his voice. "I trust you have an explanation."

For a moment Laurendil could only stare ahead, biting his lips. "I can’t," he whispered in anguish.

"Can’t what?"

"I can’t... do this. Please, aranya... don’t make me..."

"Laurendil, it was not I who summoned you here," Finrod said sympathetically. "There is nothing I can do to gainsay Lord Irmo." He paused, giving the other elf time to collect himself. Laurendil still would not look at him. "What is it, otornya?" he asked, taking Laurendil by the shoulders.

Laurendil shook his head. "I fled Aman to escape... from Them... from my atar."

"Why?"

But Laurendil would not or could not answer and Finrod had to let it go. Instead, he stepped back and gave the other elf a stern look.

"Well, you are here now, Laurendil. Best to get on with it. Come. It isn’t wise to keep a Vala waiting."

With that, he took Laurendil by the arm and brought him back to Manwen and Lord Irmo. The escort, he saw, had been dismissed and were no doubt glad to be elsewhere. Manwen gave her husband a kiss on the cheek to which he did not respond. Lord Irmo gave him a sympathetic look.

"It is not as bad as you think, Laurendil," the Vala said kindly. Then he addressed them all. "My people will see you all settled. Spend some time enjoying the gardens and relaxing. We will speak again in a few days."

Then the Vala was simply not there and two of the Lóriennildi came forward. One of them led Laurendil and Manwen away, along with their bags, the other turned out to be a friend of Finrod’s.

"Eärnur," Finrod said, giving the Lóriennildo a smile as they embraced and kissed in greeting. "It’s good to see a familiar face."

"Welcome, Findaráto," the Telerin elf said. "I’m glad to see you again. Are you well, meldonya?"

"I am well, thank you." Finrod said as they walked through a series of groves which were used as residences for the elves who resided in Lórien, whether as servants or guests.

Eärnur led him into a grove that he recognized. "Why, this is where I lived before," Finrod exclaimed.

"Lord Irmo thought you would appreciate staying somewhere familiar," Eärnur said with a smile. "Lord Laurendil and Lady Manwen are in the blue pavilion two groves to the right of this one."

Finrod looked about the pavilion, remembering his last stay there, when two other ellyn lived with him, two Sindar who had been somewhat in awe of him, much to his discomfort. He had left Lórien before them, and now wondered if they had yet been released. He would have to find out while he was there. Now, however, only one bed was evident. Eärnur plopped Finrod’s bags on the ground which was covered with rich carpets.

"I will leave you for now, meldonya," the Teler said. "We will catch up on news later."

Finrod nodded. "Thank you, Eärnur. I would like that."

The Telerin elf bowed briefly, leaving Finrod alone with his thoughts.

****

For the next two days Finrod wandered through Lórien, reacquainting himself with the place, greeting those among the Lóriennildi whom he remembered from his previous stay there. He saw nothing of either Laurendil or Manwen during that time nor did he seek them out, respecting their privacy. He was finishing the evening meal on the third day when Eärnur came to his pavilion to announce that Lord Irmo had summoned him. He followed the Lóriennildo towards Lórellin where Estë’s island was. Near the shore, lit with colored lanterns, he saw a pavilion opened on three sides. Chairs were arranged around a table where there were plates of fruit and cheese and a decanter of wine. A colorfully woven carpet covered the ground underneath.

Finrod was the first to arrive but he was shortly joined by Laurendil and Manwen, escorted by a Lóriennildë. She and Eärnur left them once Eärnur assured them that Lord Irmo would be there presently. Laurendil seemed more relaxed than he had been, but his eyes still had a haunted look to them and he would not meet Finrod’s gaze. Manwen gave the Noldorin prince a deep curtsey.

"Please, my lady," Finrod protested, "there is no need for such formality. Here, I am simply Findaráto, or if you will, Finrod."

"I see you are as humble as ever, Arafinwion."

The elves turned to see the Lord of Lórien approach and they gave him their obeisance, though Finrod noticed that Laurendil bowed somewhat reluctantly.

"Humility has nothing to do with it, my lord," Finrod rejoined. "I just prefer to be Findaráto these days."

"Hmm," Irmo said, seemingly unconvinced. "Why don’t we be seated?" He gestured towards the chairs and soon they were all finding a seat while the Vala poured them some wine.

As they were sipping the wine, Irmo gave the three elves an appraising look, tinged with humor. "I imagine you are all anxious to learn what is expected of you as my apprentices."

Laurendil flinched at the Vala’s words and Manwen went pale, though her eyes were bright with anticipation. She, at least, wanted to be there. Finrod simply stared at Lord Irmo in disbelief, suddenly aware that the Vala had included him in that statement.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

Irmo gave Finrod a wry smile. "You didn’t think I asked you here on a whim, did you, child?"

"But...but..."

Now Laurendil smiled grimly, the first real emotion he had exhibited since arriving in Lórien. "So now that the orc is on the other foot, aranya...."

Manwen sniggered at her husband’s words and Irmo raised an eyebrow, his amusement obvious. Finrod had no choice but to laugh.

"‘Orc on the other foot.’ Oh my. I haven’t heard that expression in... in ages."

"Rather colorful, to say the least," Irmo said, his smile deepening.

Finrod’s laughter died and he became sober. "I do not recall even being asked if I wished to be your apprentice, my lord."

"Sounds familiar," Finrod heard Laurendil mutter, but he decided to ignore his friend for the moment.

"I thought I was re-embodied so that I might take my proper place at my atar’s side," Finrod continued.

Irmo nodded. "Yes, well, plans change, as they say." The Vala held up a hand to forestall Finrod’s next words. "Child, you will find that often our expectations do not conform to reality. What you thought was your reason for being reborn is not the case. You were always meant to come to me."

"But why?" Finrod put his goblet on the table and stood up to face the Vala, his expression more confused than angry. In truth, he did not find the idea of becoming Lord Irmo’s apprentice objectionable, as Laurendil apparently did, but he was bewildered by it.

"You will be the first Reborn to become one of my Lóriennildi, Findaráto," Irmo said quietly. "You will learn to minister to other Reborn."

Finrod sat down, suddenly aware of the implications of Irmo’s words. He stared at nothing for a moment, then gave the Lord of Lórien a calculating look. "And the fact that I’m the son of the King of the Noldor doesn’t enter into it, does it?"

Irmo laughed lightly. "Why, not at all, child. Furthest thought from my mind."

Finrod sat back with a nod, willing to play the game as the Vala saw fit. Truly, he had no objections. He well remembered the care he had been given by many of the Lóriennildi in those early days of his re-embodiment and even remembered how he had toyed with the idea of joining them, thinking it was a worthy occupation for a one-time king of a lost kingdom who was uncertain of his reception by his family once he was released from Lórien.

He also remembered how some of those same Lóriennildi had treated him, and the other Reborn, and suddenly understood the deviousness of the Vala sitting before him. Yet, he still had doubts.

"W-will I have to remain here for all time then?"

Irmo shook his head. "Nay. Your apprenticeship will not extend that far, not even for the usual length of twenty-four years. You might say that I’m borrowing you temporarily, and I may not be the only Vala to whom you will be apprenticed over time. Your own atar was apprenticed to Lord Manwë for three years of the Trees after he returned to Tirion, for he had had little training in the art of rulership, being the youngest son."

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that but did not offer any other objections. Irmo turned his attention to the other two elves, speaking first to Manwen.

"Daughter, I know well your skills as a healer. Young Elerondo taught you well. Even here in Aman accidents will happen, especially among the young, who are heedless of any dangers. Yet, the greatest need is for healers of the fëa. Many who sail from the Thither Shores are wounded in spirit more than in body. I think you will find that your own experiences will help you to be sympathetic to those who come to us for help."

Manwen gave the Vala a shrewd look. "More sympathetic than those who have never experienced the horrors of war, my lord?"

Irmo nodded and smiled. "I think we understand each other, don’t we, my daughter?" Manwen nodded but did not return the Vala’s smile. Instead, she stared into her goblet, deep in thought.

The Vala then looked at Laurendil, who had retreated into sullen silence, and sighed. "And now, we come to you, my son."

Laurendil jumped up. "I am not your son! I will never be your son!" he practically screamed, throwing his goblet to the ground, staining the carpet red with wine. He stalked out of the pavilion, moving quickly towards the lake, while Finrod and Manwen sat in shocked silence.

Irmo merely sighed, then, without raising his voice he said, "Laurendil, stop."

Finrod saw the ellon fall on his knees by the shore of the lake. He wanted to go to his friend but Irmo shook his head. "Come back here, child," the Vala said, still speaking softly.

Laurendil did not move and Finrod could see he was struggling to resist Lord Irmo’s bidding. "Laurendil," Irmo said again and with a strangled sob Laurendil rose and stumbled back to the pavilion. Manwen stood then and gathered her husband into her arms. Irmo stood as well and placed a hand on Laurendil’s head.

"Why are you so afraid, child?" the Vala asked gently.

"I don’t know. I don’t know," was all Laurendil could say as he wept in Manwen’s arms. Finrod’s heart went out to him and he felt helpless to do anything to assuage his friend’s grief.

"Then, child," Irmo said sympathetically, "that will be your first task as my apprentice, to learn of your fears and to understand them." He gently pulled Laurendil out of Manwen’s embrace and forced the ellon to look at him. "You’ve been running away for too long, Laurendil — running from your atar... running from me... running from yourself. Time to stop running, son."

Laurendil did not answer, only nodded, his expression one of defeat. Then Irmo turned to Finrod. "Laurendil will be your first patient, Findaráto."

Finrod started at that. "But I don’t know the first thing..."

"Eärnur will assist you," Irmo said, countering Finrod’s protest. "You will start tomorrow." He then turned back to Laurendil and Manwen and gathered them both into his embrace, giving them both a kiss on the brow. "Go now, my children and rest. Tomorrow will be the start of a new life for you both. Do not be afraid, Laurendil. It is not as terrible a fate as you might think."

With that the Lord of Lórien was gone and three Lóriennildi were approaching the pavilion. Two of them took Laurendil and Manwen in hand, gently leading them away to their pavilion. The other was Eärnur, who smiled at Finrod.

"I understand we will be working together, meldonya," the Teler said as the two of them made their way back to Finrod’s pavilion.

Finrod sighed. "So it would seem."

"You do not sound particularly happy about it."

Finrod shook his head. "I am not. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I am not as averse to the idea of being here as Laurendil, but I am a prince of the realm and have other duties. I cannot waste my days holding Laurendil’s hand... or anyone else’s for that matter."

Eärnur stopped, a frown on his face, and Finrod stopped as well. "Perhaps, in time, you will discover it is not as much of a waste of time as you might think, Findaráto."

"Perhaps," Finrod conceded reluctantly and they resumed their walk to the pavilion.

Eärnur bade Finrod good night at the entrance to the grove. Finrod readied himself for bed, then lay there staring at the ceiling of the pavilion. It was a long time before he was able to fall asleep.

****

Lórinand: Golden Valley. One of the earlier names for Lothlórien.

Cáno: Commander.

Elerondo: The Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin Elrond.

Note: Irmo mentions that Arafinwë was apprenticed to Manwë for "three years of the Trees". This was during the Darkening of Valinor, which lasted for five years of the Trees before Isil was launched. One year of the Trees is equivalent to 9.5 solar years, thus Arafinwë was Manwë’s apprentice for 28.5 years.

52: Nightmare In Broad Daylight

When Finrod woke the next morning, he found a tabard draped over a chair. It was similar to the ones worn by the Lóriennildi, but where theirs were white with a rainbow embroidered over the left breast, his was a pale blue with a white stripe between two black ones along the hem. There was no insignia embroidered on it. Obviously, he was meant to wear it and he was donning it over his tunic when Eärnur appeared at the entrance. His eyes widened at the sight of the tabard.

"I have never seen that particular tabard worn by any here," he said. "Apprentices normally wear a plain light blue tabard with no stripes and all are students of both Lord Irmo and Lady Estë. When you reach Journeyman stage, you are chosen by one Vala or the other and continue your studies under them. Those chosen by Lady Estë wear light blue tabards with a single purple stripe along the hem and are known as Estenduri. When they have achieved Master status they wear a purple tabard with the Lady’s insignia of the harp. Those chosen by Lord Irmo have a single white stripe along the hem, like the one I am wearing." He pointed to his own tabard. "Eventually, I will win my Mastership and be allowed to wear the white tabard with my Lord’s insignia of the rainbow."

"What then is the significance of these stripes?" Finrod asked, pointing to the black and white stripes on his own tabard.

"I do not know," Eärnur answered. "I do not recall ever seeing anyone wearing such a tabard."

Finrod looked confused. "But I thought I was to be Lord Irmo’s apprentice."

"I have no explanation," the Teler said. "No doubt Lord Irmo will explain it to you in time. Come. Let us go find some breakfast and then I will tell you your duties."

So the two left Finrod’s pavilion and walked to a larger grove where a dining pavilion was set up for the elves who either served in Lórien or were guests. Those who were considered patients usually ate their meals at their pavilions. Finrod did not see either Manwen or Laurendil there.

"Lord Irmo may have decided that Lord Laurendil will be a patient first before becoming an apprentice," Eärnur suggested as he led Finrod to a sideboard. "Your friend seems very... reluctant to be here," he added diffidently.

Finrod grinned. "That’s putting it mildly." He paused, his expression sobering. "I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do for him."

"Mainly just listen," Eärnur said. "That’s usually the most important thing you can do, listen without judgment. As an apprentice, you would normally follow one of us Journeymen around as we perform our duties, but you would not actually do anything but observe." They found a place to sit and began eating. "I do not know exactly what Lord Irmo has in mind for you."

"It all sounds so..."

"Confusing?" the Teler grinned sympathetically, then froze as a horrendous scream ripped the air.

Finrod was out of his seat before anyone else had time to react and was already running towards the grove where the screams originated before Eärnur and a few other Lóriennildi had gotten outside. Finrod saw Laurendil running towards him from the opposite direction, his face white. Finrod noticed dimly that the other Noldo was not wearing a tabard.

"Aranya!" Laurendil shouted. "What was that?"

"Trouble. Come," Finrod ordered and led the way to a grove not far from where they stood. There was only a single pavilion in the grove and when they reached it they found nothing but pandemonium. Two elves wearing the white-striped blue tabards of Journeymen were attempting to pull an ellon with silver-white hair — Sinda by the look of his braids, Finrod noticed — off of another elf with the golden locks of a Vanya who wore the white tabard of a Master. The Sinda was doing a good job of choking him to death, screaming in a language none understood — none, that is, but Finrod and Laurendil.

Finrod never hesitated. He launched himself at the Lóriennildi and tried to pull them off the Sinda, shouting at the same time to Laurendil. "Laurendil, find a knife!"

"At once, aranya," Laurendil said with a nod and ran from the pavilion.

By now, Eärnur and the others had entered the pavilion. Eärnur grabbed Finrod by the arm. "What are you about, Findaráto? Leave this for those who know what they’re doing."

"Do any of you know what he’s saying?" he shouted above the screams of the Sinda. "Do any of you know what terrors he sees? Well, I do. Laurendil does. In this, I’m the only one who knows what he’s doing." He pulled his arm out of Eärnur’s grip and grabbed one of the Journeymen and pulled him off the Sinda, taking his place, pushing the other ellon out of his way. He did not try to release the Sinda’s death grip on the Vanya. Instead, he started to croon in Sindarin.

"Sîdh, sîdh, mellon nîn. Pen hen, ú-goth ho."

The two elves that Finrod had pulled off the Sinda started to pull him away as well. Finrod shrugged them off. "Stay back!" he shouted, his expression imperious. "Do not interfere in this."

One of the Journeymen sneered. "Who are you to issue any orders to us?"

"The King of Nargothrond," answered Laurendil firmly as he entered the pavilion carrying a sharp knife. He fell to his knees at the struggling Vanya’s head and showed the knife to Finrod. "Here, aran meletyalda. It is the sharpest one I could find."

"It’ll do, thanks," Finrod said. "The right shoulder. Make this quick." Laurendil grabbed the Vanya’s clothes at the shoulder and slit them with the knife, exposing his skin. All this time Finrod had kept one arm around the Sinda, pulling him back enough so that his hold on the Vanya was loosened somewhat. The Vanya had managed to hold the Sinda’s hands so that the pressure on his throat was not as great as it might be, but he was still gasping for air and would be passing out soon enough. Finrod spoke to the Sinda again. "Tiro, mellon nîn! iHereg dîn caran, ú-vorn." Then he spoke to the Vanyarin elf. "Forgive us, but this needs to be done."

With those words he nodded to Laurendil who forced the Vanya’s right arm down far enough to make a quick cut on the elf’s shoulder starting from just above the breastbone and moving back towards the shoulder itself. It was shallow enough that it would not require stitches later, but it was no mere scratch. The Vanya made a strangled sound of pain and went white. Red blood flowed quickly out.

Eärnur yelled and tried to take the knife from Laurendil. "Are you insane? What are you doing?"

"Saving a life!" Laurendil yelled back, shrugging the Teler away. "Now leave off!"

Then Finrod pushed the Sinda’s head down so he could see the blood welling from the cut, all the while continuing his crooning.

"Tiro, tiro, maethor veren nîn. iHereg dîn caran... caran!... ú-vorn. Ho edhel... edhel!... ú-orch."

Almost at once the Sinda calmed and released his stranglehold on the Vanya, shuddering and staring at the blood in wonder. Finrod gently pulled the now quiescent elf back into his embrace and moved off the Vanya to sit on the floor of the pavilion, the Sinda sitting in front of him.

"There now," he continued to croon softly. "That’s better. You had a bit of a scare, didn’t you? But it’s over with and you’re safe. See. No orcs. Only friends."

The Sinda looked around dazedly, taking in the shocked and angry faces of the Vanyar and Noldor surrounding him and cowered into Finrod’s embrace.

"Hush now," Finrod said. "No one will harm you. I give you my word."

"Y-you cut me!" croaked the Vanya in disbelief, attempting to sit up. Laurendil helped him.

"Oh, don’t whine," the former ranger said in disgust. "It’s barely a flesh wound. Here, let me look at it." He proceeded to pull the tabard, tunic and shirt off the elf who hissed in pain and then took the knife and cut a strip from the now ruined shirt to tie up the wound until it could be properly treated. "Honestly, I received worse falling out of a tree."

Finrod looked at his friend in amusement as he continued to hold the now quiet Sinda, stroking his hair. "When did you ever fall out of a tree?"

"You don’t want to know," Laurendil quipped. "The Wood Elves still laugh about it."

Finrod laughed lightly at that and was pleased to see a small smile on Laurendil’s face. He turned his attention to the Sinda. "Man eneth gîn, mellon nîn, hmm?"

The Sinda turned to look at Finrod, his eyes still haunted by the nightmare that had gripped him. "Mi-mithlas, hîr nîn. Im estannen Mithlas ed Lindon."

"Mithlas of Lindon. I am Finrod. This is Glorendil. Do you remember where you are?"

"L-lórien, my lord," Mithlas stammered, his eyes widening at Finrod’s name. "In Aman."

"Very good. Would you like to get up now?" Mithlas nodded and Laurendil stood up and gave the Sinda a hand, while Finrod managed on his own. The Vanya was still lying on the ground, now tended by his anxious Journeymen. His expression was grim as he looked up at Finrod.

"You have much to answer for, whoever you are," he said, his voice harsh and raspy.

"Oh, indeed he does, but not to you, Meneldil," came a calm voice from the entrance to the pavilion. All turned to see Irmo standing there and bowed, giving the Vala room as he came to the center. Irmo wore a knee-length light blue watered silk tunic trimmed with embroidered flowers and vines with breeches and shirt of palest green underneath.

As the Vala made his way past the crowd of elves, many had to look away, for Irmo’s eyes were dark with an unreadable expression. Only Finrod and Laurendil did not flinch when Irmo’s glance fell on them. Meneldil was helped to his feet by the two Journeymen. Irmo took in the scene, pausing to smile gently at the now embarrassed Sinda who could only stare at the ground while Finrod continued to offer him the support of an arm around his shoulders.

"A rather unorthodox method, to say the least," commented the Vala as he looked at Finrod, humor now glinting in his eyes.

"Unorthodox by the standards of Aman, no doubt," conceded Finrod with a nod. "All too common in Endórë, I’m afraid. Sometimes the nightmares would become so horrific only the sight and smell of red blood would bring the person out of it, and for some reason only the blood of the person attacked would do. Otherwise I or Laurendil could have cut ourselves instead."

"Did you ever experience..." Eärnur started to ask but could not continue, his expression still one of horror and dismay at what he had witnessed.

"Once," Finrod said grimly, his eyes dark and cold with memory, and no one ventured to ask him for the details.

"Well, the crisis seems to be over for now," Irmo said, nodding in satisfaction. "Meneldil, go to the healers and see to your wound. You, my young friend," the Vala said, turning to Mithlas with a gentle smile, "should clean up this mess you’ve made."

Mithlas just nodded, his eyes still on the ground and Finrod gave him a squeeze of encouragement. Irmo turned to the others. "The rest of you are dismissed. Findaráto, please come with me."

Finrod hesitated. "Mithlas shouldn’t be alone..."

"I will stay with him, aranya," Laurendil said. "We can talk about Lindon. Manwen and I lived there for several decades before deciding to travel east. We might even know the same people."

"That would be fine, Laurendil," Irmo said, his expression thoughtful. "Just don’t forget that you too are a patient for the moment. You still have your own healing to accomplish, but perhaps it can begin here with Mithlas. Eärnur, why don’t you remain here as well?"

"Yes, lord," Eärnur said quietly, giving the Vala a respectful bow.

With that, Irmo turned to leave. Eärnur gave Finrod a strange look and the Noldorin prince just shrugged, a wry smile on his face, as he followed the Vala out.

****

Estenduri: (Quenya) Servants of Estë. They perform a role similar to that of the Lóriennildi, who are charged with the healing of fëar and helping the Reborn, but they tend to deal with the hurts of the hröar. The singular would be Estendur (male) and Estenduriën (female).

Sîdh, sîdh, mellon nîn. Pen hen, ú-goth ho: (Sindarin) "Peace, peace, my friend. This one, no enemy (is) he."

Tiro, tiro, maethor veren nîn. iHereg dîn caran... caran!... ú-vorn. Ho edhel... edhel!... ú-orch: (Sindarin) "Look, look, my bold warrior. His blood (is) red... red!... not black. He (is) an elf... an elf!... not an orc". [Since caran is used here as a predicate adjective, it does not suffer mutation.]

Man eneth gîn, mellon nîn?: (Sindarin) "What is your name, my friend?"

Mithlas, hîr nîn. Im estannen Mithlas ed Lindon: (Sindarin) "Mithlas, my lord. I am called Mithlas of Lindon".

53: Vand’ Antaina

Finrod followed Irmo out of the grove and across a sward towards Lórellin. They walked in silence for a while. Finrod wondered how much trouble he was in. Then Irmo finally spoke.

"You and Laurendil were very impressive, though it is not how I planned for you two to spend your morning."

Finrod grinned. "Me neither. I never got to finish my breakfast. I don’t think I leapt out of a chair so fast in my life."

"I’m afraid Meneldil did not appreciate your... er... methods."

Finrod snorted in disdain. "I’m sure he would have appreciated being strangled to death even less and I did apologize."

Irmo raised an eyebrow at that. "Well, he is a master healer and his pride has been damaged somewhat by what happened. The others were also upset, including Eärnur. They are not used to a mere apprentice ordering them about, especially one who is known to have been Exiled."

Now Finrod’s expression was one of complete disgust. "I am not here to pander to those who think they’re better than I because they never left Aman or died. Your Lóriennildi will just have to live with it... and me, as long as I’m stuck here."

Irmo stopped, his expression inscrutable. "Is that how you feel, my son? Stuck here? Is this truly a prison for you?"

Finrod frowned, his eyes staring down at the ground, trying to gather his thoughts. "I told Eärnur last night that I am a prince of Eldamar." He looked up, not really seeing anything. "I cannot waste my days holding other people’s hands when my atar has need of me. I’m flattered that you want me to be your apprentice. I even toyed with the idea of asking to become one early in my re-embodiment, did you know?" Irmo nodded with a warm smile. Finrod continued, "But hiding away in Lórien is not what I wish to do." Here, he looked directly at the Vala, his lips tightening, his eyes flashing. "And I don’t appreciate not being asked."

Irmo nodded. "As for that, I will not apologize. Some things are not in your purview to control just yet. The course of your life is one of those things for the moment."

"Lord Námo keeps insisting that we Reborn have the opportunity to live the life Eru meant for us to live, yet you blithely deny me that right."

"Do I?" Irmo asked in a mild tone. "Or perhaps I have a better idea what that life was meant to be and am simply guiding you on the right path."

"Guiding me?" Finrod laughed without any real mirth, beginning to feel anger. "More like pushing me... and Glorfindel... and possibly even Sador. Don’t think just because sometimes my actions are those of an elfling of forty that I’m blind or stupid not to notice how you Valar are manipulating us."

Irmo’s expression became sad. "I have never thought of you as either, my son. If it seems to you that we are being manipulative, that is only from your perspective. Plans have been put into motion that have been in the making since the Darkening of Valinor." Finrod paled slightly at that and Irmo nodded. "Even as you and Glorfindel and Turgon and all the others were trudging across the Helcaraxë, we have been working towards this day when you are standing here in Lórien berating me."

Finrod blushed at that, but his anger was still not assuaged. "So you knew I would die... or did you only hope?"

Now Irmo looked shocked. "Oh, Findaráto. Have you come through death and judgment and know so little of us? Our greatest wish was for you to turn back from the folly of your ventures. You little know the grief your leaving caused us, not the least because we knew we were partly at fault. Every step you took towards your destiny was as a death knell to us and we could do naught to prevent it."

He sighed and shook his head before continuing. "From the moment the Trees were destroyed we began making contingency plans, most of which have been abandoned over the centuries as choices were made or not made among the Elves." Here, Irmo gave Finrod a deprecating grin. "The problem, you see, is that we cannot predict with any real certainty which way you Children will jump. If you hadn’t tired of hunting with the sons of Fëanáro, who do you think would have met with Bëor’s people first?"

Finrod could only shake his head, for he could not conceive of anyone finding the Atani before him, yet he had a sick feeling that had it been another, events would have gone otherwise than how they did, to the sorrow of them all.

"You... you planned for me to..."

"Nay, child," Irmo protested. "But I think Eru did. I think Eru planted that restlessness in your heart that drove you into Exile, not because you particularly wished to defy our Authority, but because your destiny was larger than Aman could hold. The meeting of Finrod Felagund with Bëor of the Edain was as a pebble dropped into a still lake, its ripples echoing down the Ages until even we Valar do not know where it will lead."

Finrod was silent at that and when Irmo continued walking, he followed, deep in thought. Irmo remained silent also, allowing the ellon time to think things through for himself. They reached the lake and were strolling along the shore when Finrod spoke again, pointing to his tabard.

"Eärnur did not recognize this. I thought I was to be your apprentice."

"And you are," Irmo said, smiling gently. "But not mine alone."

Finrod stopped in surprise. "Who?"

"Mine, actually."

Finrod turned to see Námo striding towards them from further along the shore. The Lord of Mandos was dressed in an ankle-length black velvet tunic with wide sleeves. He wore a shirt of fine lawn with gathered sleeves underneath. The tunic was cinched at the waist by a silver-linked belt of marillar and isilsardi. On his carefully braided hair he wore a thin circlet of mithril with a single tumbled white topaz embedded in the center of it.

Then he noticed that Irmo’s clothes had changed. Gone was the light blue silk tunic. Instead, the Vala wore an ankle-length tunic of pure white velvet with wide sleeves. The shirt underneath was dyed black and the tunic was cinched at the waist with a belt made of black onyx linked with gold. His hair was elf-braided in a similar pattern to Námo’s and on his head was a thin circlet of gold with a single black opal embedded in its center.

Except for the color schemes, the two Valar were identically dressed.

"Yours?" Finrod asked.

Námo nodded with a smile. "My brother and I took note of your interest in becoming a Lóriennildo when you first came here after being Reborn. You were at a loss to know what was expected of you and you were uncertain of your reception among your people and your family. It was natural that you would want to find some other, alternate, occupation worthy of your skills and abilities."

Finrod gave the Valar a wry smile. "So does this mean that you don’t think I’m good enough to rule and must needs find other... employment?"

Irmo shook his head in amusement. "It means just the opposite. A ruler who has no compassion for the hurts of his people and kingdom is not worthy to rule. That you exhibited a wish to become my apprentice and serve your people in a different manner than by ruling them, thinking that you would not be welcomed at Tirion, is a testament to your right to rule... eventually."

Námo spoke then. "We are offering you the opportunity to fulfill that desire to serve in a manner other than as a king. That destiny is no longer yours unless and until Arafinwë steps down as Noldóran. But that will not happen, if it happens at all, for some time yet. In the meantime, we thought you might like to become our apprentice."

"So the significance of the stripes...?" Finrod looked down at the tabard he was wearing.

"They are known as the Fëanturnildi, those who serve both of us. They are few in number and most Elves are unaware of their existence."

"Why?"

Námo gave Finrod a shrug and a diffident smile. "We thought it would be easier that way."

The elf gave the two Valar a shrewd look. "One of your contingency plans, my lord?" he asked Irmo.

The Vala nodded. "One that has existed unchanged in all this time. Come, let us walk."

Together, elf and Valar continued along the shores of Lórellin with Finrod walking between the Fëanturi. Had any elf looked their way they would have seen naught but a fine mist blanketing the shore. Had any Maia done so, they would have seen only the two Valar walking together, speaking to one another. Finrod’s presence would have been hidden from them.

Irmo was speaking. "The Estenduri were the first. They have existed as an order, if you will, since the Eldar first came to Aman. The Great Journey was long and in some cases harrowing. There was a need almost from the beginning for your people to learn the rudiments of healcraft. The Lóriennildi came from among the Estenduri. They are healers of fëar and their skills of mind are great indeed as the Eldar would measure such. Over time, some of the duties of each have changed, especially once elves began to be re-embodied."

Námo picked up the tale. "The Fëanturnildi come from neither order, yet they have the skills and duties of both. My brother and I created the order during the time of the Darkening. The Lóriennildi and the Estenduri are charged with the healing of the fëar and hröar of the Eldar. The Fëanturnildi are charged with nothing less than the healing of Aman itself."

"What?" Finrod stopped in shock and surprise.

Both Valar nodded, looking grave. "The peoples of Aman suffered terribly from Melkor’s depredations... and the Rebellion of the Noldor against our Authority."

Finrod went white at that and gazed at nothing in particular. Námo laid a comforting hand on the elf’s shoulder and Finrod turned to him. The Vala’s expression was still grave, but Finrod also saw compassion there. "What is past is past, my son. We have forgiven you, all of you, though some have not yet forgiven themselves or are unwilling to accept our forgiveness, claiming that it is feigned or no more than condescending arrogance on our part."

"My sister..."

Námo nodded. "Artanis was always a willful child. Yet, we do not blame her or think the less of her. She has a vital role to play in Endórë, though it is one that even we but dimly see. Have faith that when the time is right for her, your sister will return."

"The Fëanturnildi, then..."

"They are pledged to see that Aman itself is healed of the wounds left by the rape of the Trees and all that followed from that," Námo said. "They are few in number and their existence is secret, for they work behind the scenes, as it were."

"How then should I explain this tabard to any who ask?" Finrod enquired. "Eärnur was puzzled by it, never having seen its like before."

"You will say that its significance is unknown to you," Irmo said. "Nor would you be lying, for you see only the colors most associated with us, but you do not understand the full significance of those colors or why we two chose them for ourselves."

"Does my atar know why you summoned me here, my lord?" Finrod asked Irmo and the Vala nodded.

"I approached him and told him what I wished for you and he agreed that you should be given the chance to accept our offer."

"Offer," Finrod echoed. "Yet, I have heard no offers, my lords, only commands. You tell me to come... and I do. You tell me to stay... and I do. You tell me take up this tabard... and I do. I have been obedient to your commands, my lords. Tell me where in all this has there been any offer?"

It was Námo who answered him. "Child, do you not yet realize that in your obedience you have been given the offer? At any stage you could have refused our commands, yet you did not."

"Had you refused at any point," Irmo said, "the offer would have been rescinded. Indeed, you would never have known that an offer had even been presented to you."

"We do not demand that you give us your answer now, Findaráto," Námo said. "Only that you take the time to think about it. Do not concern yourself unduly over your status here. You are an apprentice with duties to both of us. Most of your training will be the same as any of the Lóriennildi or Estenduri."

"There is always a trial period for any apprentice," Irmo then said. "You will remain here for that time. If, at the end of the trial period, you decide you do not wish to continue your studies, you will be free to leave. All that we would pledge from you would be your silence on the matter of the Fëanturnildi. Their greatest strength lies in their being unknown."

Námo looked at the elf, his expression kind. "Will you agree to this, child? Will you at least think about it?"

For a long moment Finrod did not answer or even look at the two Valar. His gaze swept the lake and the island in its midst belonging to the Lady Estë. When he had listened to Lord Námo describe the Fëanturnildi and the task given to them to heal the wounds of Aman itself, a thrill of something akin to joy had gone through him. Here, indeed, would be a worthy calling. He had accepted that he would no longer be a king and thought himself content to sit at his atar’s feet, but he had also feared that in time he would come to resent the loss. Now, however....

He looked at the two Valar standing there, waiting patiently, yet anxiously, for his answer. Then he was on his knees, his hands lifted up in the attitude of a vassal before his liege lord. "I do not need to think about it, my lords." he said, then he intoned the ancient words that would seal his fate and bind him for all the Ages of Arda to the Fëanturi who stood before him, their hands covering his, their expressions ones of solemn joy.

"Here do I give unto thee my oath, that I shall be obedient in all things, in hröa and fëa, to thy will, to come when thou sayest ‘come’, to go when thou sayest ‘go’, that I may be found acceptable in the eyes of Eru Ilúvatar as thy apprentice." Then he paused and his eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth. "Nai tiruvantes i hárar mahalmassen mi Númen ar i Eru i or ilyë mahalmar eä tennoio."

Both Valar laughed at that. Námo raised Finrod to his feet, and gave him a kiss on the brow. "And we will, my dear Findaráto, never fear. We will."

Irmo then took the elf in his embrace. "Á vala Manwë," he whispered, then kissed him on the brow as well before releasing him.

"Now what?" the elf asked, feeling suddenly shy.

"Now comes the hard part," Námo said.

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that and both Valar nodded, identical grins on their faces.

"And that will be what exactly?" he asked suspiciously.

"Remembering to call us ‘Master’... and meaning it." Námo replied, then the Fëanturi started laughing and Finrod found himself joining them as they stood there by the shore of Lórellin.

****

*Will you two go somewhere else and laugh,* Estë’s thoughts rang in the Valar’s minds, sounding highly annoyed. *Some of us ARE trying to sleep, you know!*

Finrod never understood why his Masters suddenly fell to the ground howling with glee.

****

Vand’ Antaina: An Oath Given. Vanda is elided.

Marillar: Plural of marilla: pearl. A symbol of purity and innocence.

Isilsardi: Plural of isilsar: moonstone. A symbol of truth in self-reflection and showing what ‘is’. [isil ‘moon’ + sar ‘stone’].

White Topaz: A symbol of truth and forgiveness.

Black onyx: Used to help people to let go of the past or past attachments. A grounding stone, it is valuable during the confusing or difficult times in a person’s life and is useful for deflecting or absorbing negative forces and influences. A symbol of self-control and resilience.

Black opal: A symbol of faithfulness and confidence.

Noldóran: King of the Noldor [noldo + aran].

Fëanturnildi: Friends of the Fëanturi, i.e. Námo and Irmo. The singular would be Fëanturnildo (male) and Fëanturnildë (female).

Nai tiruvantes i hárar mahalmassen mi Númen ar i Eru i or ilyë mahalmar eä tennoio: "May they keep it, the ones who are sitting on the thrones of the West, and the One who is above all thrones forever." This, of course, is lifted directly from Cirion’s Oath (Unfinished Tales, p. 305).

Á vala Manwë: "May Manwë order it". This is an attested phrase and translation found in The War of the Jewels, p. 404.

54: Language Lessons

Later that afternoon, Finrod met with Laurendil and Eärnur in Laurendil’s pavilion.

"Manwen’s happily engaged in her studies," Laurendil said somewhat acerbically, "so we have the place to ourselves for a few hours."

"How’s Mithlas?" Finrod asked, ignoring Laurendil’s tone.

"Embarrassed, but otherwise well," Laurendil replied with something of his old humor. "Like old times, neh, aranya?"

Finrod laughed as he settled into a chair. "One aspect of living in the shadow of Angband I do not miss."

"Neither of you had any doubt as to what was happening or what to do about it," Eärnur observed diffidently.

Finrod shrugged. "Had you understood what he was screaming..."

"Which was what exactly?" the Telerin elf asked.

"Nothing complimentary, I can assure you," Finrod laughed without much humor, then he shook his head. "I cannot believe that after all this time there are not at least some of the Lóriennildi conversant with Sindarin. How do you communicate with those not of Aman?"

Laurendil grimaced. "We’re all expected to learn Quenya, aranya. At least I had the advantage of already knowing it. I ended up teaching Manwen and several others while we were on the ship to Tol Eressëa."

Finrod shook his head in disgust. "I understand the need for the Sindar and Nandor to learn Quenya if they can, but I cannot believe Lord Irmo to be so insensitive as to not have some of his people learn Sindarin."

Eärnur looked uncomfortable. "The Reborn always seem to know something of Quenya when they come here."

"I think it is a gift given to them by Lord Námo," Finrod said with a shrug, for he really did not know. "The Sindar Reborn I met here understood Quenya well enough, though they were not fluent in speaking it and could not read it. In Mandos, of course, our fëar spoke mind to mind, yet I know that I always ‘thought’ in Sindarin when addressing a Sinda, but I ‘thought’ in Quenya when, say, speaking to a Maia attendant or to Lord Námo."

"What of those, like poor Mithlas, who come to Lórien from Endórë?" Laurendil asked Eärnur. "How do any of you communicate with them?"

Eärnur frowned. "Usually we’ve been able to find one of the... the Etyangoldi to translate for us."

Both Finrod and Laurendil raised an eyebrow at that. "Is that what you call us?" Finrod asked softly.

Eärnur blushed. "Sorry, it’s rude, I know."

"But true," Laurendil grinned sourly. "And we did it so well, too."

Finrod laughed at Laurendil’s dry tone and it was not long before the other two joined him.

"So why haven’t you learned to speak Sindarin, Eärnur?" Finrod asked once they had calmed down. "I would think that you would want to be able to speak with your Sindarin kin."

"I guess I never thought about it," Eärnur answered with an embarrassed sigh. "My other studies and duties take up much of my time. I guess I just didn’t feel the need to burden myself with even more studies. Besides, if the Sindar all learn Quenya eventually, what’s the point?"

Finrod shook his head. "I doubt that will be the case, and even less so among the Nandor. Many of them do not even speak Sindarin and that was the common tongue of all the peoples of Beleriand. There will always be a need for some to be able to speak a language other than Quenya, nor should it be otherwise."

"The Sindar have a beautiful language," Laurendil added. "It’s very subtle in nuance, and full of grey tones, one might say, which is not surprising since the language developed under the dark of the stars away from the Light of the Trees."

"Many of us when we came to Beleriand," Finrod said sadly, "looked down upon the Sindar as less than we for having abandoned the Journey, for never having seen the Light of the Trees. We little appreciated the complex culture that had developed or the fact that they were ruled by one who had espoused a Maia. We considered them uncouth and barbaric." Here, he flashed a grin and ran his fingers through his front braids. "Naturally, some of us took to their ways like ducks to water."

Laurendil grinned. "Some more than others."

"Well, I think that your education has been sadly neglected, Eärnur," Finrod said. "Why don’t Laurendil and I give you your first lesson in Sindarin?"

"We’re supposed to be speaking about Laurendil’s fears," Eärnur reminded them.

"But this will be more fun," Laurendil said. "Come. Here is your first lesson." He then pointed to himself. "Im... im." Then he pointed to Eärnur. "Ci... ci." Then he pointed to Finrod. "Ho... ho." He then repeated the sequence, indicating that Eärnur should echo him.

When he was satisfied that Eärnur had gotten that down he began speaking simple sentences, pointing to each of them in turn. "Im magor...ci nestor... ho aran."

"He is a king," Eärnur repeated in Quenya. "That word is the same in both languages?" he asked and the other two ellyn nodded. "But I don’t understand the other two words."

"Can you not guess?" Finrod asked. "What word are you reminded of in Quenya when you hear ‘magor’?"

Eärnur thought for a moment. "It sort of sounds like ‘macar’," he said hesitantly.

Both Laurendil and Finrod grinned. "Correct!" Laurendil exclaimed.

"But ‘nestor’ does not sound like any word in Quenya," the Teler protested.

Finrod nodded. "Yes, well not all words correspond. In Quenya the closest to ‘nestor’ would probably be ‘envinyatar’, though the meanings are not quite the same."

"Nestor...envinyatar. Im nestor," Eärnur said slowly, testing the sound and feel of the strange words.

"Very good. See, it’s not so hard," Finrod said with a grin.

"Yet," Laurendil added with a laugh. "Now let’s try a longer sentence. Im estannen Glorendil ah im magor...."

****

It was nearing the time for the evening meal when Manwen made her way back to her pavilion, pleased with her first day as an apprentice. She wondered how Laurendil had fared, knowing how reluctant he had been to be there. She hoped his first session with Eärnur and Finrod had not been too stressful or embarrassing. So she was quite surprised to hear laughter ringing from the pavilion as she came into the grove.

When she entered it was to find Finrod sprawled over a chair, his head thrown back in laughter, while her husband was on their bed curled up around a pillow either in extreme pain or trying desperately not to laugh. Eärnur, she saw, was sitting on the floor looking between them with a bemused expression on his face.

"What did I say? What did I say?" he kept demanding, but neither Finrod nor Laurendil were in a position to answer him.

Manwen smiled. "Anyone want to share the joke?"

Laurendil leapt off the bed and ran to his wife, hugging her and laughing all the while. "We’ve been teaching Eärnur Sindarin. He just said something very naughty."

"What? What did I say?" the poor Teler jumped up from the floor, nearly screaming, but Laurendil would not answer.

Manwen took pity on him and asked, "What did you say?"

For a moment Eärnur hesitated, knowing that whatever he had said was obviously not what he had meant to say. Laurendil gave him a wicked grin. "Go ahead, Eärnur, tell Manwen what you said."

"I... I said ‘Gerin seron-en-orch... or... er... gaim nîn’," the Telerin elf said softly, now deeply embarrassed but not knowing why.

Manwen looked at the elf in disbelief then turned to Laurendil. "Did you teach him that?"

Laurendil raised his hands in protest. "I swear, my love, we did not. He just sort of... stumbled upon it all by himself."

Manwen looked back at the now totally confused Teler and her eyes widened and then she was laughing so hard she collapsed to the ground. "Oh, Valar! Oh, Valar! Th-that’s... to-too... funny!"

"WILL SOMEBODY TELL ME WHAT I SAID?" Eärnur screamed, stamping his foot in frustration.

"Oh no, meldonya," Finrod got out between bouts of laughter. "You’re much too young. You’ll have to wait until you’re older before we tell you."

That set Laurendil and Manwen laughing even harder, Laurendil now joining Manwen on the floor, their arms wrapped around each other in mutual support.

"What do you mean, I’m too young?" Eärnur shouted. "I’m an adult, same as you."

"Eärnur, Eärnur," Finrod said, rising from his chair and taking the frustrated elf into his embrace. "You’ve not reached your second yén yet. Believe me, you’re much too young."

"But what did I say?" Now he was almost in tears.

"Hush, meldonya," Finrod said, rubbing the younger ellon’s back to calm him. "What you should have said was ‘Gerin sereg-en-orch or chaim nîn’. That’s all you have to know."

"You’re not going to tell me, are you?" Eärnur sighed.

"No, and don’t even think of seeking out any Sindar to translate it for you," Finrod admonished him. "Others will not find it quite so amusing as we, believe me."

By now Manwen and Laurendil had gotten themselves under control and had risen, their faces wreathed with identical wide grins.

"Finrod’s right, Eärnur," Laurendil said with a nod. "You will learn soon enough the meaning of what you said, but for now, allow us to enjoy the joke at your expense. Believe me, I remember some of my own gaffes when first learning Sindarin and they were almost as funny as yours."

Finrod stepped back from his embrace of the Telerin healer, his expression merry. "I remember Celeborn and Thingol falling out of their chairs one time during a feast when I said something I shouldn’t have. Lúthien started choking on some meat and Melian was pounding her on the back and laughing at the same time." He started chuckling at the memory. "I kept hoping the ground would conveniently open up and swallow me, I was so embarrassed."

"What did you say?" Eärnur asked, intrigued.

Finrod shook his head. "Never you mind, youngling. Now come, I don’t know about anyone else but all that laughter’s given me an appetite."

As if on cue, bells began ringing softly in the early evening air announcing the dinner hour. Manwen begged for a few minutes to freshen up first and they all agreed to meet at the dining pavilion, though Laurendil wondered if he would be welcomed there.

"Seeing as how I’m not yet an apprentice," he opined, but Eärnur shook his head.

"Most patients, we find, prefer to eat in private while they are recovering from whatever trauma brought them here, but there is no prohibition against them joining the rest of us in the dining pavilion."

So it was settled and shortly thereafter Finrod and Eärnur left to go to their own pavilions to freshen up before joining Laurendil and Manwen for dinner.

****

Etyangoldi: (Quenya) Plural of Etyangol: Exiled one; a name given to the Noldor who fled to Beleriand, and now considered somewhat insulting.

Im...ci...ho: (Sindarin) I... you (familiar)... he.

Im magor... ci nestor... ho aran: (Sindarin) "I am a swordsman... you are a healer... he is a king." Nestor is from the verb nesta- "to heal" with agental suffix.

Macar: (Quenya) Swordsman/warrior.

Envinyatar: (Quenya) Literally means ‘renewer’, and by extension ‘healer’ because a healer renews the hröa and/or the fëa to its original state of health.

Im estannen Glorendil ah im magor: (Sindarin) "I am called Laurendil and I am a swordsman."

Yén: (Quenya) An elvish century, equivalent to 144 solar years. Eärnur is quite young by Elvish standards, only 200 years old. Finrod and Laurendil were born well before the Darkening of Valinor and Manwen was born twenty solar years before Isil first arose.

Gerin seron-en-orch or gaim nîn: (Sindarin) "I have an orc lover on my hands". Seron-en-orch is considered one of the worse insults in Sindarin, equivalent to "mother-you-know-what", but with a more literal meaning. However, in the context of the sentence, and given who is saying it in all innocence, Finrod, Laurendil and Manwen find it hysterically funny rather than insulting. Eärnur further compounds the hilarity for the others by using the wrong mutation for caim.

Gerin sereg-en-orch or chaim nîn: (Sindarin) "I have orc blood on my hands".

55: Vanda Mapaina

Laurendil and Finrod insisted on continuing Eärnur’s Sindarin lesson while they were eating, sticking to such safe subjects as pointing to objects on the table and giving their names in Sindarin or teaching him the verbs that are associated with eating.

Others at the table looked at them with expressions ranging from vaguely interested to studiously dismissive. Finrod and the others ignored them, the Noldorin ellyn and Sindarin elleth laughing at Eärnur’s pronunciation and encouraging him to try again.

It was while they were doing this that Meneldil approached them, his expression grim and humorless. Eärnur and the other apprentices and journeymen at the table rose and gave the master healer their bows. Finrod, Laurendil and Manwen remained seated.

Meneldil glowered at the three of them. "You should rise when one of the masters approaches, or don’t you know this?"

"Forgive us, Master Meneldil," Finrod said quietly, rising, as did Laurendil and Manwen. "We were unaware of the protocol. We’ve only been here a few days, after all, and not all has been explained to us."

"Yes, one day as an apprentice and you two," here Meneldil raked his gaze over both Finrod and Laurendil, "have caused quite a stir." He turned his attention to Eärnur. "I would like your report on your first session with our newest Etyangol in the morning, Journeyman." Laurendil went white at the master’s words but otherwise made no other move. "I trust this one," Meneldil continued, nodding at Finrod who merely raised an eyebrow, "acted appropriately during the session."

"Indeed, Master," Eärnur said levelly, though emphasizing both Finrod and Laurendil’s ranks as he spoke. "Prince Findaráto has done nothing inappropriate in all the time that I’ve known him. And I can give you my report on my first session with Lord Laurendil here and now... we had no session."

Meneldil looked taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"Just that, Master," Eärnur replied, keeping his tone neutrally respectful. "When I arrived at Lord Laurendil’s pavilion with Prince Findaráto, his Highness and Lord Laurendil decided I was in sore need of a lesson in Sindarin. They spent the afternoon teaching me insults in that language and I spent the afternoon happily learning them."

"Hah!" Laurendil said with a grin and Finrod sniggered.

"You were ordered to begin counseling this Etyangol," Meneldil practically growled. "Patients are not permitted to take control of their sessions. You know this. I find it very disturbing that you failed so miserably in your duties, Journeyman Eärnur. I will have no choice but to leave a note of reprimand with your tutor."

Eärnur turned white at that. Now Finrod frowned and Laurendil’s face became suffused with anger. Before either could respond, Meneldil turned on them, his features imperious.

"As for you Apprentice Findaráto, you will report to me in the morning. I fear your actions need correction. And you, Laurendil, you are slated to become an apprentice yourself, but until then you are merely a patient. I think it best you return to your pavilion. If you wish for sustenance, someone will bring you a tray."

This last was too much for either Laurendil or Finrod. Finrod started to fume. Laurendil merely laughed.

"Master Meneldil, there are only two people in Lórien who can order me from this pavilion, and neither one of them is you."

Finrod turned to his friend with a wicked smile. "Two people? I would have thought there were three."

"Oh?" was Laurendil’s only response.

Finrod nodded, quite ignoring Meneldil and everyone else in his teasing of his former ranger captain. "Well, it goes without saying that Lord Irmo is one. I, of course, am the second..."

"You!?" Meneldil interrupted in surprise. "Why you?"

"Because he is my king, and he has my life," Laurendil said flatly, and there was no levity in his posture.

"What does that mean, he has your life? What nonsense is that?" Meneldil asked in disdain.

Without a word and more quickly than any would expect, Laurendil reached for a sharp knife lying on the table and tossed it to Finrod, who deftly caught it, then calmly placed the knife at Laurendil’s throat. Everyone there gasped and Manwen went white, sinking to her seat in shock. The expression on Finrod’s face was terrible to behold and he seemed to the onlookers to have grown in stature and a fell light glowed about him. Laurendil stared calmly at Meneldil, never flinching.

"It means," he said softly, "that he has my life and may do with it as he pleases, up to and including sending me to Mandos."

"Which I wouldn’t do," Finrod said calmly as he took the knife away from Laurendil’s throat and placed it on the table, "if only because Lord Námo wouldn’t appreciate the joke when you showed up on his front doorstep."

*Don’t be so sure of that, you insolent pup,* came the surprising words to Finrod’s mind, sounding highly amused. The shocked looks of the others told him that they had heard Námo’s words as well. Finrod smiled and stuck his tongue out at no one in particular. Then all in the pavilion heard the Lord of Mandos laughing, though he did not appear. Not a few shivered and looked upon Finrod with awe, or perhaps fear.

"Friend of yours?" Laurendil asked dryly.

Finrod laughed. "You might say that."

"So who’s the third?" Eärnur suddenly asked.

"Hmm?" Finrod turned his attention to the Telerin elf and remembered what he had been saying before. "Ah, yes. Well that should be obvious." He looked pointedly at Manwen, still seated and still looking white.

"Are you well, child?" he asked her, aware that she must have been shocked by the tableau she had just witnessed. Manwen looked up at Finrod and her expression was unreadable. Then she slowly sank to her knees, her body quaking, and took one of Finrod’s hands.

"A-aran meletyalda... qui haryalyë i-cuilë vennonya, haryalyë yando cuilenya."

Laurendil started at that but a glance from Finrod stilled him. Finrod gently raised the still quaking elleth and gazed sadly into her eyes. "Child," he whispered, "you do not know what you are saying."

"Yet she says it, nonetheless, King of Nargothrond that was."

All turned at the sound of Lord Irmo’s voice. His appearance was not surprising. What was surprising was the fact that he was accompanied by Lord Námo. Even more surprising was that Lady Estë was there as well... and Lady Nienna.

Finrod looked at the Valar calmly. "I am king no longer, and do not have the authority. I will not accept her oath."

"Yet, you do not release Laurendil from his," Námo commented.

"Nor would I allow him to, my lord," Laurendil replied firmly. "And Manwen has the right to choose as she will to whom she gives her oath. I will not stay her, little though I might like it."

The Valar looked at Laurendil with something like amazement, though it was difficult for the elves to truly read their expressions. Finally, Nienna stepped forward and gestured to Manwen, who came to her, her expression one of confusion. Nienna smiled at the elleth and gently brushed a hand through her dark silver locks.

"Child, do you understand what your words bind you to? Findaráto is no longer a king, as he rightly reminds us, but he still retains the authority of one. That authority was never rescinded, neither by us nor by Eru. The oath you would swear is a dangerous one. Be very sure that you understand its implications fully." Then Nienna bent down and gave the elleth a kiss on the forehead.

"Come here, Manwen," Námo then said and Manwen found herself gazing into the eyes of the Lord of Mandos, falling into their amaranthine depths, and she felt no fear, only awe. "You have stared into the eyes of death often enough, my child, to understand this: death is not to be feared, but neither is it to be sought after. Your love for your husband and your love for Findaráto drive you to this, but love may not be enough. Be certain to the depths of your fëa that this is the way you would go." Then he bent down and kissed her on the brow. Manwen half-expected either Lord Irmo or Lady Estë to summon her before them, but they did not and she felt a twinge of disappointment.

"Manwen, come here."

She turned to see Finrod standing there, looking grim. Laurendil stood by his side and she was surprised to see him holding a knife, the same knife that Finrod had held against her husband’s throat. Finrod took her face in his hands and leaned down so that their foreheads touched. She gasped as she felt his mind caress hers and she tried to break away, but could not.

*Na quildë, yeldenya. Áva rucë! Open your mind to mine.*

Manwen did as she was bid and the intimacy of Finrod’s mental touch was beyond anything she had ever felt before, even with her husband. It was as if she stood naked before him, yet there was no sense of shame or embarrassment. She stood rapt in an emotion that was akin to joy yet held a trace of fear, for she suddenly knew herself to be vulnerable. He could do anything to her and she would allow it, indeed, welcome it, and that thought nearly drove her to deny what was happening, to flee from his mental and physical touch.

*Shh. Ávo rucë, yeldenya. Your integrity is safe with me. I will ask nothing of you that you would not willingly give in full knowledge of that giving. Your life I accept into my keeping.*

Then she felt him opening himself to her in such a way that defied description and suddenly she realized the full implication of the oath she had so naively given. Her life was indeed his, but by that same token, his life was now hers and the awesome responsibility that entailed was nearly more than she could accept, and yet she did, with fear and trembling, but with joy as well.

Then, slowly the contact between their minds diminished and she found herself alone within herself and was glad. She felt dazed and somewhat disoriented and was only dimly aware of her husband handing Finrod the knife. She was only dimly aware of Finrod taking her hand and slicing the palm, then doing the same to his own hand. She was only dimly aware of him placing her bleeding hand in his and then Laurendil was whispering words to her that she knew she must say aloud.

"By our blood mingled, our minds now one, I give thee my oath, aranya, that thou mayest have my life into thy keeping, tenn’ Ambar-metta. Valar valuvar."

Then Finrod was speaking and his voice was as ice and she shivered involuntarily.

"By our blood mingled, our minds now one, I accept your oath, Manwen vessë Laurendilo, and take your life into my keeping, tenn’ Ambar-metta. Valar valuvar."

Then for the first time Finrod smiled and the joy of it broke through her shock and she began to weep, falling into his embrace. "Oh, Valar, forgive me. What have I done?"

She felt, rather than saw, someone approach and then she was gathered into another’s embrace. Still weeping, she looked up into the calm eyes of Lady Nienna. "Hush now, child. What’s done is done. Do not weep. It will be well."

Then Laurendil was lifting her into his arms and she heard Finrod say compassionately, "Be gentle with her, Laurendil. She is precious to me, as are you, my son." There was a timbre to the Elf-lord’s voice that held the echo of Another and the other elves there felt a tremor run through their fëar, though they little understood its source.

Laurendil did not reply but took his wife from the pavilion and none stayed him. Then in the ensuing silence Lord Irmo spoke.

"Meneldil, Laurendil and Manwen are under my protection, and Findaráto I claim for myself. Eärnur, come to me in the morning. I think your duties will be changing. I rather like the idea of you learning Sindarin, if you have no objections."

Eärnur shook his head. "Nay, lord, I do not. Thank you."

"Good. Good. Now we will leave you, my children. Remember what you have witnessed here, all of you."

"But, what is it we have witnessed, lord?" Meneldil asked, sounding angry and confused at one and the same time.

But it was Lord Námo who answered, his expression grave beyond enduring and many had to look elsewhere. "You have witnessed the giving and taking of an oath between vassal and lord, one that should never be entered lightly by either party, for it will remain binding until Arda is Remade. Not even death can sever it or make it void."

Then he turned to Finrod who stood there looking sad and doubtful and his expression softened. "Do not fret, my son. It was well done."

"She understands not what she has done and when she does..."

"When she does, she will have Laurendil beside her to help her through it." Irmo said.

Finrod looked at the Lord of Lórien and there was a slight quirk in his smile. "I fear I have deprived you of a valuable apprentice, my lord, for which I humbly apologize."

"Oh, Manwen isn’t going anywhere," Irmo said blithely. "She is still mine and will continue to be so, just as Laurendil is mine, though he is also yours, and just as you are mine, if memory serves." He gave Finrod a wry smile.

The former King of Nargothrond smiled back, looking less grim. "Valar valuvar."

"Oh, of that, you may have no doubt, my son." Irmo said with a light laugh.

Estë, who had remained silent throughout, then came to Finrod and gave him a kiss on the brow, whispering something in his ear that only he heard. The onlookers saw Finrod’s eyes widen at whatever the Valië said to him and he nodded to her. Then all four Valar were gone, leaving the elves alone.

Without a backward glance, Finrod left the pavilion and none followed. Where he spent the night, no one knew, save for the Valar, two Maiar, who watched over him by Námo’s command, and one delighted oak tree deep in the heart of Estë’s island.

****

Vanda Mapaina: An Oath Taken.

Aran meletyalda, qui haryalyë i-cuilë vennonya, haryalyë yando cuilenya: "Your Majesty, if you have my husband’s life, you have also my life."

Na quilde, yeldenya. Áva rucë!: "Be still, my daughter. Do not fear!"

Tenn’ Ambar-metta. Valar valuvar: "Until World’s end. The will of the Valar will be done."

Manwen vessë Laurendilo: Manwen wife of Laurendil.

56: Repercussions

Laurendil and Manwen were not seen by any for nearly three days. Eärnur came from his meeting with Lord Irmo the next morning looking both bemused and happy. Finrod, when he finally appeared, was solemn and few had the courage to approach him. Yet, he was courtesy itself if any had the occasion to speak to him. The elves who had been witnesses to the oath-taking looked upon the former King of Nargothrond with awe, especially those who remembered the confused ellon who had come to them from Mandos hiding in trees and generally acting the elfling.

Now they saw him in a different light and not a few felt their jaws drop when they happened to see him conversing with one of the Maiar, who then gave Finrod a most deferential bow before departing. Those who witnessed this noticed that Finrod showed neither embarrassment nor discomfort at the Maia’s show of deep respect.

Eärnur was reluctant to seek out Finrod but he had been given his instructions and so, two days after the oath-taking he came to Finrod’s pavilion shortly after the morning meal. Finrod met him with a smile, his manner easy and unaffected.

"How are you, mellon nîn?" Finrod asked in Sindarin.

"I am well, a-aran nîn," Eärnur answered somewhat hesitantly in the same language, stumbling over the title, not sure how to address this elf who had become a stranger to him overnight.

Finrod frowned slightly and shook his head. "Now, Eärnur, you need not use that form of address with me. I am not your king. Olwë is and you owe your allegiance to him alone. I am, I hope, your friend, and as a friend, you should call me Finrod."

At the hesitation and embarrassment he saw in Eärnur’s eyes, he smiled wryly. "I can always make that an order," he said, amusement deep in his eyes.

Eärnur started at the words but then he recognized the humor of Finrod’s statement and started laughing.

"That’s better," Finrod said with a nod. "I take it you’re here for another Sindarin lesson?"

Eärnur nodded. "Lord Irmo says I am to report to either you or Laurendil each morning after breakfast for one hour of lessons."

Finrod nodded, taking a chair and indicating that Eärnur should take another. "Well, then, let us begin...."

****

When Laurendil and Manwen finally emerged from their pavilion they both were diffident in Finrod’s presence. Manwen especially felt shy before him, not sure how she was to act or speak.

Finrod put them at ease with his warm smile and gentle laughter and Manwen was surprised that nothing had actually changed between them, or so it seemed. He was still respectful of her and teasing of Laurendil. Yet, there was something there, something indefinable between them that had not existed before and she was unsure how to respond to it.

She also found that nothing had changed in her status as an apprentice. True, some of the other apprentices and journeymen, not to mention one or two of the masters, looked upon her with some disquiet, though no one was actually rude to her. However, she was not unduly upset by it, not having been there long enough to form any attachments with the other Lóriennildi. Still, she was embarrassed by the stares.

One thing that did change was that Laurendil willingly donned the tabard that they found hanging next to hers on the third morning after the oath-taking. Manwen found that she enjoyed having her husband by her side as they attended lectures and tutorials together. She was even more pleased when Finrod joined them for some of the classes.

Laurendil, for his part, found that being an apprentice was not as onerous as he had thought, or hoped. As the days went by and he became more and more involved with the rhythm of life that was typical of an apprentice Lóriennildo, he found some part of him settling in, becoming more comfortable, and he realized that there had always been a part of his fëa that had never been at ease, never at rest. Now it was and he felt happier and more content than he had ever felt before. He found that he even enjoyed helping those who came to Lórien for healing or the Reborn attempting to reclaim their lives and felt deep satisfaction when one of his charges (he refused to use the term ‘patient’ as many Lóriennildi did) thanked him, even though he had done little more than hold their hands as they poured out their grief or anger or confusion.

Finrod, everyone noticed, seemed to have grown in stature after that night. There was a deeper level of maturity that stunned them and he moved among them with a grace that was astonishing to behold. As he began to interact more with the Reborn or others come to Lórien for healing the Amaneldi witnessed the most amazing scenes. Elves who had been nearly catatonic with the terrors and griefs they had experienced in Middle-earth upon their arrival in Aman became responsive with but a single touch or a soft word from Finrod, often rising from their beds to fall to their knees in near adoration of one who for many was but a figure out of legend.

Among the Reborn he showed great patience and humor and could often be found singing softly an ancient lullaby accompanied by the harp whenever one of them proved especially restless and uncooperative. Any who heard his voice and the playing of the harp felt great peace and even the Lóriennildi felt refreshed by the song.

It was nearly a week and a half after the oath-taking when Manwen experienced an emotional crisis. She and Laurendil were attending a lecture with other apprentices given by Master Meneldil. While neither of them cared for the master healer, they had to admit that he was very knowledgeable of his craft and they learned much from him. Finrod was also attending the lecture, sitting towards the back, having arrived late.

As they were sitting there in one of the groves reserved for such things, one of the other apprentices was answering a question put to her by the master when something in Manwen snapped and she found herself weeping uncontrollably. Everyone stopped to stare and Meneldil looked particularly put out by the elleth’s hysterics. Laurendil wrapped his arms around his wife in an attempt to comfort her but she would not cease weeping.

"Laurendil," Meneldil exclaimed in anger, "if you cannot control your wife..."

"Enough, Meneldil."

Everyone turned in surprise at the ring of authority that came from Finrod who now was striding towards Laurendil and Manwen. Meneldil turned white with shock. Laurendil looked up at Finrod.

"Aranya, I can’t get her to stop," he said, nearly weeping himself, fear and concern for Manwen filling him.

"Hush, meldonya," Finrod said kindly. "All will be well. Let me have her. Here, my daughter, why these tears? Hush now, ammeldanya, be at peace."

He helped her to rise and took her into his arms, gently rubbing her back, speaking in soft tones that nonetheless held great authority in them. "You’ve been very brave these last few days and I know you are feeling some confusion, but it will pass and you will see that nothing has truly changed with you."

"Wh-what did I do?" Manwen stammered. "Please, ar-aranya, what did I do?"

"What you did was nothing less than to pledge your life to me," Finrod explained gently. "I now hold it in my keeping. With your oath you have given me permission to use your life as I think necessary, even so far as to demand your death." Manwen gave a strangled sob and the others looking on shivered at the expression on Finrod’s face, cold and implacable, and they sensed that he would indeed take the elleth’s life if necessary, yet his eyes and voice were full of compassion. "Hush now, what is done is done, my daughter, and cannot be undone," he said, gently releasing her from his embrace. "Now dry these tears. I don’t like my people getting me all wet like this. It does nothing for my image."

The dryness of his tone and the glint of humor in his eyes forced a giggle out of the elleth and then she was laughing. Finrod nodded.

"That’s better, my dear. Now, look what I have for you." He pulled out a small velvet bag from under his tabard. "I’m afraid I’ve been rather neglectful of my duty to you." He handed her the bag and she opened it somewhat hesitantly and gasped, pulling out a necklace of linked mithril chain from which hung a single large heart-shaped amethyst with peridot gemstones surrounding it.

"If you will permit me," Finrod said, taking the necklace from her. She nodded mutely and, lifting her locks, allowed him to place it around her neck. She looked down at the exquisite gift, the amethyst and peridot pendant lying between her breasts. The mingling of their colors in the sunlight was reminiscent of the purple-green shades of twilight.

"It... it’s beautiful," she murmured.

Finrod smiled. "It is now."

"But I can’t accept this!" she protested.

"Ah, but you have no choice, my dear," Finrod said with a laugh. "It is my duty and my joy as your liege lord to gift you on the occasion of your taking oath to me. It is your duty to accept."

Manwen turned to Laurendil, a look of wonder in her eyes. "Do you... I mean... did he..."

"Yes, my love," Laurendil laughed, taking her in his arms and planting a kiss on her lips. "See, this ring is Finrod’s gift to me." He held up his left hand and she noticed, as if for the first time, a mithril ring set with a single amethyst surrounded by peridot gemstones. She looked enquiringly at Finrod, who merely shrugged.

"I thought you should have a matched set of jewelry," he said in a droll tone.

Laurendil snorted and Manwen found herself rolling her eyes and giggling. Meneldil, who had been fuming silently all the while, chose this time to speak.

"Perhaps, your Majesty," Meneldil sneered, "if you are finished holding your audience we may continue with this lecture."

Finrod had to physically hold Laurendil back from attacking the master healer right then and there. Manwen went white with cold fury as well and managed to elude Finrod’s grasp as she strode towards the Vanyarin healer.

"You haven’t the right to use that form of address even in jest, Master Meneldil," she said softly. "I might respectfully suggest you apologize to Lord Findaráto before every Sinda and... and Etyangol in Lórien rises up in arms against you."

"And they would, too."

Lord Irmo was suddenly in their midst, smiling at the furious elleth who merely nodded to him without taking her eyes off the master healer. He glanced over at Finrod, still holding Laurendil back and sighed.

"Honestly, I’m beginning to regret ever having asked you here, Findaráto," the Vala said in feigned exasperation. "You’ve been nothing but trouble since you arrived."

"First of all, my lord, you ordered me here and second..." Finrod’s eyes glinted with some undefinable dark emotion, yet there was a hint of humor in them as well. "Sauron said the same thing... just before he set his werewolf on me."

Laurendil’s mouth hung open as he stared at Finrod, his anger towards Meneldil forgotten. Everyone else was equally stunned by the Elf-lord’s words. "Aranya," Laurendil whispered in a strangled voice. "You are very dangerous."

Finrod’s smile was cold and fell. "The orcs at the Dagor Bragollach seemed to think so."

Irmo merely rolled his eyes and sighed, then turned his attention to Meneldil, his expression not unkindly. "My son, I think you should do as Lady Manwen says and apologize to Lord Findaráto for your remarks. While he is indeed an apprentice, Findaráto is also the firstborn son of the Noldóran and great-nephew to the Ingaran. Not to mention a king in his own right, though Nargothrond now lies beneath the waves. Some respect should be shown."

Meneldil took a deep breath then bowed towards Finrod. "I beg your forgiveness, my lord. My anger got the better of me."

"I accept your apology, Master Meneldil," Finrod said with all sincerity, "if you will accept mine for...er... holding court in the middle of your lecture."

For a moment Meneldil simply stared at the Noldo lord and then a slow smile creased his lips and he bowed again, more deeply. "I think I can see my way to forgiving you, my lord."

"Well, now that that’s over and done with," Irmo said, sounding satisfied, "I think, Manwen, you might benefit by spending some time keeping company with my sister, Nienna. She has offered her house for your use and I think you should accept."

Manwen turned to Irmo in surprise. "B-but what about my studies? I just got here."

"Oh, my sister is quite capable of tutoring you, my dear," Irmo said somewhat dismissively. "You will not fall behind in your studies if you go."

Finrod spoke then. "It might be for the best, Manwen. You need a time of solitude and reflection after what has happened."

Manwen looked at Finrod doubtfully. "A-are you ordering me to go, aranya?"

The Noldo smiled and shook his head. "No, my dear. This is your decision to make."

"What about Laurendil?"

"Oh, he’s not invited," Nienna said as she suddenly appeared, a smile on her face. "He will remain here and continue his own studies, won’t you, Laurendil?"

Laurendil bowed. "Be iest lîn, hiril nîn."

Nienna nodded and moved to put an arm around Manwen’s shoulders. "Then it’s settled, my dear. You will come and stay with me for a while."

"But for how long will I be gone?" Manwen asked, sounding confused and embarrassed.

It was Finrod who answered her, placing his hands on either side of her face. "For as long as you need to, daughter. There is no shame in the length of time it takes. Return to us when you are ready. We will be here."

"I assume I’m at least allowed to see my wife off?" Laurendil asked no one in particular.

"Well, only if you insist," Nienna said with a sigh, winking at Manwen who giggled.

With that, Laurendil and Manwen took their leave of Finrod and Irmo (in that order) then allowed Nienna to lead them away. Irmo then motioned for Finrod to follow him and soon Meneldil was left to continue his lecture. His heart wasn’t in it, though, and the apprentices weren’t paying attention anyway so it was not long before he dismissed them. As he wandered out of the grove in search of his own pavilion, he wondered if he was in the wrong profession.

****

Ammeldanya: (Quenya) My best beloved [an- (intensive or superlative prefix with assimilation) + melda + -nya (first person singular pronomial possessive ending)].

Amethyst: A purple stone and, when given as a gift, symbolic of protection and the power to overcome difficulty. Often worn by healers as it focuses energy. That Finrod chose this particular stone for Laurendil’s ring, as well, is perhaps due to Finrod’s gift of foresight.

Peridot: A green stone, and when worn together with an amethyst, symbolic of purity and moral integrity. It is also a protector against negative emotions.

Ingaran: (Quenya) High King [inga "high" + aran "king"], referring to Ingwë.

Be iest lîn, hiril nîn: (Sindarin) "As you wish, my lady".

57: Those Who Guard

Finrod followed Irmo for some time, neither of them speaking. The Vala took him to a part of Lórien he had never seen before, bringing him to a small grove surrounded by great oaks. There was something unearthly, even by elvish standards, about the place, or perhaps, Finrod amended, more earthly than anything he had ever felt before. The light seemed... different somehow and there was something in the air that made him feel both ancient and young at the same time. Finrod stopped and shivered slightly. Irmo gave him a small smile.

"Our personal sanctuary," he said in explanation, gesturing for him to enter.

"Our... as in...?"

Irmo nodded. "All of us. My brother Valar enjoy coming here to refresh their own spirits on occasion." Finrod felt humbled at the thought of being there, for he suspected that few Eldar had ever been invited to this place. Irmo nodded. "Very few."

There was a table and two chairs in the center of the grove and the two of them sat. Irmo poured some wine from a decanter and offered Finrod a goblet which the ellon took, enjoying the fruity taste of raspberries as he sipped the drink appreciatively.

"I meant what I said," Irmo commented after a few minutes, "about you being nothing but trouble."

Finrod smiled faintly. "So did I."

Irmo threw back his head and laughed. "Point taken. Laurendil was correct, you are very dangerous."

Finrod frowned then, looking into his goblet. "I do not intentionally mean to cause trouble, my lord. It’s just that lately..."

"Go on," Irmo said.

"It’s just that lately I find myself acting... differently." Finrod looked up at the Vala. "Like today. Manwen started weeping and I knew what the reason for it was and without actually thinking about it I ... well, you know what happened."

"You were acting as you should," Irmo said kindly. "You were acting as the king you were and still are. You are beginning to reclaim that part of you. Does that frighten you?"

"Sometimes," Finrod admitted reluctantly.

"Good."

"Huh?"

Irmo nodded. "That you hesitate to take up your role is a sign that you are ready to do so. Kingship, especially when it manifests itself as Guardianship, is an awesome responsibility, not to be entered into lightly. You fled Aman in search of adventure and a desire to carve out for yourself your own kingdom. It is remarkable that being the son of a younger prince with no expectation of ruling, you were able to exhibit those aspects of kingship that are the most difficult to achieve: to be the guardian of the people’s trust, more than to be the ruler of their lives. Your own atar had to learn this from Lord Manwë, yet you seemed to know it instinctively. That is why you were able to relinquish your crown as readily as you did. Few could or would have done so, oath or no oath."

"And that makes me... what?" Finrod asked somewhat skeptically.

"Dangerous," Irmo replied in all seriousness. "Very dangerous, indeed."

Finrod gave Irmo a surprised look. "How so?"

Irmo sat for a moment in thought before speaking. "Anyone can rule. The trick is not to rule, but to guard."

Finrod shook his head in confusion. "I don’t..."

"When you traveled through Beleriand, you always posted a watch wherever you stopped for the night," Irmo said. "What was the purpose of the watch?"

Finrod shrugged, thinking it was obvious. "To stand guard over those asleep and assure nothing threatened them."

"Yes," Irmo said with a nod. "Those asleep would be vulnerable to an attack. The same for a people. As king, your duty was to protect the welfare of your subjects. It wasn’t to tell them what to do. That’s why you did not force any to go with you and Beren. That’s why you willingly relinquished your crown, even to one you knew might not remain faithful to the trust given him."

Finrod grimaced. "In that I had no choice."

"Perhaps not," Irmo conceded. "The point is, you gave up the crown for a higher purpose. That has led you here."

Finrod sighed. "I’ve often wondered what happened to my companions, if they’ve been released from Mandos or not."

"Most have," Irmo said, "but you must not seek them out. Let them come to you."

"Why?" Finrod asked.

"Each of them took oath to you, didn’t they?" Finrod nodded. "Their oaths will lead them to you when the time is right for them to do so. Until then, it is best not to intrude into their lives."

"I have no wish to do that. I only wish to apologize to them for leading them to their deaths."

"An apology none of them will accept, for they will have seen their deaths as a fulfillment of their oaths. None of them betrayed you or your mission, did they?"

Finrod shook his head and there was a look of pride in his eyes. "None."

"Then you have no need to apologize to them. To do so would be to diminish their sacrifice in their own eyes."

Finrod took a sip of wine, thinking over the Vala’s words. "I did not wish to take Manwen’s oath."

"I know, and we are sorry you had to."

"We?"

"You call us ‘Valar’ yet it would have been better had you named us ‘Tirnor’, for that is our true nature. We are Guardians of Arda and its peoples, not their rulers. It is far more difficult to guard than to rule, to watch than to lord it over others." Here Irmo gave Finrod a deprecating smile, tinged with sadness. "Whenever we have forgotten this, it usually ends up badly for all concerned."

Finrod grinned slyly. "So I’ve noticed."

Irmo laughed merrily at that. "Such insolence! I think it should be rewarded."

Now Finrod looked slightly worried. "That sounds ominous."

"Not at all," the Lord of Lórien said. "Your gifting Manwen reminded me that my brother and I have been neglectful of our duty to you. It is customary for us to gift those who take oath to us as well."

Finrod frowned. "Was it a similar oath? The one that binds me to my people seems to affect them rather adversely at first. Laurendil wept for days, and now Manwen..."

"It was very similar," Irmo said with a nod. "You were not as deeply affected, not because it wasn’t as grave an oath, but because my brother and I have been shielding you from its full import."

Finrod felt his jaw drop in amazement. "Whyever would you do such a thing? Are my emotions so suspect that you will not permit me to feel them to the fullest?"

"No, my son," Irmo said gravely. "But you are still coming to grips with those emotions and you had a recent... shall we say, incident, did you not?"

Finrod went white at that and he nodded grimly, his lips clenched with the memory of his Judgment still fresh in his mind. Irmo nodded and poured more wine into the ellon’s goblet, encouraging him to drink. When the elf appeared somewhat calmer, the Vala spoke again.

"My brother and I had rather thought you would take some time to think over our offer before taking oath to us. The last thing we expected was for you to offer yourself right then and there. It took us totally by surprise. We’re still reeling from it, if you want to know."

"I find that rather hard to believe, Master," Finrod said, looking skeptical and amused at the same time.

"Believe what you will, Findaráto, it is the truth."

Finrod turned to see Lord Námo striding towards them and rose to offer him a bow, which the Lord of Mandos acknowledged with a nod of his head. Finrod saw that Lord Námo was holding a small box made of fine mahogany wood that fit in the palm of his hand. Námo smiled at the elf and handed it to him.

"This is our gift to you, my son," Námo said. "We apologize for not giving it to you sooner."

Finrod took the box but did not open it immediately, looking enquiringly into Námo’s eyes. Námo smiled gently. "From our perspective, Findaráto, you Children arrived in Arda only last week. We’re still learning about you. You are all full of surprises. When you knelt before us on the shore of Lórellin..." the Vala shook his head and sighed.

"We felt it best to shield you from the full impact of the oath until you were ready," Irmo then said, speaking just as gently. "I brought you here to our sanctuary so that you might experience the oath in a more private setting. My brother and I will... stand watch over you as you do."

"Open the box, Findaráto," Námo said. "See what we have gifted you."

Finrod opened the box and gasped, staring in shock at what lay within. Nestled in a fold of black velvet was a ring. He had last seen it on the left hand of the son of Barahir. "Th-this is my ring," he whispered in disbelief.

Námo smiled. "We thought you might like it back."

Finrod stared at the Vala in shock. "Oh, don’t worry," Námo said reassuringly. "This is but a fair copy. The original even now graces the hand of the present Lord of Andúnië in Númenórë. It is considered a great heirloom of his house."

Finrod nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. He had heard of the island gifted to the Edain and knew that some of the elves of Tol Eressëa even journeyed there, but he himself had no desire to do so. His life was here in Aman now, and he was content.

He stared down at the ring shaped like twin serpents, whose eyes were emeralds. Their heads met beneath a crown of golden flowers that the one upheld and the other devoured.

"Why don’t you put it on?" Irmo said softly.

Finrod nodded and, taking the ring from the box he gave the box to Irmo, then he slipped the ring onto the forefinger of his left hand, its weight feeling familiar to him even after all this time. Almost at once he felt something within him open up and he gasped, unaware that he had fallen to his knees or that he was now weeping. Irmo and Námo stood on either side of him and lightly touched him on the head. Finrod felt their minds touch his. There was no intrusion, merely loving support and Finrod found himself opening up to his Masters, much as Manwen had opened herself to him, and knew only joy in the giving of himself. He knew even more joy when the gift was accepted by the two who stood beside him.

How long it lasted, he never knew, but at last the storm of emotions ebbed and the tears ceased and he grew calm. He was surprised to find himself on his knees and looking up was even more surprised at what he saw. Irmo and Námo still stood on either side of him, but ranged in a loose circle around them were the other twelve Valar. Manwë stood before him, his countenance glad.

Finrod started to rise, but both Irmo and Námo gently held him in his place and he sank back to his knees. Manwë took a step forward.

"Welcome, my son. We are glad you have chosen to join us in our task as Guardians, and though your guardianship extends only to the boundaries of Aman, while ours extends to the edge of Arda and beyond, it is no less a sacred trust and solemn duty that you embrace than the one we hold by the grace of Eru Ilúvatar."

Then Námo spoke. "Once you found yourself within the Ring of Doom and we were your Judges. Today you find yourself within a circle of friends and we are your Companions."

Irmo spoke next. "The role of a Guardian is not an easy one, for we can only inspire, not demand; exhort, not compel. Often we must step back and allow the natural course of events to unfold in the fullness of Time, whether we wish it or not. The ability to let go is an important one for any who would guard and watch over those in most need of it."

Manwë spoke again. "Now rise and let us greet you properly as our brother."

Námo and Irmo helped Finrod to his feet and he was surprised at how weak-kneed he felt. Then he was facing Námo who smiled at him and gave him the kiss of liege lord to vassal. "Welcome, best beloved. Nai tiruva tielya Eru."

Then he handed him off to Irmo who gave him a warm smile and offered his own blessing. After that he found himself being handed around the circle. Each Vala or Valië gave him a kiss in greeting and offered a blessing. When he came to Tulkas, however, the Vala merely laughed and gave him a bone-crushing hug before handing him to Oromë who rolled his eyes at his brother Vala and shared a grin with Finrod. Eventually, he found himself facing Lord Manwë once again.

The Elder King took him by the shoulders and their foreheads touched and Finrod heard Manwë speak to him in ósanwë.

*As one king to another, I need not remind you that kingship is a special burden, a solemn trust, but also there is joy. Do not forget that, child. Á enyalë illúmë i-alassë. It will sustain you during the dark times that may come.*

Then Manwë withdrew his mind from his, kissed him on the brow and stepped back. "You may stay here in this grove for as long as you need to, Findaráto, until you are ready to face the outer world again."

"Thank you, Lord," Finrod said, then smiled ruefully. "I think, though, I should see how Laurendil is holding up. If he’s like every other husband I’ve ever known whose wife has gone away from his side for more than five minutes, he will be feeling morose and full of self-pity. I think I should go and cheer him up."

There were grins all around. "And how do you propose to do that?" Varda asked with a glint of merriment in her eyes.

Finrod shrugged and gave the Valië a wry grin. "Oh, in the usual manner, Lady. I’ll get him uproariously drunk and then we’ll spend the rest of the night singing bawdy songs at the top of our lungs and showing each other our battle scars...or..." he paused, thinking about it, "he can show me his new ones since I don’t seem to have any anymore."

The Valar chuckled at that.

"In that case," Manwë said, "don’t be surprised if my beloved shows up at your pavilion when you start singing ‘The Elf and the Fruit Vendor’." He winked at Finrod who stood there in shocked surprise. "It’s her favorite song, you know, especially verse thirty-one."

Finrod reddened in embarrassment at that revelation and would not look at anyone in particular, much to their amusement. Finally he cleared his throat and said in a diffident tone, "Yes, well, perhaps it would be more prudent if we just have a quiet dinner and forget about the drinking."

Námo nodded solemnly. "More prudent, no doubt... but not nearly as much fun."

Now there was outright laughter and Finrod couldn’t help but join in.

****

Valar: Powers/Authorities.

Tirnor: Watchers/Guardians.

Nai tiruva tielya Eru: "May Eru guard your path".

Á enyalë illúmë i-alassë:  "Remember always the joy".

Ósanwë: Telepathic communication.

The Ring of Barahir: Made by the Noldor in Valinor. Finrod gave the ring to Barahir as a token of his Oath to him after the Dagor Bragollach and Beren later redeemed that Oath during the Quest for the Silmaril. The ring would be passed down through the ages by the descendants of Beren until eventually it will come into the possession of Aragorn near the end of the Third Age. The description of the ring is from The Silmarillion, "Of Beren and Lúthien".

58: Friends in High Places

Laurendil, it turned out, was neither morose nor wallowing in self-pity. Instead, he was grim and white-faced when Finrod entered his pavilion to find the ranger there pacing back and forth.

"Mithlas," he said before Finrod could ask him what was wrong. "They won’t let me see him."

"They?"

"The Lóriennildi masters," Laurendil replied bitterly. "As an apprentice, I’m apparently incapable of holding the ellon’s hand while he suffers terrors about which they know nothing. At least they let Eärnur stay."

"But he barely understands Sindarin," Finrod said in exasperation. "Are they being deliberately insensitive or is their own arrogance getting in the way?"

"Well, nothing we can do about it," Laurendil said with a diffident shrug that did not fool Finrod.

"Honestly, gwador nîn, when did that ever stop us?" Finrod said, feigning surprise.

Laurendil grinned wickedly. "I’ll guard your back, aran nîn."

Finrod laughed. "You’ll do more than that, bôr nîn. Come. We need some reinforcements."

Without giving Laurendil a chance to ask what he had in mind, Finrod strode out of the pavilion, the light of battle in his eyes. Laurendil followed him, automatically walking three paces behind and to Finrod’s left, the traditional position of a guard, though neither elf was armed. Those who saw them stepped aside with alacrity and alarm. None of these Amaneldi were used to seeing elves in the midst of a battle-meld, for Laurendil had reflexively opened himself to Finrod, allowing his lord to coordinate their movements.

Finrod made his way to a particular grove where he found a certain Maia. Irmo had told him about this place and the one who dwelt there.

"If ever you need assistance, seek her out. She will aid you."

Finrod now entered the grove and bowed deeply. "Le suilon, hiril nîn."

Melian turned from the roses she was deadheading and smiled. "Findaráto! I was told you were here." She held out her hands and Finrod went to her with a smile. The two kissed and Finrod turned and gestured for Laurendil to approach.

"This is my gwador, Glorendil," he said and Laurendil went to his knees before the former Queen of Doriath.

"My lady," he said, awe in his voice as he looked upon the Maia who had captured the heart of Elu Thingol.

"Now, now, child. None of that," Melian gently chided him. "Stand up and let me see you." She nodded as he complied and her smile deepened. "I’m glad to see you have finally made peace with your destiny, my dear."

Laurendil found himself blushing. Apparently, his soul was an open book to all and sundry. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

"Not to all and sundry, child," Melian said with gentle amusement. "Just to those of us granted the privilege of seeing. Lord Irmo can be somewhat persistent when it comes to finding his apprentices."

"Lord Irmo has been very patient with me," Laurendil murmured apologetically.

Melian nodded and turned to Finrod who had watched the exchange with interest. "What brings you to me, Nephew? Your eyes are bright with the light of battle, yet I see no orcs here."

"Orcs there are none, Aunt," Finrod said with a grim smile, "yet enemies abound."

Melian looked at this Reborn elf for whom she had always had a special fondness, and her expression turned grave. "Tell me."

****

Eärnur was attempting to calm Mithlas with the little Sindarin he knew, which, admittedly wasn’t much. ‘Im nestor a melon cerdyf phihin. Man o ci?’ (the only Sindarin he could remember) was proving to be unhelpful, nor did Mithlas seem to care if Eärnur liked apples, juicy or otherwise. Thus, he looked up with some relief when he saw Finrod come striding into the pavilion with Laurendil in tow... and one other.

He would have scrambled to his feet in respect except that Mithlas chose that moment to start struggling again while another journeyman healer attempted to put restraints on him. Two master healers — one dark-haired, the other auburn — looked on with undisguised disgust. Their expressions changed rather rapidly to undisguised awe as Melian bore down on them like the wrath of Mandos.

She took one look at poor Mithlas and, kneeling beside the writhing elf, touched him lightly on his head and sent him into healing sleep. "Losto, hên nîn. No na hîdh." Mithlas subsided into Eärnur’s arms with a sigh. Eärnur felt himself blushing under the mild scrutiny of the Maia queen, though there was no condemnation in her eyes as she gazed at him. Her expression darkened, however, when she stood and faced the Lóriennildi masters. Finrod stood beside her. Laurendil silently helped Eärnur with Mithlas, removing the restraints and composing his limbs to more comfortable positions. The other journeyman stood uncertainly, not sure how much trouble he might be in himself. Melian glanced at him and gave him a quick smile. "Rananur, you may leave. This does not concern you."

The Noldorin journeyman was only too happy to comply with the Maia’s orders and with a short bow left the pavilion as quickly as possible.

"Perhaps I should leave, too..." Eärnur began. In truth, he wouldn’t mind leaving. He had the feeling that Mithlas’ pavilion was about to become an unhealthy place to be.

It was Finrod, rather than Melian, who stopped him. "No, Eärnur. Stay here. This concerns you."

Eärnur looked decidedly unhappy at that, but when Melian nodded in his direction he gave her a respectful bow and stepped away, not wanting to be caught in the line of fire between the Maia and his masters. Melian raked them over with her gaze, her posture imperious, yet not arrogant.

"Would either of you care to explain yourself?" she asked mildly.

The two masters, both Noldor, glanced at each other nervously and then back at Melian, who stood there waiting patiently for one of them to answer her.

"May I ask, my lady, what concern you have here?" the dark-haired master asked. "And why are these two apprentices with you?"

"I am not here as an apprentice," Finrod said before Melian could speak. "I am here in my capacity as a prince of Eldamar, and as the High King’s great-nephew."

"And mine," Melian said quietly.

Eärnur felt his eyes widen at that and wondered what other surprises were in store.

"Well, that explains you," the other master said with a sneer at Finrod, "but what about the other?"

Laurendil had by then returned to stand behind Finrod.

Finrod smiled, and it wasn’t pleasant. "Laurendil is not here as an apprentice either."

"What then?" the first master asked. "He’s no prince."

"No," Finrod agreed. "He’s my vassal and he guards my back."

There didn’t seem to be much they could say about that, not really understanding what it meant. Melian decided to step in again.

"You still haven’t answered my question."

The dark-haired master sighed. "We’ve been having trouble with this particular Sinda..."

"His name is Mithlas and he’s from Lindon," Finrod said coldly. "He fought in the Dagor Bragollach and survived the fall of Doriath. He has seen horrors you cannot imagine. He has come here for healing, but all he has gotten from us is abuse."

Now the two masters looked affronted. "We have never abused any of our patients!" the auburn-haired master yelled.

"Charges."

The master looked at Laurendil in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Charges," Laurendil repeated, sounding just as cold as Finrod had. "They are not ‘patients’, they are your charges. They have been entrusted to you, much as elflings are entrusted to caregivers."

"So Mithlas has been giving you trouble, has he?" Melian asked, steering the conversation back to its original point. "What kind of trouble?"

Now the two masters looked worried again. It wasn’t that the Sinda had caused trouble so much as he’d been troublesome, refusing to cooperate, never speaking Quenya, suddenly screaming for no reason....

"How do you know?" Finrod asked, interrupting their diatribe.

"Er... well... that is...."

Finrod nodded then turned to Melian. "Can you wake him, Aunt? I would like to question him myself."

Melian nodded and went over to the cot, leaned over and gently brushed her hand across the ellon’s forehead. "Echuio, Mithlas! Tolo ’ni galad." It took several minutes for the elf to bestir himself, but finally he opened his eyes, looking somewhat fearful.

Finrod sat in a chair next to the cot and placed a hand on the ellon’s arm. "Mae govannen, mellon nîn. Gerich rîn en-nin?"

Mithlas nodded. "Y-you’re the dead king."

Laurendil rolled his eyes and slapped his forehead. "Of course! I knew there was something different about you, aran nîn. I just couldn’t put my finger on it."

"And you only just noticed?" Finrod quipped, giving Mithlas a smile and a wink. Now Mithlas looked at them in confusion as Laurendil and Melian laughed. It was her laughter that brought the Maia to the Sinda’s attention and he nearly fainted at the sight of her.

"Easy now, Mithlas," Finrod said quietly. "There is nothing to fear here. You recognize your queen."

It was not a question, but Mithlas nodded mutely anyway, tears running down his cheeks as he continued to stare into Melian’s eyes. Melian smiled sadly and leaned over and gave the ellon a gentle kiss on the forehead, brushing an errant lock away from his face.

"I am glad that you survived the fall of our fair nation, Mithlas of Lindon," Melian said softly, "but it grieves me to see you in such straits."

"Would you like to talk about it?" Finrod asked. Mithlas hesitated, staring around the pavilion, paling at the sight of the masters, but smiling tremulously at Eärnur, who smiled back. "Why did you think I would be interested in apples?"

Finrod had to translate that for Eärnur, who had only caught one or two words of the entire exchange. He blushed. "It was the only thing I could remember how to say."

Finrod and Laurendil laughed outright. Melian smiled sympathetically and Mithlas grinned, but his face darkened as he noticed the bruises on his wrists and gasped. Finrod took the elf’s chin in his hand, forcing him to look at the Noldorin prince. "Do not concern yourself with these. You will not be restrained again. Of that you have my word."

"And mine," Melian replied softly, looking mildly at the two masters who flinched under her ancient regard.

"You know, Mithlas," Finrod said in a conversational tone. "Glorendil here is feeling a bit lonely. His wife, a lovely Sinda healer named Manwen, is taking lessons with Lady Nienna for a time and so Glorendil is quite alone. I think he might like some company until Manwen returns. She’s from Doriath too and Glorendil knew Dior and Nimloth when they lived at Tol Galen."

Mithlas’ eyes widened as he glanced at Laurendil. "Truly, my lord? You knew Elúchil?"

Laurendil nodded. "And Beren and Lúthien as well, after they returned from Mandos."

"M-my beloved is in Mandos," Mithlas said shyly, looking down. "I-I wanted to follow her...but her last words... she made me promise..."

And then he was weeping and Melian sat on the edge of the cot and took the ellon in her arms, crooning softly and rocking him until he grew calmer.

"What is her name?" Melian asked gently.

"Glassiel," he whispered.

"A lovely name," the Maia said. "I think she would be very sad to see you here, child."

"So do I," Finrod said in a rather no-nonsense tone. "That’s why I think you would be better off staying with Glorendil. You can both drown yourselves in sorrows together. It’s much more fun than doing it alone, or so I’ve been told."

Mithlas raised an eyebrow at that. "I... I don’t think I’m allowed..."

"Nonsense, child. I think it’s a marvelous idea."

Everyone turned to see Lord Irmo striding into the pavilion and gave the Vala their obeisance, with Eärnur and Finrod helping Mithlas to his feet. He ignored everyone but Melian who gave her lord a small smile. "Ah, I see our intrepid prince roped you into his cause as well."

"There was no roping involved, my lord," Melian said lightly. "It was the least I could do for one of my former subjects."

"Then it’s settled," Irmo said with a nod. He turned to Finrod and smiled. "Dangerous, very dangerous, indeed."

Finrod smiled back. Irmo then turned to the two masters and sighed, giving them a crook of his finger. "You two, come with me."

Without another word the Vala turned and left the pavilion with the two masters stumbling behind him, looking as if they might faint at any moment. Finrod noticed Eärnur looking concerned and put a hand on the ellon’s arm.

"Do not fear for them, Eärnur. Irmo will not treat them unkindly."

Melian went to Eärnur and gave him a brief kiss on the forehead. "You are very good at what you do, child. Your parents will be very proud of you when you become a master healer. Continue as you have and you will do well."

"Thank you, Lady," the Teler murmured.

Melian turned to Finrod. "It is good to see you again, Nephew. I trust you find your new life to your liking?"

"Yes, Aunt, I do," Finrod said with a smile. "Thank you for your help."

"Come and see me when you are not busy and we will talk." Then Melian gave them all a brilliant smile and was gone, leaving the four elves alone.

Finrod looked at Mithlas and smiled. "Why don’t we help you pack?"

****

Bôr nîn: (Sindarin) My vassal. The Quenya equivalent would be vorondonya.

Le suilon, hiril nîn: (Sindarin) "I greet thee, my lady".

Im nestor a melon cerdyf phihin. Man o ci?: (Sindarin) "I am a healer and I love juicy apples. What about you?".

Losto, hên nîn. No na hîdh: (Sindarin) "Sleep, my child. Be at peace."

Echuio, Mithlas! Tolo ’ni galad: (Sindarin) "Awake, Mithlas! Come towards the light."

Mae govannen, mellon nîn. Gerich rîn en-nin?: (Sindarin) "Greetings, my friend. Do you remember me?". Literally, "Do you have remembrance of me?".

Notes: Finrod is Elu Thingol’s great-nephew through his mother, Eärwen, the daughter of Elu’s brother, Olwë.

Tol Galen is the name of the island where Beren and Lúthien lived after their return from Mandos.

59: Storm Clouds Gathering

A couple of weeks went by without any further incidents. Mithlas and Laurendil became fast friends and after his initial shyness around Finrod wore off, the Sinda could be seen speaking animatedly with the prince of Eldamar whenever they were together. Finrod, for his part, took Mithlas under his wing and encouraged him to speak about his life in Endórë and about his beloved Glassiel.

"I will not tell you what she is experiencing in Mandos," Finrod told him when Mithlas brought the subject up during one of their conversations. "Such knowledge is not for the Living. You only need to know that she is happy and suffers not and one day you will be reunited." Finrod looked at the ellon sympathetically. "Your beloved was wise to forbid you to follow her."

"Wh-why do you say that, a-aranya?" Mithlas asked forlornly, stumbling over the Quenya which he had begun to learn under Laurendil’s tutelage. He had picked up the habit of using the title Laurendil used for the former King of Nargothrond, much to Finrod’s amusement.

Finrod smiled, "Because otherwise you and I could not have become friends, and I value our friendship very much."

Mithlas looked stunned at that and could only stammer a shy ‘Hantanyel’.

Finrod and Laurendil continued to act as apprentices, following various journeymen on their rounds and attending lectures, although no one, least of all the masters, was fooled by this. Whatever their true status, neither Finrod nor Laurendil were truly a part of the Lóriennildi or even the Estenduri. Everyone treated Finrod with grave respect, respect usually reserved for one of the Kings. Many of the Lóriennildi who remembered him from his previous stay were amazed at the depth of power they felt from him now and some of the elves, journeymen and apprentices, caught themselves addressing him as ‘master’ on more than one occasion.

"Not yet," he would say with a laugh as the one who had so addressed him blushed with embarrassment.

Eärnur found himself more and more in their company, and his command of Sindarin grew apace. Lord Irmo had told him that his usual duties were suspended while he concentrated on learning Sindarin and helping both Laurendil and Mithlas. After his ‘rescue’, Mithlas no longer suffered from the terrors that had plagued him earlier, and his fëa began to heal. Laurendil’s own healing seemed to be complete, for he now donned his apprentice’s tabard without a qualm and took his duties seriously, even joyfully.

"I find that I enjoy helping to heal the fëar of people like Mithlas," he confided to Finrod one day. "Perhaps Lord Irmo will accept me as a Journeyman when the time comes."

Finrod smiled at his friend. "That would be wonderful. Manwen’s skills seem to gravitate towards healing of the hröa, so I think she will eventually become an Estenduriën. With you as a Lóriennildo, you will make a formidable pair."

"And you, aranya? What of you?"

"Oh, do not concern yourself there, my friend," Finrod said lightly. "Lord Irmo and I have an understanding, but I think that when your training is complete you and Manwen and I will be working together."

Laurendil wanted to ask for more details but Finrod refused to be forthcoming. "Nothing is certain at this stage. Learn what you will from both Lord Irmo and Lady Estë, vorondonya, and we will see."

With that Laurendil had to be content.

Finrod, for his part, found that in many respects nothing had really changed for him. Yet, everything had changed. Always, he had been the receiver of any oaths offered and to find himself to be the giver of an oath was a new experience for him and he reveled in it. After his initial reaction to the oath in the Valar’s grove he often found himself stopping at odd moments in the day, staring at nothing in particular and rubbing the gift-ring in an absentminded fashion. Laurendil noticed the ring right away.

"Aranya, where did you get the ring?" he asked shortly after they had seen Mithlas settled in Laurendil’s pavilion.

"A gift from Lord Irmo and Lord Námo."

"But... is that not the same ring that you gave to Barahir? The same ring young Beren...?"

"Yes and no," Finrod replied, suddenly reluctant to explain further. Laurendil must have noticed the change in his lord’s demeanor for he did not pursue his questions, for which Finrod was grateful.

Being both a receiver of and a giver of an oath brought its own problems for the erstwhile king and he found himself seeking advice from Melian who welcomed him to her grove when he appeared one day, looking somewhat lost and uncertain.

"You have always been the one entrusted with the oath of another," Melian said as they sat sipping wine, giving the elf a shrewd yet sympathetic look. "You are used to the responsibility that entails. Now you find you have given your oath to another and you are not able to reconcile the feelings you have with what you know is true about yourself. Is that not so, Nephew?"

Finrod nodded. "Yes, Aunt. I know myself as a king and the keeper of oaths. Each one of my people whose life I hold in my keeping, I know with great intimacy and I love them as my sons and daughters. Now... I have these other feelings... other thoughts... and I don’t know whence they come or how to deal with them."

"Tell me what you feel, child," the Maia queen said encouragingly.

For a moment Finrod could only stare into his goblet of wine, then he looked up at Melian, his expression one of confusion and joy mixed. "I feel...loved, but more than that. It... my life is no longer mine. Someone else holds it for me and now... and now... lady, what do I do now?"

Melian took the goblet from Finrod’s suddenly nerveless fingers and placed it on the table before gathering the ellon into her arms and holding him as he wept. She did not attempt to do anything but hold him until he was calmer, then she spoke softly into his ear.

"You do as you always have done, child. You continue to be Findaráto. You are discovering that one can be both the lover and the beloved. For long ages you have known only how to be the lover, the keeper of others’ lives. Now, you are learning what it means to be the beloved, to have another hold your life in their keeping. Do you think my lord Námo calling you his ‘best beloved’ a mere turn of phrase? Nay, there has always been a deeper truth to that, and you are only just finding that out, are you not?"

Finrod nodded but did not speak. He had never thought of his role as king in such terms before, but now that he thought about it, it made sense. He knew how his people had looked at him with adoration bordering on awe at times. He had never felt uncomfortable with that, for he loved them truly as a father loves his children. Now, he realized, he probably had that same look on his own face whenever he was in the presence of either Lord Irmo or Lord Námo. They need only smile at him and he felt such unmitigated joy and a sense of belonging that it often brought tears to his eyes. He suspected that his own people had felt the same way whenever he gave them his attention.

So it went, and life settled into a comfortable routine for them all. Manwen sent frequent letters to Laurendil, and he sent his own back, but other than to say she was happy and coming to terms with herself, he did not offer to share what she wrote and Finrod did not press.

"She might be coming home soon," Laurendil said one day after receiving a letter from Manwen, his eyes bright with anticipation, "perhaps as early as next week," and Finrod smiled, glad that his gwador would soon be reunited with his beloved.

Then, something happened.

Finrod woke up one morning to find himself staring into the anxious eyes of Lady Estë and Lord Irmo. He himself felt weak and disoriented with no idea why.

"M-my lady," he rasped, for his throat was raw and he thought he might have been screaming. "What happened?"

"What do you remember, child?" Irmo asked.

Finrod shook his head, which was a mistake because the world started spinning. When it eventually righted itself he became violently ill. It was some time before he felt sufficiently ‘present’ to the world to answer the Vala’s question.

"I...went to sleep," he said, taking a sip of water from a glass that Lady Estë held for him, too weak to do more than sit up slightly. "I think I dreamt... something bad... Glorfindel!" His gwador! Something was wrong with his gwador!

Estë held him down. "Hush now, Findaráto. Glorfindel is fine. Nothing has happened to him. He went to Vanyamar, to learn statecraft from Ingwë. I think he’s visiting Valmar with Prince Ingwion. A sort of holiday as it were."

"But why..."

"Perhaps something occurred earlier in the day that triggered a memory of dark times in your life and you transferred your anxiety to your closest friend and brother," Irmo suggested. "Not all dreams have import, child. You simply had a very frightening nightmare, nothing more."

"Why don’t you go back to sleep, child?" Estë said. "I think you’ll feel better once you’ve slept the terror away. No one will disturb you. Sleep as long as you need. Would you like someone to sit with you until you fall asleep?"

Finrod blushed at that, feeling foolish and very much an elfling, but the thought of being alone, even in broad daylight, suddenly did not appeal to him. "M-melian..." he said hesitantly, going suddenly shy.

Then the Maia queen was there, concern in her eyes, but also sympathy and Finrod smiled gratefully at her. "I understand you had a difficult night, Nephew. Would you like me to sit with you and sing you songs until you fall asleep again?"

Finrod nodded, settling back into his bed, feeling immeasurably better and... safe. Safe from what, he did not know and did not wish to know. It was enough that he was safe. He looked up at the two Valar.

"Glorfindel..."

"Is perfectly safe," Irmo said firmly. "Everything is as it should be. There is no need to worry on his account."

Finrod nodded and soon he and Melian were alone. Melian sat in a chair next to the bed and, picking up Finrod’s harp, tuned it to 'Undómë Lairessë', and softly began to sing. It was not long before Finrod slipped into the Path of Dreams.

He never knew that twenty Maiar ringed his pavilion to guard him and to keep others away.

****

Finrod awoke still feeling anxious. He could not remember the nightmare, but whatever terror he had experienced seemed to linger. He was moody and withdrawn all that next day and by evening his friends were becoming concerned.

"I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong," Finrod confided to Laurendil at one point, "but everyone from Lord Irmo on down insists that everything is as it should be."

Laurendil started at the choice of words. "Is that what they say exactly, everything is as it should be?"

Finrod nodded. "You think it means something other than what they want me to think?"

"I do not know, aranya," Laurendil said musingly, "but I do know this: the Valar are very careful with their words. That phrasing is not accidental."

Finrod nodded, well aware of the truth of what Laurendil said.

The next day was no better. If anything, it was worse. Storm clouds gathered on the western horizon and there was much tension in the air. Finrod could not concentrate on anything and eventually had to excuse himself and retire to his pavilion. Lord Irmo sighed, knowing what was to come and being unable to help his newest apprentice. Finrod would learn soon enough what was happening.

That night Finrod had another dream that brought him screaming awake. Melian was suddenly there and Estë. It was some hours before they could calm him. Irmo was busy dealing with Laurendil and Mithlas who had heard the screams and rushed to Finrod’s pavilion only to be stayed by several Maiar. It was not a restful night for many.

The next morning, Irmo ordered Finrod to remain in his pavilion for the day and the ellon had no objections. Laurendil and Mithlas joined him to keep him company and Eärnur came sometime later with a tray of food for them all.

It was midafternoon when a messenger arrived in Lórien asking for Prince Findaráto. He was led to Finrod’s pavilion where the four friends were sitting quietly. Finrod and Laurendil were playing draughts while Eärnur and Mithlas were giving each other language lessons with Eärnur speaking Sindarin and Mithlas speaking Quenya.

"Lord Findaráto, a message has arrived for you," said the Lóriennildo charged with escorting the messenger.

"From Tirion?" Finrod asked excitedly, wondering if his atar, or even better, Amarië, had written him.

"Nay, lord. He comes from Valmar."

Finrod paled at that and the other three ellon looked concerned as the messenger, a Vanya, entered the pavilion. He gave them a respectful bow and handed Finrod a message tube.

"I have been told to wait for an answer, my lord," the messenger said.

"Thank you," Finrod responded with a nod. "Russafindil, would you see to our guest, please?"

The Lóriennildo bowed and gestured for the messenger to follow him out, leaving Finrod alone with his friends. For a moment he merely stared at the tube and then with a decisive gesture opened it and pulled out the roll of vellum beribboned and sealed with the seal of Ingwion, his cousin. He broke the seal and began reading.

"Glorfindel is missing," he said flatly, never looking up from the message. Laurendil gasped.

"How? When?" Laurendil demanded.

Finrod shook his head and handed the message to Laurendil. His blood ran cold at the words he began reading aloud. "Laurefindil vanw’ ar i-roimë yesta ná. Á tulë Valmarenna. Ómentuvanyet sé Cöa Oromëo. Ingwion."

Finrod stood up suddenly, his expression cold and unyielding. "I need to speak with Lord Irmo. Laurendil, start packing." Before anyone else could react he strode out of the pavilion.

Two hours later, Finrod and Laurendil joined the messenger on the road to Valmar. "When we get to Valmar, Laurendil," Finrod said as they rode their horses at a ground-eating pace, "find a fresh horse and continue on to Tirion. I have a message for my atar that you will give him. Then, I want you to go to Tol Eressëa."

Laurendil looked at his lord in surprise. "Tol Eressëa, why?"

"I want you to bring Sador to Valmar. Ingwion mentioned the Hunt. That can only mean one thing: Sador is in danger as well." The expression on Finrod’s face was grim.

"And you, aranya?" Laurendil asked. "Are you not also in danger?"

Finrod’s smile was not pleasant. "With you beside me, gwador? Whoever took Glorfindel will soon learn that it is they who are in danger."

And Findaráto, Prince of Eldamar, once King of Nargothrond, rode into the gathering gloom with the light of battle in his eyes... and he was glad.

****

Hantanyel: I thank thee (formal).

Undómë Lairessë: Summer Twilight.

Laurenfindil vanw’ ar i-roimë yesta ná. Á tulë Valmarenna. Ómentuvanyet sé Cöa Oromëo. Ingwion: "Glorfindel is lost and the Hunt begins. Come to Valmar. I will meet you at the House of Oromë. Ingwion".

60: Sador on Tol Eressëa

Tol Eressëa proved quite interesting to young Sador as he rode beside Netilmírë. They were heading for Kortirion, the main city that sat on a great height in the center of the island overlooking the plains and valleys that fell towards the sea. He was so busy trying to see everything at once as their party made their way through Kortirion’s busy streets that Netilmírë finally put her hand out and touched his arm to get his attention.

"Sador, please, you’re making me dizzy," she laughed. "Kortirion is not going to disappear. You’ll have plenty of time to see whatever you desire."

Sador blushed. "Sorry, Mistress."

Netilmírë nodded, the light of amusement still in her eyes. "See now, we are coming to the inn where we’ll be staying. I for one am looking forward to a long hot soak and a good hot meal."

Sador grinned, feeling the same. An hour later he was freshly bathed and pulling out clean clothes from his pack. Digging for a shirt he came upon a package wrapped with colored paper and string. Attached to the string was a piece of parchment on which was written in careful tengwar script in the Beleriandic mode:

An edhel dithen veren nîn. Ada.

Opening the package he found a stuffed toy and suddenly he was crying, hugging the toy to him. It took him several minutes to get himself under control but finally the tears ceased and he was calm again. He quietly put the toy back in the bottom of his pack, placing it inside the wardrobe before going to join the others for dinner.

****

Netilmírë and the other guildmasters were to meet with their Tol Eressëan counterparts the next morning. Netilmírë suggested to Sador while they supped that he might wish to spend the day exploring the city.

"This initial meeting will be more an introduction and none of the apprentices have been invited," she explained. "Indeed, I suspect that no apprentices will be invited to any of the meetings, so this will give you the freedom to pursue your own mission."

Gilvagor offered to show the ellon around and Sador readily agreed. Thus, morning found them wandering the streets, with no particular destination in mind. Sador reveled in the sound of Sindarin being softly spoken and no one looked twice at him because of his braids. They were new enough to him that he still felt self-conscious wearing them, but the elves of Kortirion merely nodded and smiled his way and he began to relax. Indeed, he felt at home for the first time since being re-embodied and thought that he would like to live in Kortirion someday.

The ellyn came to a small square where a fountain sang gaily while elflings played around it in a game that made sense only to them. "It’s a beautiful city," Sador commented to Gilvagor.

"It has its good points," Gilvagor said with a small smile. "I know the Noldóran has given you a mission for him, but I do not know the particulars. Tell me what you will and I will do my best to help you achieve your goal."

Sador sat for a moment, thinking. "Adar did not give me any specific instructions except to speak to as many people as possible, listening to their hopes and dreams, but not necessarily speaking about kings and such. I think he wants to know what the populace think rather than just the leaders of the island."

Gilvagor nodded, looking thoughtful. "We have few leaders and one of them is now in Lórien." He gave Sador a wry smile. "Perhaps the best place to start will be one of the markets. That’s where the best gossip is anyway."

"And you know this because?" Sador asked with a grin.

"Ah," Gilvagor laughed. "That would be telling."

So, they made their way to the market square and wandered through the stalls, idly speaking to this person or that, admiring the goods, haggling for one or two items that Sador wanted to buy for his gwedyr. What information they received had little to do with the state of the government, or the lack thereof, and much to do with the prices of foodstuffs that could not be grown on the island but had to be imported from the farming communities of Aman.

"They charge too much for transport," one merchant opined. "And it’s not even luxury items either, but necessary staples that all need."

Sador carefully stored that piece of information away as he thanked the merchant for his time and continued on. Eventually the two ellyn made their way to an inn for lunch. The inn was not full, but there were still a number of patrons enjoying the noon meal. Sador tried to overhear some of the conversations that were going on around him. Most of them seemed to center around the fact that more and more elves were coming West and there was fear that there would not be room enough for all of them on the island.

"It is, after all, not a very large island," one patron commented to another at a nearby table. "I fear that we will suffer from overpopulation if something isn’t done."

"What do you suggest should be done then?" his companion asked.

The first elf shrugged. "I hear that much of Valinor is wilderness. Perhaps the Valar would allow us to migrate."

The second elf frowned. "They made it clear that we weren’t welcome in Aman, especially the Noldorin Exiles. It seems that we Sindar have been tarred with the same brush as they."

"Well we did refuse their call, so I can see their point. Still, it would be nice to see other places, explore new lands."

"Well, it sounds nice, but I don’t see Them being that generous towards us. They love their precious Edhil e-Dor Rodyn more."

Sador gave Gilvagor a quick glance and the ellon shrugged. The Sinda stored the conversation away for future reference.

Over the next couple of days, as he wandered through the city and even out into the nearby countryside, Sador began to detect a pattern in the malaise that seemed to permeate the island’s inhabitants. There was a growing discontent concerning the higher prices for certain items of trade and the feeling that the island was becoming overcrowded as more elves sailed West. Sador realized that the two concerns were somewhat related, though he could not see his way to a solution.

Each evening after dinner, the ellon would sit down and write out every scrap of conversation or information he could remember from his wanderings. He tried to make his report as coherent as possible, disguised as a letter to "Atto":

Dear Atto,

Aunt Netilmírë and I are enjoying ourselves very much. While Aunt is busy setting up trade agreements I am busy wandering the city with my friend Gilvagor. We have overheard some rather amusing conversations of late. I have appended the more interesting of them to this letter.

Gilvagor has been very helpful in introducing me to his friends. Many of them are Sindar but there are several Noldor as well, even one or two Nandor. The Noldor are quite different from the ones I remember from my youth. They are quieter than usual, less haughty, and their eyes are haunted with guilt, I think. It is very sad.

The Sindar are also quiet and I think many are still adjusting to life here without the constant threat of attacks by orcs and such. I have seen not a few jump at the slightest sound, then look embarrassed when they see that it is nothing. I feel sorry for them.

The few Nandor I have met are the most unfortunate. They do not like the cities or even the small communities that surround Kortirion and Avallónë. They prefer the wilder areas of the island, only there aren’t that many and I think they are regretting leaving Endórë.

And of course, there are the Reborn. They too are different from those I know elsewhere. The elves of Tol Eressëa are more accepting of them, but I think they feel inferior to those who managed to survive the War of Wrath and such. It is very heartbreaking to see. And I know how they feel.

Anyway, I hope you and emmë are well. Please tell my hannor that I miss them and hope to see them soon.

Edhel dithen veren gîn, Sador

****

After the first week, Netilmírë began to regret coming to Tol Eressëa. The Tol Eressëan guildmasters were Sindar to the core and only one spoke Quenya with any amount of fluency. Much of the conversation was conducted with Arodeth acting as a translator. The Sindarin masters, it turned out, had little use for any exchange of information and techniques between them and the Amaneldi.

"You Noldor were always arrogant from the very beginning," one elleth said bitterly. She was a master weaver. "We don’t need you to tell us how we are doing things wrong and lord it over us."

"We do not wish to lord it over you, as you say," Netilmírë said as calmly as she could, though she was seething inside. "We think it’s time that the elves of Tol Eressëa begin to feel a part of Aman. The Noldóran thinks that mutual exchange of information and techniques would be a benefit to both groups of elves."

"Perhaps," one of the Sindar conceded, a master of the smith’s guild. "I heard the King of the Noldor’s own son is one of the Reborn and that he used to be a king in Beleriand. I imagine that Finarfin would be very happy to see his son ruling over us as well."

Netilmírë shook her head. "Prince Findaráto has said he does not wish to rule again. He is content to sit by his atar’s side. Indeed, when the Tol Eressëan embassy broached the subject to him, he flat out refused to consider it. But we are not here to discuss politics. We are here to discuss mutual exchange of apprentices and journeymen who will only benefit from being exposed to different ways of doing things, thereby enriching us all."

"Enriching the elves of Aman, you mean," said another Sinda, this one a master tanner. "I doubt if we of Tol Eressëa will see any real benefit from all of this."

And so it went.

By the second week the talks had nearly broken down completely and Netilmírë and the other guildmasters from Tirion were at a loss as to what to do. They hated the idea of going back to Tirion empty-handed. It was Gilvagor who gave them a suggestion.

"Take Sador with you to the next meeting," the Noldo said. "Show them that you do not disparage the Sindar or consider them inferior to yourselves."

Netilmírë glanced at Sador who shrugged. "It won’t hurt to try."

So it was decided.

The next day Sador dressed in his best tunic and carefully braided his hair. He was nervous but he tried not to show it and Netilmírë looked upon him with approval. When they arrived at the meeting hall, though, they were met with great hostility.

"We agreed not to bring any of our apprentices and journeymen to these meetings," said the weaver master, her eyes flashing as she looked at Sador. "And since when are the Amaneldi allowed to wear warrior braids? It’s an insult."

"I’m not an elf of Aman," Sador said quietly, speaking Sindarin. "I am one of the Iathrim and I died at the Havens of Sirion. I have been recently re-embodied and as there were none of my kin to welcome me, I became a ward of the Aran Golodhrim and now serve as an apprentice to Mistress Netilmírë."

"Why would the King of the Noldor take a Sinda as ward?" asked the tanner.

"Because his son, Finrod, is my gwador," Sador said coldly and unflinchingly. He did not like the belligerent and disrespectful attitude of these guildmasters towards his own mistress or towards the Noldorin royal family.

The guildmasters looked suitably chastened by Sador’s words, but they weren’t completely satisfied with the reason for his presence at their meeting.

"I thought you would like to meet Sador," Netilmírë said. "He is an excellent potter and had he not been brutally slain by one of the Kinslayers, he would have been a master by now, I have no doubt. Arafinwë thought that Sador could benefit from my own expertise."

"And how does it feel to be an apprentice to an Amanelda?" the weaver master asked. "You wear warrior braids and yet you demean yourself by becoming the apprentice of one who is not of your own people."

Sador raised an eyebrow at that. "I was a potter long before I was a warrior, mistress. The destruction of Doriath forced me to put aside the potter and become the warrior."

All of which was complete nonsense, of course, but they didn’t need to know that and he did not think either Netilmírë or Arodeth would correct him.

"Now that I have been Reborn," he continued, "I can once again take up the potter’s wheel rather than the sword, but I will not forget what these braids cost me, and so I continue to wear them. And there is no shame in wanting to learn from the best." He flashed a grin at Netilmírë and winked. She winked back.

There did not seem to be much to say about that, but the Tol Eressëans were clearly unhappy and Sador left the meeting sometime later feeling unquiet in his mind.

"What are you thinking, Sador?" Netilmírë asked tiredly. The constant battle of wills was beginning to take their toll and she looked grey.

Sador stopped and looked gravely into her eyes. "I think Laurendil understated the problem. I have wandered the city and the countryside these last two weeks and there is much discontent and fear. The obvious hostility of the guildmasters is but a shadow of the real problem." He stared at nothing in particular for a long moment before returning his attention to Netilmírë. "I think Tol Eressëa is an explosion waiting to happen."

Netilmírë sighed and nodded. "I fear you are correct, young Sador." Then she smiled weakly. "You were quite impressive back there for all that you were piling one falsehood on top of another."

Sador sighed himself, shaking his head. "I wish Finrod and Glorfindel were here. They would know what to do."

****

An edhel dithen veren nîn. Ada: (Sindarin) "For my bold little elf. Papa."

Edhel dithen veren gîn: (Sindarin) "Your bold little elf."

Edhil e-Dor Rodyn: (Sindarin) Elves of Valinor, the Sindarin equivalent of the Quenya Amaneldi.

Hannor: (Quenya) Plural of hanno (colloquial): brother.

Iathrim: (Sindarin) Elves of Doriath; iath "fence" + rim: "people, as a class".

Aran Golodhrim: (Sindarin) King of the Noldor, the Sindarin equivalent of the Quenya Noldóran.

61: Family Ties

In the end, the masters from Tirion admitted defeat and decided it was not worth remaining on Tol Eressëa. When Netilmírë informed the Sindarin masters she thought she detected a flash of triumph on at least one of their faces, but it was quickly gone and perhaps she only imagined it. Sador decided that he wished to remain on the island to investigate further, especially when a missive from Arafinwë informed him that Finrod and Glorfindel had departed Tirion on missions of their own. Netilmírë insisted on staying with him.

"Technically, you’re an adult," she had said, "but I think you will agree that as your guildmaster, I hold ultimate responsibility for you and your actions. Someone has to be here to haul you out of trouble."

Sador had laughed at that and raised no objections. In truth, he was glad his mistress had not gone back to Tirion.

"I think I would like to see if I can learn anything about my family," Sador confided to Netilmírë as they sat in the common room of the inn. They had seen the other Noldorin guildmasters on their way earlier and were enjoying a glass of wine after their dinner. "I am hoping someone will have news of them, whether they still live or not."

Netilmírë felt a sudden pang in the depths of her heart as she remembered that she, too, had family that were missing. She often wondered if daughter and husband were even now keeping each other company in Mandos.

"I would like to find out what my daughter’s fate was. I wonder how one goes about asking?" she mused half to herself.

"What was her name?"

"Ezelmiril."

"Hmm," Sador pondered. "It is unlikely that she would have kept that name. The Noldor adopted Sindarin names or were given them by others. Lady Galadriel, for instance was given her name by Lord Celeborn whom she married. I think you might know her better as Lady Artanis," Sador added when Netilmírë gave him an enquiring look.

She raised an eyebrow at that revelation, and wondered why she was surprised. After all, Prince Findaráto had changed his name to Finrod and seemed to prefer it to his Quenya name.

"So what would ‘Ezelmiril’ translate into in Sindarin?" she asked and Sador shrugged.

"I do not know what it means."

"Ah, well ‘ezel’ is taken from the language of the Valar and means the same as ‘laiqua’. You will only hear it being used by the Vanyar. My husband comes from them."

"Well, in Sindarin there are two words that mean ‘green’. One is rarely used anymore, the other being more common."

"And they are?" Netilmírë asked in amusement.

Sador blushed. "Oh, sorry. ‘Laeg’ is the word that we don’t use. It’s more a poetical word, although I understand it’s more common among the Silvan elves. The more common word is ‘calen’. I think ‘miril’ might be translated into..."

He stopped, and there was a stunned expression on his face as he stared at Netilmírë. The guild mistress looked on her apprentice with concern.

"Sador, what’s wrong?"

Sador could only shake his head and then he was standing and racing for the door. "Sador! wait, please. What’s wrong?"

Netilmírë stood up and followed the ellon out, ignoring the surprised looks on the other patrons’ faces. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness outside as she looked to see where Sador had gone. He had not fled far, she was happy to see. He stood on the other side of the courtyard fronting the inn where a small fountain played softly. She approached him carefully, not sure what had happened and afraid that any sudden moves would cause him to flee again.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Sador," she said softly, "Please, yonya, tell me what’s wrong."

Sador did not speak. Indeed he could not. His chest felt tight and his skin burned and he had this need to scream, but all that came out was a slight whimper and then he was collapsing into Netilmírë’s arms, weeping.

"Oh, Sador," Netilmírë crooned softly. "Please child, tell me what troubles you."

"S-she changed her name to C-calemmíriel," he stammered through his tears.

"Who did, Sador?" Netilmírë asked in confusion, not sure what the ellon was talking about. "Who changed her name?"

Sador pulled himself out of Netilmírë’s embrace and looked at her, his eyes glowing with something indefinable. "Ezelmiril. She changed her name to Calemmíriel."

Netilmírë felt the earth tilt. "How do you know this?" she whispered.

"Because Calemmíriel is my anamillë."

Netilmírë never felt Sador catch her as she crumpled to the ground.

****

She woke to find herself still in the courtyard with Sador holding her head in his lap. He had a goblet in his hand. "Can you sit up? I have some water. It should help."

She nodded weakly, not trusting herself to speak and with his help was able to sit up enough to sip from the goblet. She did not attempt to hold the goblet herself, content to let Sador do all the work. When she had her fill, he gently lowered her to his lap again.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shock you like that."

"Do not concern yourself, youngster," she croaked. "I am well."

Sador smiled thinly. "Not from where I’m sitting. Come, let me help you up."

Soon they were both standing and Sador was leading her back into the inn. The other patrons pretended not to notice them. Sador led her back to their table. For a long moment, neither spoke. Netilmírë stared at nothing in particular. Then she turned to the one who was her great-grandson.

"Is she alive?"

Sador shook his head. "She did not make it out of Doriath. Neither did anatar."

Netilmírë closed her eyes, tears beginning to form. "Who is your anatar?" she finally asked. Her daughter was lost to her, as was her husband, but she had her great-grandson beside her, and that was more than she had had for a very long time.

"His name is Mallor. He’s a Sinda and was a member of Prince Celeborn’s retinue in Doriath. That’s how they met."

"What do you mean?"

"Anamillë was one of Lady Galadriel’s ladies-in-waiting and often traveled with her between Doriath and Nargothrond."

Netilmírë was confused. "Wait. I do not understand. My daughter was a lady-in-waiting to Lady Artanis? How can that be? She was naught but a potter’s apprentice."

Sador shrugged. "Perhaps that was true here in Aman, but many of the Noldor who fled to Beleriand carved for themselves new lives and new identities. I never heard the entire story, mind you, but apparently anamillë did some kind of service to Lady Galadriel during the Crossing of the Grinding Ice and as a result she was rewarded by being asked to become one of Lady Galadriel’s ladies-in-waiting. Obviously, when she and Lord Celeborn began to keep company together, Calemmíriel and Mallor had a chance to meet and know one another."

Netilmírë thought about that for a bit. Apparently the old social structures that the elves knew here in Aman ceased to exist among the Exiles. She had heard about the Grinding Ice and shuddered to think her beloved child had had to suffer through such hardship. Yet, in the end she had apparently found love and a purpose.

"You said your atar was a potter?"

Sador nodded, smiling. "Yes, atar took up the trade that apparently anamillë had abandoned. She was his first teacher, I’ve been told, when he began to exhibit an interest in the craft. Lord Celeborn actually found him a suitable master to study under."

"What is your atar’s name?"

"Bronweg and my amillë is named Rían. My sister’s name is Ninniach, which has the same meaning as Helyanwë."

"Bronweg..." she said, testing the name out.

Sador looked at the person who was both his guild mistress and great-grandmother and smiled. "I’ve been told he was named after his anatar."

Netilmírë gasped. "Voronwë." Then she stared hard at the ellon beside her trying to find any trace of her daughter in him, but she could not see anything of Ezelmiril in him, especially with his silvery hair which was obviously inherited from his Sindarin father, though it was several shades darker than the norm. Tears began to form and she had to look away.

"I’m sorry. I was hoping to see my daughter in you, but..."

Sador placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Everyone says that I look more like my anatar."

"Why didn’t Lord Irmo release you into my custody?" she asked. "Why the charade?"

Sador shrugged. "I don’t know, Mistress..."

"Shh. None of that, Inyonya," Netilmirë said. "We are family. You must call me Anammë as is only right."

Sador nodded shyly. "Anammë."

She smiled and then she opened her arms and welcomed him into her embrace. "I have lost both husband and daughter," she whispered, "but I have gained a great-grandson, whom I love very much." She kissed him and hugged him fiercely before letting him go.

Sador looked at his anammë in wonder. "I can’t believe that all this time... and I never suspected."

"The Valar are a devious bunch, aren’t they?" she said with a wry grin and soon the two of them were laughing heartily.

****

Later that evening, after Sador had retired, Netilmírë found herself feeling restless and wandered out to the courtyard to look at the stars and think. She still found it hard to believe that all these weeks she had had her great-grandson in her company and never knew it.

"Do you like our little surprise?"

Netilmírë turned with a gasp to find herself gazing into the amused expressions of Lord Aulë and Lady Yavanna.

"You knew all along," she said and then silently berated herself. Of course they would know. The question was, why?

"Would you have accepted him as your great-grandson from the beginning?" Yavanna asked quietly.

"Would you have even believed us had we told you of his existence?" Aulë added. 

She started to protest, but then stopped, realizing the truth of their words and blushed in shame. "I’ve been so bitter. I would have rejected him from the beginning."

Aulë nodded. "Yes. We knew that would be your reaction, so we decided to circumvent it by approaching the subject sideways, you might say." He laughed lightly at her expression. "It’s all right, daughter. No one blames you. You needed time to come to terms with what had happened. We gave you that time and the opportunity to get to know young Sador without the burden of blood ties to influence you."

"I’ve been so stupid..."

"Hush now," Yavanna admonished her, giving her a quick hug. "None of that. What’s past is past. The important thing is that you’ve found one another."

"My grandson... Sador’s sister... are they....?"

Aulë shook his head. "We will not tell you. Be content that you and Sador have each other. Someday the other members of your family will join you, but until then..."

Netilmírë nodded, not really surprised by the Vala’s answer. She had actually asked for Sador’s sake, knowing how much he missed his family and wondered about their fate, especially the sister he had died defending.

Aulë smiled at her gently and took her into his embrace and kissed her on the brow. "Sador will do well enough, daughter. He has survived many hardships and heartaches and is the stronger for it. Do not fear for him."

"Now, we must leave you, child," Yavanna said, offering Netilmírë her own kiss. "Treat your great-grandson gently and all will be well. He is as precious to us as you are."

Then they were gone and Netilmírë found herself alone with the stars as company once again.

****

"...and she’s my anammë, can you believe it?" Sador said, a delighted smile on his face.

He was lying in his bed, clutching his stuffed toy to himself, while Lord Námo sat on the edge grinning at the eagerness in which the ellon had told him his news, quite forgetting that the Lord of Mandos would have known about it all along.

"Are you happy, best beloved, now that you’ve found your anammë?"

Sador nodded. "But why did no one tell us... me? Didn’t you want me to know my anammë?"

Námo shook his head, gently running a hand through Sador's hair. "We wanted nothing more than to have the two of you be a family, but Netilmírë was not ready to accept a great-grandson she had never met before. We decided to give you both time to know each other first."

Sador looked pensive. "M-my family... did they...?"

Námo put a finger to Sador’s lips. "You know I will not tell you. You must have faith that when the time is right you will all be reunited."

Sador nodded, looking somewhat downcast, but then his eyes lit up with wonder again. "She’s my anammë... she’s my anammë." He hugged himself with glee and with a gentle laugh Lord Námo gathered the ellon into his arms and gave him a kiss.

"Yes, she is, indeed."

****

Ezel/Laiqua: Green. Laiqua is found in older sources of Tolkien's works and is more properly Qenya, while later sources have laica. I use the earlier form here to indicate that the Quenya of Aman has retained older forms that changed in the Quenya spoken in Middle-earth by the Exiles.

Calemmíriel: (Sindarin) calen "green" + mîr "shining jewel" with assimilation + -iel "female suffix".

Helyanwë: (Quenya) Rainbow.

Inyonya: (Quenya): My grandson. Netilmírë is using the word to mean "descendant".

Anammë: (Quenya) Grandmother, using an alternate form of amillë. Great-grandmother would most likely be alatanammë, but this is awkward and in informal situations the elves would probably use some version of "grandmother" instead, much as humans do.

Sador’s Family Tree in Middle-earth:

Ezelmiril (Calemmíriel) m. Mallor of Doriath

62: A Familiar Scene

The next morning Sador met Netilmírë in the common room for breakfast, feeling suddenly shy.

"Good morning... Anammë," he said and hesitantly leaned over to give her a kiss.

Netilmírë smiled and pulled him into her embrace. "Good morning to you, Inyo. Did you sleep well?"

Sador nodded, then blushed. "Er... yes, well, Lord Námo had to sing to me first."

Netilmírë raised an eyebrow at that. "Lord Námo was here?"

The ellon grinned. "I had to tell someone the news. He was the only one I could think of."

Netilmírë laughed, understanding that even now Sador probably didn’t realize that he had told the news to the one person who had known all along and had probably arranged for all this to happen in the first place. No doubt Lord Námo had simply taken delight in Sador’s joy in discovering he had family in Aman and allowed the ellon to believe he was hearing the news for the first time.

"Do you still want to see if we can discover something about your... our family?" Netilmírë asked and was rewarded by a brilliant smile and a glad nod from Sador.

"Gilvagor did help me with some enquiries here in Kortirion, but we had no luck. He suggested I might try Avallónë or Tavrobel. As it is, I wish to look into some of the allegations that the Tol Eressëans have made about the high cost of transporting goods to the island. I do not know if it is true, or if they think it’s true. It may be that the prices the Amaneldi are asking for are in fact reasonable. I don’t know."

Netilmírë frowned slightly in thought. "What do you want to do?"

"I should go to Tavrobel. That is where all shipments are made and then they are dispersed across the island."

"Odd. It would make more sense to have some shipments sent to Avallónë. I would think it becomes rather expensive to move items across the island where there are few roads."

"I thought so too," Sador agreed, "but I would be the first to admit that I have no idea what the logistics of such things are. Perhaps it is more cost effective this way. I want to find out. If the Tol Eressëans’ complaint is legitimate, Atar should know so he can act."

"Then why don’t we go together?" Netilmírë asked. "While you are investigating shipments from Aman, I can perhaps speak to people there about Bro-bronweg and Rían," she added, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar names. "It’s as good a place to start as any."

So it was agreed and after consulting with Gilvagor it was decided that he would accompany them to Tavrobel and help them in their investigations.

"It would be best if I acted as a guide," he said to Netilmírë. "You might get more forthcoming answers to your questions."

"What about Sador?" Netilmirë enquired.

Gilvagor grinned. "Those braids of his are all the introduction he needs. The people of Tol Eressëa have the greatest respect for any who wear the warrior braids, knowing what it was they faced. If they learn that Sador is also a Reborn, so much the better."

"The Reborn here seem somewhat... embarrassed to my mind," commented Sador. "I think they feel inferior to the rest of you because they did not manage to survive long enough to return to Aman of their own free will."

"Only in their own minds is that true," Gilvagor said sadly. "We, better than most, know what the Reborn sacrificed. Many died horribly and in great torment of hröa and fëa. I, frankly, stand in awe of you and all the Reborn, knowing what you did and what it cost you."

Now Sador blushed, feeling embarrassed. "Perhaps if you took the time to tell that to your own Reborn, they might begin to feel differently."

Gilvagor smiled ruefully. "Perhaps you are correct, youngling. Perhaps we don’t take the time to express our gratitude to them and so they think we take them and their sacrifices for granted when the opposite is the truth."

In the end they decided the three of them would travel to Tavrobel in the morning. In the meantime, Sador gave Netilmírë a tour of Kortirion, pointing out the more interesting features of the city. She was quite impressed with the architecture, little though it resembled anything in Tirion or the other cities of Eldamar. It was obvious that the city was heavily influenced by Sindarin values of form and color, though Noldorin touches could be seen as well. It was, she decided, a lovely blend of both cultures that did not detract from either.

"It’s quite beautiful and the elves who built it have nothing to be ashamed of," she said at one point as they sat by a fountain enjoying the afternoon breeze that sent the sharp scent of salt water to them and Sador nodded.

"I think I would like to move here someday. It feels wonderful to hear Sindarin spoken all around me. I feel at home here as I have not felt since being re-embodied."

Netilmírë looked a bit wistful at that. "I wonder if my daughter ever felt at home anywhere after she left Aman."

Sador took Netilmírë’s hand and smiled. "She loved my anatar very much. She once told me that she never felt at home anywhere, not even here in Aman, until she met anatar, and then she knew she was home at last." He paused, looking somewhat uncertain. "I’m glad they died together in Doriath. Anamillë would not have long survived anatar’s death. She would have followed him to Mandos."

Netilmírë patted Sador’s arm. "Then I’m glad they are still together in the Halls of Waiting."

Sador, however, shook his head, looking sad. "It is likely they are not for the Halls are endless and there are many rooms. But even if they are together they will not know one another."

Netilmírë gave him a quizzical look. "What do you mean?"

The ellon sighed, then as gently as he could, he explained. "The Dead have no memory of their lives before dying. It is Lord Námo’s gift to them so they are not overburdened with the guilt and remorse that might follow from such memories. All we are left with are our names."

"But... that’s... oh Valar!" Netilmírë stood up, shock written all over her and she turned to flee but Sador stood as well and took her into his arms.

"Hush, Anammë. It’s all right. Please. It’s fine. Anamillë and Anatar are happy. They know nothing but joy and love and peace. All the pain, all the horror and the terror has fled and they remember them not. Someday, when they are re-embodied they will begin to remember their past and will reclaim it." He stepped out of the embrace enough to look her in the eyes and smiled. "You and I must be ready to welcome them and help them to mature into the elves Eru meant for them to be, just as you and Atar and Amillë have helped me."

Netilmírë still felt somewhat shaken at the thought that Voronwë and Ezelmiril had no memory of her, did not even know or care that she lived and waited for them. She looked at this ellon whom she loved now as her great-grandson and not just as an apprentice and smiled back, though she wasn’t sure how successful it was. "They would be very proud of you, you know, as am I." She gave him a hug and kissed him. "Why don’t we continue our tour?"

****

They were walking through another courtyard on the way back to the inn when they saw several elves gathered around a tree. An elleth, a Sinda by her looks and bearing, was standing under it pleading to someone who was apparently hiding in the branches. The other elves looked on in amusement.

"Please, my love, come down." The elleth was nearly in tears. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you."

"What happened?" Sador asked one of the onlookers.

The elf turned and was not surprised to see a Sinda and Noldo standing together. What was odd was that both the Sinda and Noldo were wearing the brighter, flashier clothing of the Amanians. There was something jarring about the ellon wearing a brilliant blue watered silk tunic with a linen shirt dyed a deep rose showing underneath while sporting Doriathrin warrior braids. And the elleth who accompanied him was even more outlandishly dressed and was definitely an elf of Aman. The Tol Eressëan elf could not imagine what one of his own people would be doing in the company of one of the Edhil e-Dor Rodyn. He eyed them suspiciously.

"Why do you ask, stranger? What concern is it to you?"

Sador shrugged and smiled, not at all put out by the other elf’s belligerent tone. "Just wondering, friend. Nothing more."

The other elf relented somewhat at Sador’s non-threatening and unassuming tone, though he still looked suspiciously at Netilmírë. "It’s Haldir. He’s up his favorite tree again," he said, quite forgetting that such an explanation might mean nothing to these two strangers.

Netilmírë looked bemused, not understanding more than a few words and phrases, for Sador had taught her a few common phrases as they traveled to Tol Eressëa. Sador only smiled knowingly. "What set him off this time?"

The Tol Eressëan elf gave Sador an appraising look and then his eyes widened. "You will have to ask Gwilwileth, his wife."

Sador nodded his thanks, then gave Netilmírë a look before approaching the still pleading elleth. Gwilwileth gave a gasp when he touched her lightly on the arm to get her attention and she turned to see a strangely dressed ellon wearing Doriathrin warrior braids, though he looked like no warrior she had ever known. Sador smiled at her.

"Do you know why he’s upset?" he asked her gently.

She shook her head in bemusement. "I was just talking about how I wished to take my blackberry tarts to next week’s fair to be judged and..."

"Ah, yes. That might do it." He gave her a sad smile. "How long has he been released from Lórien?"

"Two weeks." The elleth looked at him with some uncertainty. "Did I do something wrong?"

Sador shook his head. "No, my lady, you’ve done nothing wrong. Something you said apparently triggered a memory and it upset him, that’s all."

She sighed. "He’s been up there for hours and I can’t get him to come down."

"And there’s never a Maia around when you need one, is there?" Sador said with a light laugh. Gwilwileth smiled tremulously and several of the onlookers chuckled. "Perhaps I can help, if you would like."

"You?" one of the onlookers, a Noldo this time, asked. "Why would you bother to help? Indeed, what can you possibly do that we haven’t already done?"

"But you haven’t done anything, except stand around and amuse yourselves at this poor ellon’s expense," Sador retorted with some anger. "At least I’ve some experience in dealing with stubborn Reborn ellyn who like to hide in trees."

Several of the elves there looked suitably embarrassed by Sador’s reprimand. Netilmírë, in the meantime, had been standing there listening to the rapid Sindarin all around her, feeling frustrated at not understanding the words. One of the Noldorin elleth standing nearby noticed and with a smile quietly translated for her. Thus, at Sador’s words about dealing with stubborn Reborn ellyn, Netilmírë looked at her great-grandson with some amusement. Sador saw it and gave her a brilliant smile, then shocked everyone by speaking to her in Quenya.

"Just don’t tell my brothers I said that."

"Don’t worry, Inyo," she said with a laugh. "I wouldn’t dream of it."

Sador turned back to Gwilwileth, who merely stared at him in shock, then he looked up into the tree where he could see Haldir sitting about two-thirds of the way up. By his features, it was obvious that he was a Noldo. Sador looked back at Gwilwileth.

"Was your husband born in Aman, lady?"

Gwilwileth nodded. "Yes. He was born a century or so before the Darkening, I believe. He belonged to Turgon’s retinue and was a member of the House of the Golden Flower."

Sador nodded. "Did he die at Gondolin’s fall?"

The elleth nodded.

"Ah, that would explain it then."

"Explain what?" she asked in frustration, but Sador was not paying any attention to her. He was trying to remember everything Glorfindel had told him about his own Judgment.

He looked back up at the ellon who had completely ignored the conversation occurring right below him and began speaking in a diffident tone. "I have two gwedyr who endured Judgment within the Rind e-Baudh. One of them died in Gondolin, as you did. Glorfindel told me that..."

The mention of Glorfindel’s name set off a spark of reaction from everyone, including Haldir, who suddenly came down from the tree, his eyes bright with shock and surprise. Netilmírë saw the others around her gasp and stare at her aninyo in wonder. Haldir grabbed Sador by the shoulders and stared hard at him.

"I do not recognize you," he said harshly. "How can you say that you are Lord Glorfindel’s gwador when I know you never lived in Gondolin?"

Sador, for his part, remained calm. "I never said I lived in Gondolin. My name is Sador. I am originally from Doriath, but I died at the Havens. Glorfindel and I became gwedyr after we were both Reborn."

Haldir stepped back, looking uncertain. "Then... then you too stood within the Ring of Doom..."

Sador shook his head. "Nay, I did not. Only the Noldorin Rebels have ever been brought before all the Valar for Judgment, or so Lord Námo told me, when I stood before him for my own Judgment. That is what you were remembering, wasn’t it? Your Judgment."

Haldir nodded, his eyes suddenly looking haunted. "It... it was as if I were back there again... and... and..." He tried to back away, but Sador reached for him and drew him into his embrace.

"Hush now, best beloved," he said in a soft tone and Haldir gasped at the familiar words coming from this strange looking Sinda. "All judgments have been rendered, all debts paid. Did not Lord Námo speak these words to you?"

Haldir could only nod, overwhelmed by the emotions roiling within him.

Sador continued holding him, rubbing his back and willing calmness. "Then, you need not fear the memories of that Judgment, for they are of the past and refer to a life that is no longer yours to claim. You have passed beyond Judgment and can now live your life as Eru originally intended for you to do."

Gwilwileth had been listening to this with growing wonder. "Haldir was Judged before all the Valar?"

When Sador nodded, she paled visibly. "W-was he... chained as Morgoth was?" she asked hesitantly.

Haldir pulled himself out of Sador’s embrace to face his wife, his own expression one of shock. "No, Gwilwileth. It was nothing like that." He hugged her fiercely. "I did not know it then, but they treated me with utmost kindness and mercy, though they did not flinch from rendering Judgment upon me for what I had done in defying their Authority."

"But you, Sinda, you did not suffer within the Rind e-Baudh." Sador turned to see one of the Noldorin onlookers glaring at him.

"And why should I have, my lord?" Sador replied calmly. "I never denied the Authority of the Belain nor did I swear terrible oaths that should never have been uttered. That does not mean I did not suffer Judgment, though. Before Lord Námo was I brought and that was as terrifying an experience as any I have ever had."

Haldir looked at Sador in curiosity, trying to figure him out, with his Doriathrin warrior braids and his Amanian-styled clothes. "What happened at your Judgment?"

Netilmírë, when she heard the question translated stepped forward to face Sador. "You do not have to answer that, Sador. I would think that even among these somewhat uncouth Tol Eressëans, such a question borders on rude."

The onlookers, once Netilmírë’s words were translated for those not understanding Quenya, bristled somewhat at her words, but recognized the truth of them nonetheless.

Sador merely smiled and shook his head. "I am not offended, Anammë. You little appreciate what I mean when I say that I have gone beyond all that. Do not worry on my account. I am well." He gave her a quick kiss and then turned his attention back to Haldir. "Are you truly interested in knowing?"

Haldir nodded. "Yes. P-perhaps in the telling of your... story I will find the c-courage to tell my own."

"Very well," Sador finally said. "I was sixty-eight years old when the Kinslayers came upon us in the Havens and I was killed when I tried to stop one of them from killing my little sister." He paused for a moment and looked down, obviously distressed. Then he looked back up at his audience. No one spoke or moved, already caught in his spell of words.

"My next conscious thought was finding myself staring at a beautiful jewel...."

****

Aninyo: (Quenya) Great-grandson. When addressing Sador, Netilmírë chooses to use the more common inyo, which has the meaning of "grandchild, descendant" as well as "grandson".

Belain: (Sindarin) Plural of Balan: Vala.

63: Echoes of Judgment

Sador found himself staring out into space, or at least that seemed to be the perspective. He stood in the threshold of a large wooden door with nothing but the night sky before him and a single bright jewel of a star shining above him.

Or perhaps it was below him. He wasn’t sure.

It did not matter. It was beautiful. More beautiful than anything he had ever seen before and it called to him, though he did not know why it should.

"Close the door, Sador," came a voice from behind him. It was as kind as summer, yet there was the trace of winter’s ice in it that Sador recognized as a command. "Close the door, child," the voice said again. "There is nothing for you there now. Time to come in."

Sador hesitated for a moment or two, unwilling to let go of the sight of the star. Its beauty smote him and left an ache deep inside that he feared would never be assuaged and he could almost feel tears running down his cheeks. Then, with a stifled sob, he stepped back and pushed the door closed, almost slamming it. Only then did he realize that there was no handle on this side of it and now he would never be able to open it again and look at the star. He leaned against the door lost in grief.

"Turn around Sador and face me," the voice said. It was still gentle and even welcoming but it would not brook any dissent and so Sador reluctantly turned around...

His mind froze and it took some time for him to understand what he was seeing and why.

He was in a small chamber, perhaps only fifteen paces on either side. The walls were whitewashed and the floor tiled but there was no ornamentation. Across the room from him was a short dais upon which there was a throne and on the throne...

He was tall, his blue-black hair elf-braided, his eyes a dark grey. He wore a knee-length grey nubbed wool tunic over an indigo-dyed lawn shirt with tight sleeves. His breeches were of light wool dyed grey and his feet were covered with knee-high leather boots. He had a sleeveless overrobe of figured black silk trimmed with black opals and moonstones. On his head he wore a diadem of intricately wrought mithril in the shape of flames in the middle of which was set a single blood-red ruby.

"Hello, Sador," the figure said and beckoned with the fingers of his left hand for the elf to approach.

Sador screamed, suddenly remembering all the stories his daernana had told him about the Doomsman and his terrible Curse. He turned back to the door seeking escape but there wasn’t any and he found himself huddled against the portal that was forever closed pounding on it futilely as he wept. He felt, rather than saw, the Lord of Mandos stand behind him and place a comforting hand on his head. Sador tried to cringe away, but there wasn’t anywhere else to go.

"That’s all right, child," Námo said gently. "Take your time. There’s no rush." Then he began singing an ancient lullaby as he stroked the ellon’s head. In spite of himself, Sador fell asleep.

****

When he woke up he was lying on a low couch and Lord Námo was again sitting on his throne, his expression grave but not unkind or cold. He actually smiled when Sador’s eyes fell on him.

"Feeling calmer?"

Sador nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was remembering all that his daernana and the other Noldor had told him about the Dread One and the terrible fate that no doubt awaited all those of Beleriand, Noldorin Rebels and Sindarin Refusers alike, and he felt himself beginning to panic at the thought. Námo frowned slightly and gestured. "Come here, Sador. Let us get this over with."

When Sador hesitated, Námo shook his head and his face became stern. "Do not refuse me, child. It will be better for you if you come to me of your own free will."

With great reluctance Sador rose from the couch and stood rather shakily before the Lord of Mandos. When Námo waved him closer he took a couple of steps. Námo’s eyes were bright with amusement.

"A little closer, child. I don’t bite, truly."

Sador took a few more steps until he was standing directly in front of the dais and had to look up at the Vala.

"What did your daernana tell you about me?" Námo asked.

The ellon visibly gulped and spoke in a whisper, his voice trembling. He found he could not look away from the Vala’s eyes. "S-she said you... cursed us and... if we ever f-fell into your hands... we... we would..." Then he was on his knees weeping. "P-please... I didn’t do anything wrong... I didn’t... I didn’t...."

With a sigh Námo leaned over and pulled the ellon towards him. Sador’s weeping was now reduced to whimpers as he tried to escape the Vala’s arms, but to no avail. Námo placed Sador’s head in his lap and began gently rubbing the ellon’s back, saying nothing. Slowly, Sador found himself relaxing when nothing else happened and he felt himself calming, though not to the point of falling asleep. Instead, he felt more wide awake than he remembered ever being.

The Lord of Mandos began speaking. "Your daernana and the other Noldor who fled Aman had a jaundiced view of their relationship with us. They saw us as keeping them in Aman against their wills when in truth they were free to leave whenever they wanted."

"Th-then why did you curse them?" Sador asked without looking up.

"Child, I didn’t." There was a universe of sorrow in those words. "The Noldor call it the Curse of Mandos, but it can more correctly be called the Curse of Fëanor, for it was he who brought it down upon himself, his sons and all those who fled with him. All I did was to pronounce the doom that naturally followed from all the decisions that came from Fëanor refusing our request for the Silmarils."

"Daernana said because I had Noldorin blood that I was cursed too and... and if I... died, I would be punished."

"Hardly sounds fair, does it?"

Sador raised his head and shook it, then gave the Vala a hesitant look. "Am... am I going to be punished?"

Námo shook his head and smiled gently. "No, child, but you will be judged."

Sador pulled himself upright and began backing away. "But I didn’t do anything. I didn’t." He started to turn, thinking to escape, though there was nowhere to run. It didn’t matter. Námo was out of his throne in seconds and had wrapped his arms around the ellon and pulled him into his embrace.

"Shhh. It’s all right," the Vala whispered as Sador wept and tried to escape. "Hush now, best beloved. This has nothing to do with punishment. Look now. Look at the tapestry."

The Vala pointed to the wall where the door had been and Sador saw that a tapestry now hung there. He was not sure of the scene, being aware only of bright colors and figures that seemed to move across the storied web. At the moment his gaze fell on the arras his body stilled and he became quiescent in Námo’s arms.

"That’s it, child," Námo said, not letting the ellon go. "Look at the tapestry. Do not be afraid. I will stay right here beside you. You don’t have to face this alone, I promise you."

Afterwards, Sador never really remembered what happened except that every detail of his life came to the fore of his memory and Someone sifted those memories with a thoroughness that left the ellon exhausted. Most of it was not so bad but he remembered screaming at least once when a memory concerning the fall of Doriath arose, and then again when the last moments of his life surfaced and he saw the sword coming down....

"NINNIACH!" he screamed and began flailing at the Lord of Mandos, who simply picked him up as if he were an elfling of ten and sat down on his throne, holding Sador tightly to him, letting the ellon vent his rage and fear as he pleased. Eventually, the ellon tired and his movements slowed, even as his screams became whimpers and then stopped altogether until he was completely quiescent in Námo’s arms.

"Do not be afraid for your sister, child," Námo said quietly. "All will be well with her and with you. Now, I think it’s time for you to sleep and when you wake up everything will be different." He leaned down and gently kissed Sador on the brow. The ellon stiffened in the Vala’s arms for a moment and then relaxed completely. Námo rose and placed him on the couch, covering him with a light blanket and smoothing his brow with a hand. Sador struggled to keep awake but the Vala began singing a lullaby and soon the elf was fast asleep.

He woke once or twice to see either a Maia or Lord Námo standing watch over him before drifting back into sleep, feeling safe and loved. At least once that he remembered he woke screaming from a nightmare and there were two Maiar there to comfort him.

Sador slept for nearly five years and when he awoke completely, he had no memory of his life in Middle-earth....

****

Haldir stared at Sador, his surprise evident. "Your Judgment was nothing like mine."

"Yet it was a Judgment nonetheless. My memories and motives were examined, sifted for falsehoods and exposed to the light for the truth. It was no less painful to endure for me than it was for you. The difference is that I stood before only one of the Valar, and that one actually held me the entire time, offering me comfort and love. Of course, when it was happening, I appreciated neither the comfort nor the love." He grinned at the Noldo and Haldir grinned back.

"Is it true, though?" Gwilwileth asked anxiously. "There is no punishment? My Haldir wasn’t chained? They said he would be chained."

Both Haldir and Sador looked at the elleth in shock and confusion. Haldir took his wife into his arms as she started to weep softly. "Beloved, who said such a thing to you?"

Gwilwileth looked up at her husband. "Wh-when we first came here, after the War of Wrath, elves from... the mainland came. They told us we were here on sufferance and our loved ones who went to Mandos went chained to their judgments and..."

Several things happened at once. Netilmírë, when she understood what was being said, cried out in horror at the elleth’s words. Haldir’s expression went deadly as he saw confirmation in the eyes of many of the bystanders. Sador was wondering if he would be able to get his anammë away in safety, for Gwilwileth’s words had triggered long-held resentments by the Tol Eressëans against the Amaneldi. The mood of the Tol Eressëans was turning dark and ugly and Netilmirë was an easy target.

And then, Lord Námo appeared in their midst, along with two warrior Maiar, all three looking grim. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over all of them. Every elf in the courtyard froze, some with the most ridiculous expressions on their faces. Only Sador and Haldir seemed unaffected. Haldir pulled back from whatever dark place he had been heading for and stared at the Vala with easy respect; Sador merely gave Námo a cheeky grin.

Námo raised an eyebrow at that. "Sador. Have you been causing trouble?"

"No more than usual, my lord," the ellon said with a laugh.

Námo nodded, looking amused, then turned his attention to Haldir, who now had a protective arm around Gwilwileth. That elleth looked pale and ready to collapse. Námo gestured to her. "Á tulë sinomë, Wilwarindinya."

She gasped but did not dare disobey. Námo took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. "Your husband was not chained and those who told you otherwise must someday answer for their spite. Know that Haldir was treated with as much gentleness as he would allow us to show him."

"Why would anyone say such a cruel thing in the first place and why did you let them?" Haldir demanded angrily, glaring fearlessly at the Vala. Many there cringed at the ellon’s tone, half expecting the Lord of Mandos to come down rather hard on the insolent elf, but Námo simply gave Haldir a small shrug.

"I do not concern myself with the petty doings of the Eldar, my son. None of us do. Your problems are your own and you must work them out as best you can. I neither allowed nor prohibited those Amaneldi from speaking such cruel words to your wife. I regret that she was left to feel fear and sorrow at your supposed treatment, but you are here to tell her otherwise, are you not?"

Haldir scowled. "They had no right."

"No, they did not," Námo agreed. "Just as none of you have the right to vent your anger on an innocent stranger." Here, he looked pointedly at Netilmírë, who, for her part, merely gave the Vala a brief curtsey and a small smile. Námo returned the smile with one of his own.

"You say you do not concern yourself with our... petty affairs, lord," one of the other elves said with a scowl. "May we ask then why you are here?"

Námo looked appraisingly at the elf who had the grace to blush and turned to share a smile and a raised eyebrow with his two Maiar attendants before returning his attention to the elves. "I was in the neighborhood and decided to drop by."

Sador snorted at that; everyone else stared at the Vala in disbelief. "O-our neighborhood?" Haldir asked.

"No, mine."

They all turned to see Lord Ulmo striding towards them, his robe glittering like fish scales. He was dripping seawater and his beard and hair trailed seaweed. He took in the scene at a glance and gave his brother Vala a searching look.

"Trouble?"

Námo shook his head. "Not any more."

Ulmo nodded. "Well, if you’re finished playing, we have some work to do. I want to take another look at those temporal equations and see if we can detect a recognizable pattern. I was thinking..."

The elves stared in bemused wonder as the two Valar with their Maiar guards began walking away, fading into the fabric of the courtyard as they stepped away from one Reality towards another, the Eldar seemingly forgotten. For a long moment no one moved or spoke, then Gwilwileth turned to Sador and gave him a small curtsey.

"Would you and your... anammë care to join us for the evening meal?"

Sador looked at Netilmírë who merely raised an eyebrow, allowing him to make the decision for them both. He nodded and gave the elleth a smile. "We would be honored, thank you."

"No, my lord," Gwilwileth said, "the honor is mine. It’s the least I can do for you after rescuing my husband... er... from the tree."

Haldir had the grace to blush as everyone in the courtyard laughed lightly.

****

Daernana: (Sindarin) Grandmama.

Á tulë sinomë, Wilwarindinya: (Quenya) "Come here, my Butterfly". Wilwarin is the Quenya equivalent of Gwilwileth.

Ruby: Considered to be the most powerful gem in the universe, it gives the wearer the ability to see things in a true and correct manner. It is also a symbol of royalty.

64: Chains of Hate

Haldir and Gwilwileth led their guests to their modest home situated one courtyard away from where they had met and in a short while, Gwilwileth, with Netilmírë insisting on helping, had put together a simple repast and they were all enjoying themselves. At first, they kept the conversation light and spoke of minor things, such as the drier than usual summer and the hope for a wetter than usual winter to offset the dry season. Finally, though, Haldir broached the subject that they had all been avoiding.

"How is it that one who sports Doriathrin warrior braids is dressed as an elf of Aman and speaks Quenya?"

Sador shrugged. "I learned Quenya in Lórien and I have been living in Tirion since my Release."

"But why?" Gwilwileth asked. "Why did you not come to Tol Eressëa to live as all the other Sindar have, unless they choose to remove to Alqualondë?"

Now Sador smiled. "I was released into the custody of King Arafinwë, who has taken me into his household as his Ward. I’m being trained to be a diplomatic aide to Prince Findaráto, who is also my otorno."

Haldir and Gwilwileth stared at him in wonder. "The King of Nargothrond is your otorno?" Haldir asked.

Sador nodded. "As is Lord Glorfindel. They... they’re the ones who initiated me." He lifted one of his braids in explanation and both elves nodded in understanding. "King Arafinwë saw that I also had a talent for making pottery and apprenticed me to Mistress Netilmírë. We only just realized after all these weeks that her daughter is my grandmother."

The two Tol Eressëan elves stared at Netilmírë, who gave them a shrug. "I’m afraid I would not have accepted a great-grandson I had never met had I been told of it earlier. The Valar apparently thought it best for us to learn of our relationship on our own. We only put all the pieces together last night."

"So what brought you to Tol Eressëa, then?" Haldir asked and Sador explained about the guildmasters’ meeting and about his own investigations.

"We’re going to Tavrobel tomorrow with Gilvagor," the ellon said as he finished his tale. Haldir and Gwilwileth nodded at Gilvagor’s name, the ellon being well-known among the islanders. "I’m hoping to find out if what has been told me is true. Anammë wants to see if anyone there remembers my parents or grandparents, for I had no luck here in Kortirion."

Haldir frowned. "I have only been here for two weeks myself, so I cannot say if what you have heard is true or not." He looked sorrowfully at his wife. "I did not realize how deep the resentment for the Amaneldi is here until today. I cannot believe anyone could be that cruel."

Netilmírë shook her head. "I had no idea any of our people had done such a thing. While I admit I never really gave any of you a thought, neither did I wish you ill. I apologize on behalf of those of us who may have caused you deliberate pain. It was unconscionable."

Gwilwileth smiled. "I am glad not all Amaneldi hate us."

"I don’t think it’s a question of hate," Sador said wryly, "as much as it’s a question of not thinking you’re worthy of their attention. Their real focus of late has been on the Reborn in their midst. The Noldor of Tirion have been less welcoming of us than the Tol Eressëans or the Teleri have been."

"But why?" Gwilwileth asked in confusion. It was Haldir, though, who answered.

"Can you not guess, beloved?" his voice was tinged with bitterness. "They hate us for betraying them and the Valar. As far as they’re concerned, dying is too good for us. Even my own family refused to meet me at the Gates of Reunion. You had to come and fetch me."

Gwilwileth looked down at her feet, her face pale. "I almost didn’t come."

Haldir looked puzzled. "Why not?"

His wife looked up and her expression was so grim it tore at their hearts. "All I knew was what I’d been told. All I saw in my mind was you being chained and I didn’t want to see that in reality. I didn’t want to see you... humiliated."

"What changed your mind?" Netilmírë asked gently.

Gwilwileth looked at her husband whose own expression was almost too painful to endure. "I... loved you too much not to come. Then, when we finally met you were so..."

"Lost?" Haldir suggested.

"Shy," Gwilwileth corrected him. "You didn’t really know me. I was so afraid the... Valar had broken you. I didn’t understand. I’m sorry." She started weeping and he took her into his arms.

"You know differently, now, don’t you, Gwilwileth?" Sador asked with compassion. "While Judgment is terrifying, especially for the Noldor who must endure all the Valar, not just one, it is meant to heal, not destroy; to bring about reconciliation, not separation from Eru. Those who told you your husband went to judgment in chains spoke either out of ignorance or wishful thinking."

"Why didn’t the Valar..."

Haldir answered her. "Lord Námo is correct in saying that our problems are our own to solve, though Eru knows he seems to interfere often enough where any of the Reborn are involved."

Sador grinned wickedly. "That’s because he has a vested interest in our well-being."

"How do you mean, Inyo?" Netilmírë asked.

"If we’re ever stupid enough to end up on his doorstep again, Anammë," her great-grandson replied with a laugh, "the Lord of Mandos will be mightily vexed."

"To say the least," Haldir joined Sador in laughter. "He actually told me point blank that he never wanted to see me inside his Halls again. ‘You will not enjoy the consequences if you do, best beloved’ were his exact words."

Sador sniggered at that and shared a smirk with Haldir that left the two ellith looking bemused. "You don’t seem terribly impressed by Lord Námo’s threat, my love," Gwilwileth said.

"Oh no, on the contrary," Haldir protested, "I’m very impressed. One doesn’t spend centuries in the Halls of Mandos without learning to be impressed by Lord Námo. He means precisely what he says at all times."

"But we also know how much he loves us," Sador added, "and that makes the difference."

Gwilwileth shook her head. "I can’t imagine the Lord of Mandos loving anyone. He seems so... forbidding."

Haldir put an arm around his wife’s shoulders and gave her a hug. "Well, like I said, you don’t spend centuries in the Halls of Mandos without learning a few things about its lord."

Sador nodded. Both Gwilwileth and Netilmírë looked thoughtful.

Later, as they were taking their leave of the Tol Eressëan couple, Haldir took Sador aside. "Be careful, mellon nîn. There are dangerous undercurrents here on this island. Do not seek for news of your family. I will do it for you. It will be safer. Take your anammë back to Tirion instead."

Sador shook his head. "I want to check out Tavrobel, at any rate. My Atar still needs the information."

Haldir gave the younger Sinda an odd look, brushing his hand along Sador’s braids. "Strange to think of the Noldóran having a Sinda for a son."

Sador smiled. "Not to mention one Balrog-slayer and the former King of Nargothrond. Makes life rather interesting for him, to say the least."

Haldir gave a light laugh. "Thank you, youngster. You’ve made my problems seem petty."

"If you hear anything about my family, send me word."

****

Tavrobel was a busy seaport and quite confusing to Netilmírë, though she noticed that Sador seemed to have no difficulty navigating his way through the twisting streets and alleys. He grinned at her.

"The Havens of Sirion weren’t nearly as large as Tavrobel, but it was a port nonetheless. I spent many a day with my friends watching the ships being built and the fish being sold. I often sat on the beach while my sister and her friends played in the waves. Lady Elwing would bring her little ones down to play as well."

He smiled at a memory and Netilmírë and Gilvagor remained quiet, not wishing to disturb him. They both knew how painful thoughts of his sister’s fate were for him. That he was able to recall a pleasant memory of her was heartening to them both, for Gilvagor had come to admire the younger ellon and appreciate his quiet strength and compassion. The lad might never wield a sword again, and indeed showed no inclination of ever wanting to, but Gilvagor considered Sador to be no less a warrior than he and was proud to call the younger elf ‘gwador’.

Gilvagor led them to an inn that was a favorite of his and located not far from the docks. "Though far enough away that you’re not disturbed by drunken sailors or the smell of rotting fish," he told them with a grin. Sador laughed, and Netilmirë just looked bemused, but took the Noldo’s word for it.

Netilmírë agreed to meet the ellyn in the common room for lunch after freshening up and soon they were all seated, enjoying glasses of wine and waiting for the stew they had ordered. Gilvagor looked at Sador with a questioning expression on his face.

"What happened yesterday?"

"What do you mean?" Sador responded.

"I heard talk about you helping to convince some ellon to come out of a tree."

Sador shrugged. "And so? He didn’t want to come down and his wife was beside herself with worry and embarrassment. No one else standing about was helping, so I decided to."

"And what’s this about being chained? Who was chained?"

Now Sador grimaced. "No one, as far as I know. Apparently, when the elves of Endórë arrived here they were greeted by some of the elves of Aman."

"Yes, I know," Gilvagor nodded. "I did not come until some centuries later myself."

"Well, from what I’ve been told," Sador continued, "the Amaneldi greeted the Noldor and Sindar by telling them that they were living on Tol Eressëa on sufferance and that their loved ones who died in Endórë went to their judgment before the Valar in chains."

Gilvagor went absolutely white. "They said what?" he whispered. Both Sador and Netilmírë winced, for they realized that those words would have been screamed in other circumstances.

"I do not know if it was a case of deliberate cruelty or just wishful thinking on their part," Sador opined but Gilvagor shook his head.

"It was deliberate, of that I am sure." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to center himself. "Well that certainly explains a lot of things."

"Like what?" Netilmírë asked.

Gilvagor shook his head. "Too numerous to mention, but Lord Laurendil noticed right off that there was a great deal of tension and even downright hostility whenever anyone from Aman came to the island, even the Teleri. We put it down to lack of leadership, but now...."

"Now, it’s something deeper, more insidious and more dangerous to the welfare of all of Aman," Sador said. "I wonder if Atar is aware of what was told the Tol Eressëans who first arrived?"

"If the rumors of higher prices are also true," Netilmírë said, "that will just add fuel to the fire that’s already smoldering and has for centuries."

All three looked grim. After a moment Netilmírë sighed, rubbing a hand over her eyes. "I still cannot believe the Valar allowed this to go on for so long," she said with a sigh.

"They remember what happened the last time they tried to interfere in our lives, Anammë," Sador said. "Perhaps they knew that it would take the Reborn themselves to counteract the lies of the Amaneldi. They may have decided it was best for people like Haldir and myself to speak up and tell everyone what actually happens during Judgment. That’s why I did not mind telling everyone in that courtyard about my own Judgment."

Gilvagor looked at the younger ellon appraisingly. "I often wondered what happened. I looked at Prince Findaráto and... he was one of the best of us... a natural leader and well-beloved by everyone. The thought that he would be dragged to the Máhanaxar in chains...."

"But he wasn’t," Sador said quietly. "None of them were. The Valar are not that cruel."

"Yet Melkor was chained," Netilmírë said quietly, a pensive look on her face. She thought of her daughter and the horror stories about the wrath of the Valar she apparently had told her grandchildren, for Sador had later told her all the stories he had heard about what would happen to them if they died. She fervently hoped that Ezelmiril had not suffered too much from her own judgment. Sador must have divined her thoughts, for he put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"Daernana has since learned the truth about Judgment, Anammë. It was probably very terrifying but also very healing and now she remembers none of that in Mandos. She knows only joy and sorrows touch her not. Whatever pain she suffered in judgment, take comfort in the knowledge that she is free from it now and that Lord Námo loves her and his Maiar servants care for her as a mother cares for her child."

Netilmírë nodded, feeling oddly comforted. In some ways, Sador seemed so much older than she, for all that she had been born only a century after her parents arrived in Aman from Beleriand. Perhaps dying matures a person in ways that cannot be fathomed by those of us who have yet to experience death, she thought to herself.

Gilvagor was now steering the conversation towards their original purpose for coming to Tavrobel. "Where do you intend to look first?" he asked Sador.

"At the docks. I wish to interview the harbormaster and customs officer. They will be in charge of seeing that all goods from the mainland are properly placed in the warehouses until they are to be distributed."

"Is there any mutual trade between Aman and Tol Eressëa?" Netilmírë asked. "I don’t recall if I ever saw anything in the markets of Tirion that was said to come from Tol Eressëa."

Gilvagor shook his head. "No. As far as I know, trade is only one way. Not even the Teleri trade with us all that much. Apparently, the Amaneldi have decided our goods are either not needed or not good enough for them. Plus the Teleri remember the Kinslaying and are reluctant to have anything to do with us."

Netilmírë sighed. "That will explain the attitude of the guildmasters. I wish now I had never agreed to the Noldóran’s plans. We were doomed to failure from the very beginning."

"Perhaps, Anammë," Sador said with a nod, "but one thing has come out of all this that no one can take away."

"Us?" Netilmírë asked with a small smile.

Sador smiled and nodded, leaning over to give her a kiss. "Us."

65: Attack...

"Well?"

"They’ve gone to Tavrobel with Lord Gilvagor."

"So they’ve taken ship?"

"No. They are staying at the Blue Dolphin. The Sinda’s been seen walking the docks and speaking to the harbormaster and others."

Pause.

"That will be the best place to take him then."

"And the guildmistress?"

"She isn’t important except to act as our messenger. We need someone to relay our demands to Arafinwë."

"Do you think it will work?"

Shrug. "We’ll find out soon enough."

"How many ellyn will we need for this?"

"Not many. He’s a potter, not a warrior."

"He wears the braids..."

"So do you."

Another pause.

"Where do we bring him?"

"Here. Bring him here. There’s a room in the back of the shop with no windows we can use. No one’s going to think to look for him in a weaver’s shop."

****

The docks of Tavrobel were similar to other docks he had seen, especially at the Havens. The smell of salt water, rotting fish, and bleached wood mingled with the sounds of sea gulls screeching and sailors singing. Sador breathed in the redolent air and smiled.

He had been wandering the docks for the last two days, speaking to the harbormaster and the customs officer and anyone else who would bother with a curious Sinda. So far he had learned nothing of import. The harbormaster and customs officer had little to say about higher prices, for they did not concern themselves with such. The merchants whose shops were ranged around the docks were not forthcoming either. They looked upon the Sinda with suspicion, even though Sador had traded his Amanian garb for the less flashy clothes worn by the Tol Eressëans. Gilvagor was wrong about the warrior braids, Sador reflected ruefully to himself as he made his way through an alley. So far, they hadn’t helped. He had detected no outright hostility towards him, but neither had he seen any evidence of respect. Perhaps the merchants and sailors of Tavrobel were less impressed by warrior braids than the other Tol Eressëans. He wondered how Gilvagor had fared.

It had been decided that Netilmírë would remain at the inn and out of sight while Sador and Gilvagor did any investigating that needed doing. She little liked it, but understood its necessity. The revelation of what her own people had done still left her shaken and she had much to think about. Gilvagor had agreed to make discreet enquiries about Sador’s family.

"It will be easier for me than for you," Gilvagor had said, "as I am known here and it will not be the first time I have asked after someone’s family. Many people were separated from their kin by war and death and all seek for news about them."

After two days, however, neither ellon had had any luck in finding the information they were looking for.

"No one remembers them," Gilvagor said as the three sat in the common room eating dinner on the second evening. "Of course, that really means nothing. There was so much confusion in the end and so much destruction. I doubt we will ever know the full extent of the damage done and the lives lost."

"And I have had no luck either," Sador admitted with a sigh. "Either no one is talking or there is nothing to the allegations. I just wish I knew for certain which it is."

"Do you have any idea what you want to do next?" Netilmírë asked. She had been feeling left out and bored these past two days and was ready to return to Tirion. She had had enough of Tol Eressëa and just wanted to go home.

Sador shrugged. "I want to check out the warehouse district itself. Perhaps I will find someone there who will talk to me. Something is going on. I just wish I knew what." He sighed in frustration.

Gilvagor nodded. "I think it best that you leave for Tirion soon. If you wish, I will check for available ships. I would not linger more than another day or two here. You will be safer on the mainland and I will feel easier in my mind about you."

Sador and Netilmírë agreed. "Whether or not I find anything tomorrow, we will leave on the next available ship," Sador said.

"I’ll make the arrangements," Gilvagor replied.

****

Sador was navigating a narrow alley between the docks and the warehouses that surrounded the harbor, when the attack came. At first he was not sure what was happening. He had been alone as he traversed the alley and then suddenly there were others there, both before and behind him. Some instinct or warning made him back into the wall to prevent the ellyn from taking him completely unawares. He was acutely aware that he wore no weapons. But then, he thought grimly, I hadn’t had any in Doriath either.

He smiled ferally and took stock of his surroundings. The alley itself was relatively clean of refuse and such but next to him stood a barrel with a lid. He wasn’t sure what help that might be to him but he kept it in mind. Next he took stock of his opponents. There were three of them, all taller and obviously stronger than he. Two wore warrior braids and that surprised him, but on reflection, he decided it shouldn’t. Not all warriors would be as honorable as Gilvagor or Haldir. The ellon without warrior braids beckoned to him.

"Come with us quietly and you will not be harmed," he said.

"And if I choose not to come, quietly or otherwise?" Sador was amazed at how steady his voice sounded, for he felt his knees shaking and he feared he might be sick.

The ellon without any braids smiled and it was not pleasant. His fellows each pulled out a long knife from beneath their cloaks and he was sure they knew well how to use them. "We know you are unarmed," said the braidless elf. "It would be foolish to defy us. Let us not have any unpleasantness."

"It is already unpleasant," Sador retorted. He then reached over and lifted the lid from the barrel and with a swift flick of his wrists sent it flying towards two of the ellyn. The move surprised them and before they could react the lid hit them both with enough force to cause them to fly back into the opposite wall. The ellon without braids banged his head and collapsed to the ground while the other ellon dropped his knife with a curse though he was not as badly stunned. He did, however, hold his knife hand in such a way that Sador suspected it was either broken or very badly bruised. Either way, the ellon wouldn’t be wielding a weapon any time soon.

Sador did not stop there, but took the barrel and tipped it so that its contents, a thick oily substance, poured out in front of him. The third ellon had started to advance on him and when the oil sloshed upon the pavement, he lost his balance on the slippery substance. That gave Sador enough time to pick up the now empty barrel and throw it at the ellon before sidling away from his attackers. Avoiding the oil seeping across the alley he ran towards the docks. There was a shout and the sound of pursuit but Sador did not look back to see how many were after him. If he could reach the docks themselves he would be safe.

He was almost at the end of the alley when he crashed into someone who stepped into his path. There was a confused moment of arms grabbing him and then something hit him on the head and he blacked out.

****

"Any sign?" Netilmírë asked anxiously. She and Gilvagor were sitting in the common room of the Blue Dolphin. Gilvagor had just returned from searching for Sador. It was mid-afternoon by then and they were the only patrons.

Gilvagor shook his head as he sat down next to Netilmírë. "I looked between here and the docks and then on to the warehouse district, but no one claims to have seen him."

"What could have happened?"

"I don’t know," Gilvagor admitted in frustration. "I should not have let him go alone."

"You weren’t to know, Gilvagor, so don’t berate yourself so," Netilmírë admonished the ellon. "Let’s concentrate on finding my great-grandson and then getting away from this wretched island."

Gilvagor sighed, and looked chagrined. "It’s really not a bad place to live you know. I thought I might resent not being allowed to live in Aman proper, but I find I like it here and have no regrets."

"I’m sorry," Netilmírë said. "I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I just want my great-grandson back safe. I’ve only just found him and now I’ve lost him again."

"I don’t know where else to look," Gilvagor said with a sigh.

"You might try looking in Kortirion."

The two elves looked up to see a Maia standing before them, one they did not recognize. He wore a white robe and a forest green surcoat with a golden oak embroidered on it. They stood up hastily to give him their obeisance but he waved them back to their seats. "Peace, my children. Please be seated."

"Do you know where Sador is?" Netilmírë asked, ignoring the Maia’s request. "Please. If you know..."

"I would not tell you, child. That is for you to discover. I will only tell you that you should look in Kortirion."

"It’s a large city," Gilvagor said in a conversational tone. "Care to be more specific?"

The Maia gave the ellon an appraising look. "I have told you all that I’m allowed to tell you."

"Which is little enough and therefore next to useless." Gilvagor’s tone bordered on the belligerent and rude and Netilmírë cringed mentally. The Maia did not seem offended by Gilvagor’s words.

"But it is a start and we thank you," Netilmírë rejoined, not wanting to be on the bad side of the Powers or their servants.

The Maia bowed before giving Gilvagor a hard stare. "I regret I cannot tell you more, but my orders were specific. Look in Kortirion for your missing friend. And I will give you one more message. Wait for reinforcements."

With that, the Maia was gone. Netilmírë and Gilvagor stared at one another in bemusement. "What reinforcements?" Gilvagor finally asked.

"And how long do we wait?" Netilmírë added.

They received no answers to their questions.

****

In the end, it was decided that Gilvagor would return to Kortirion while Netilmírë remained in Tavrobel to keep an eye out for whatever ‘reinforcements’ might show up.

"I don’t understand how reinforcements would come anyway," Netilmírë said as Gilvagor was packing. "I mean, no one even knows about Sador being missing."

Gilvagor shrugged. "I don’t think I want to question anything a Maia says to me. If he says reinforcements are on the way, then they are. I don’t think you will have to wait for very long. The Maia would not say it if it weren’t about to happen, I think. Did you recognize the surcoat?"

Netilmírë nodded abstractedly. "Hmm. It was Lord Oromë’s emblem."

"Lord Oromë?" Gilvagor echoed in surprise. "What would the Master of the Wood be doing concerning himself with Sador... or us, for that matter?"

Netilmírë shrugged. "I do not know, but that was the emblem on the surcoat. Perhaps it’s because Sador is a Sinda."

"You will be all right?" Gilvagor asked Netilmírë as he was preparing to leave. The elleth nodded.

"I will be fine. The people here at the Blue Dolphin have been ever courteous and solicitous and I have no fear for my safety with them. Young Margil says he will go to the docks every day for me. I have the feeling that if there are reinforcements, they will come from Tirion."

Gilvagor nodded. "Nai le tiruvar Valar. I will send word as soon as I know anything."

"Find Haldir and Gwilwileth," Netilmírë said at the last minute. "They will help." She gave him directions for their home and he nodded his thanks before riding off.

Netilmírë stood at the door of the inn watching Gilvagor disappear down the street, turning to go inside only after she lost sight of the ellon completely. She sighed, wondering if she would ever see her great-grandson again.

Later that evening, as she was idly picking at her dinner Margil came and placed a small thin box on the table.

"An ellon left this for you," said the young son of the innkeeper. "He didn’t leave a name and I’ve never seen him before."

Netilmírë thanked the young elf and, opening the box, found a piece of parchment lying on top of a scrap of woven cloth in a pattern that seemed vaguely familiar, though she could not immediately place it. Picking up the parchment she read the words written in Quenya with growing dread.

"We have your friend. If you wish to see him alive, do nothing until you hear from us again. Disobey us and next time we will cut off a more vital part of his body."

Netilmírë unfolded the piece of cloth with trembling fingers. She sat there in white-faced shock staring at one of her great-grandson’s braids, the gemstones and beads glittering in the lamplight.

"Valar help us," she whispered, then proceeded to throw up right then and there.

****

Nai le tiruvar Valar: (Quenya) "May the Valar guard you."

66: ...and Counterattack

Reinforcements came with the morning tide. Not having slept, Netilmírë was at the docks before dawn, unwilling to sit meekly by while her great-grandson was in danger. Margil accompanied her. Thus, they were both on hand to see a Telerin swan ship float gracefully into the harbor just as Anar rose from behind the island to cast her golden light upon the white sails. The ship, Netilmírë noticed, carried not only the swan flag of Alqualondë but the personal flags of both Olwë and Arafinwë. She recognized Lord Laurendil leaning on the rail surrounded by several ellyn, all grim-faced and armed as the ship pulled up to the wharf.

Laurendil was off the ship before she was completely moored, giving Netilmírë his greetings. His smile fled at the look on her face. "Where’s Sador?" he asked quietly. For an answer Netilmírë handed him the box with its contents.

It took only a minute for him to understand what had happened. He looked up at Netilmírë, his expression grim. "Have you any idea who has done this?"

"We were told to look in Kortirion."

"Told?"

She nodded, quickly explaining the events of the previous day. Laurendil looked thoughtful. "So, Findaráto was right. The Hunt is up."

"Wh-what do you mean?" Netilmírë asked in confusion. "What do you know that I don’t?"

Laurendil did not answer her immediately, for by now the others had disembarked and were ranged around the Noldorin lord. He turned to one of them. "Calandil, Lord Sador has been kidnapped and taken to Kortirion. Lord Gilvagor from the embassy is even now looking for him there. We will go to Kortirion to join in the hunt. Stay with the ship."

"Should we not join you, lord?" Calandil asked.

"I will take no more than three others with me. More than that and we may endanger Lord Sador even more. If there are any who have been to Kortirion before I would prefer to take them with me. If you would see to the Lady Netilmírë..."

"Nay, Lord Laurendil," Netilmírë protested. "I am going back to Kortirion with you. I have had all night to think about what has happened and I may have an idea about who is behind this, but I will not speak my thoughts until we reach Kortirion and find Gilvagor."

Laurendil looked as if he wanted to argue but from the expression on Netilmírë’s face he decided it would be a waste of time and finally nodded in agreement, little though he liked it. He turned back to Calandil. "Make sure the ship is ready to sail at a moment’s notice."

It turned out that there were two among Calandil’s troops who had traveled to Kortirion before and Laurendil decided to take only them. One was a Teler named Elennen, the other a Noldo named Urundil. In short order all was in readiness and Netilmírë found herself riding beside Laurendil towards Kortirion.

"May I ask what brings you here, my lord?" Netilmírë asked. "I thought you were going to Lórien?"

"And I was, my lady," Laurendil answered. "In fact, it was there that Lord Findaráto received disturbing news and sent me here to find Sador. I was to bring him to Findaráto who awaits us at Valmar."

"Valmar! Why, what has happened?"

Laurendil however was reluctant to speak openly about Glorfindel and changed the subject, asking for Netilmírë’s suspicions about Sador’s kidnappers.

"There has been a great deal of hostility directed towards us since we arrived here," Netilmírë said. She went on to explain the failure of the Noldorin guildmasters to effect an agreement with their Tol Eressëan counterparts. "Looking back, I think there was a deliberate attempt on the part of some of them to disrupt any plans for the two groups to cooperate. Most of the dissent came from three individuals, the master of the Weaver’s Guild being the foremost of them."

Laurendil gave Netilmírë a searching look. "You think this weaver might be involved in Sador’s kidnapping?"

"Possibly. Certainly the box is our first clue."

"How so?"

"The cloth..." Netilmírë had to visibly swallow down the bile threatening to come up at the thought of what lay inside the box wrapped in cloth. "I’ve seen that cloth before. Mistress Menelgileth was wearing a dress in that material the last time I saw her."

Laurendil raised an eyebrow. "Their second mistake."

Netilmirë gave the Noldo a questioning look and Laurendil returned it with a grim smile.

"Their first mistake was taking Sador."

The expressions on all three ellyn riding with her hardened into something implacable and she shivered in spite of herself.

****

They reached Kortirion around noon and Netilmírë led them to the home of Haldir and Gwilwileth, where they were readily welcomed by the elleth.

"Haldir and Lord Gilvagor are even now scouring the city for news," she said as they entered the home.

The elleth was somewhat in awe of Laurendil, whom the Tol Eressëans respected as a warrior and natural leader. Laurendil, for his part, treated her with utmost kindness, thanking her for her hospitality, putting her at ease with his warm smile. It was decided to wait for the return of the two ellyn. In the meantime, Laurendil asked Gwilwileth for information concerning Mistress Menelgileth’s shop.

"I have not been inside myself, lord," Gwilwileth admitted, "but I know someone who has been. Let me bring her here. Do not worry, Berethiel is my best friend and very discreet. She will say nothing if you command it."

Laurendil finally agreed and in a short time Gwilwileth returned with her friend, who, it turned out, Laurendil knew slightly. "We met once at a ball given by my king for Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel. You were a lady-in-waiting to my king’s sister."

Berethiel nodded. "What you say is true, lord. And now that you mention it, I do recall our meeting. Please tell me how I may be of service."

"We would like some information concerning the layout of Mistress Menelgileth’s shop," Laurendil told her.

Berethiel thought for a moment. "Do you have something for me to draw on?"

In minutes a rough sketch of the shop and its surroundings was made. Berethiel looked it over for another moment before handing it to Laurendil. "You do not say why you need this information, lord, so I do not know what you might be looking for. I hope I have not left out a detail that you might consider more important than others."

"A friend of ours is missing and we think the weaver might be involved, but other than that, Berethiel, there is very little any of us can tell you," Laurendil answered her as he scanned the sketch. "What’s this room here?" He pointed to an inner chamber.

"A store room, I think, where delicate cloths are placed away from light which would damage the fabric. It has no windows, as you can see."

Laurendil looked at Netilmírë and the other two ellyn. Urundil’s nod was imperceptible. "He’s there then," the ellon said and it was not a question. Laurendil nodded.

"Do we go after him now, lord?" Elennen asked.

Laurendil shook his head. "No, we do what the Maia told Lady Netilmírë to do. We wait for reinforcements."

****

Sador woke to complete darkness and pain. His head hurt abominably and he feared he might be blind until he noticed a thin crack of light near the floor and realized he was in a windowless room. The air was stuffy and there was the smell of fabric all around, though a careful sweep of his hands revealed that the room was empty save for himself, a bowl of bread and dried fruit, a pitcher of tepid water and another basin that was obviously meant to be used for personal needs.

He wondered how long he had been out and where exactly he might be. Speculation, of course, was futile, for he did not have enough information. He sat against a wall fingering a braid. He had quickly discovered that the left braid was missing and the thought of what his captors had done while he was out sickened him, left him feeling violated. He wondered if they would start removing other parts of his body soon and that thought left him gagging, though thankfully nothing came up.

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew the door of his prison was opening and the light streaming in was enough to blind him. He felt rather than saw two ellyn enter and grab him before he had a chance to move. They pushed him up against the wall while a third person entered.

"Your lady friend is very stupid," the third ellon said, and Sador recognized the voice as belonging to the elf in the alley who did not have warrior braids. "She was warned to do nothing and she has ignored that warning. I’m afraid I’ll have to send her another message. Perhaps she’ll be more willing to cooperate if I send her one of your fingers or an ear."

The ellyn holding him tightened their grips when he tried to struggle out of their grasps. By now his eyes had adjusted to the brighter light and he saw that the third ellon carried a thin carving knife and several rolls of cloth. The look on his face was all the more terrifying for Sador was suddenly reminded of the looks on the faces of the elves who had invaded Doriath. Here, he suspected, was one who may have been there or even at the Havens and had somehow survived the War of Wrath, though why he did not wear warrior braids, Sador did not know.

As the ellon started towards him several things happened at once. The door closed suddenly, leaving them all in darkness. Sador heard all three ellyn start cursing, though the grip on his arms did not loosen enough for him to escape. He heard the third ellon move cautiously to the door and then try to open it, but to no avail. The ellon banged on the door and yelled, but no one came. At the same time, Sador felt a brush of air against his forehead and heard a whisper in his mind.

*Keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them. Be prepared to run.*

Sador wasn’t sure if he was imagining the words or not but decided to obey them nonetheless. He made himself go limp and slowed his breathing as much as possible, waiting for the signal he hoped would come.

Meanwhile, the third ellon was still banging on the door and pulling on the knob. All of a sudden the door swung open and the force of it drove the ellon into the wall, the door smashing into his face. He screamed as blood poured from his nose. The other two ellyn yelled and flinched involuntarily at the bright light and both released their grips on Sador who didn’t wait for any voice but sprang towards the light, his eyes opened just wide enough for him to see where the door was. In seconds he was out of the room and running down a short corridor. He felt an invisible tug on his right arm.

*This way, child, quickly!* came the command and he obeyed it instantly, veering to the right down another corridor. It led to a set of stairs and he climbed them, finding himself shortly thereafter on the roof. He did not pause but ran to the parapet on the other side from the stairs and looked about. Another roof was only a few steps away and without thinking about it he climbed onto the top of the parapet and leapt across the space separating the two roofs. Then he was running across that roof to yet another. He never looked back, remembering something Finrod had told him about not wasting time looking back when being pursued. He could hear the sound of pursuit well enough to know he could not afford to stop to look back.

He was at a fourth roof trying to find a way down to the street level when he realized he was in trouble. There were no other roofs near enough to leap to. He found himself looking down on a small courtyard. He frantically searched for a ladder or stairs that would take him to the street but there weren’t any and the way down into the building was locked. He ran back to look down into the courtyard, thinking that he might be able to leap down anyway. He looked back to see the two ellyn who had held him making the leap onto the roof and advance. Their expressions were not at all friendly and both were now armed with knives. He kept hoping the mysterious voice would tell him what to do but it was maddeningly silent.

Well, they weren’t going to take him. He would jump first. He might break something, even his neck, but that was preferable to what they would do to him if he let them catch him. He was looking down into the courtyard to see where he should fall when he saw five elves enter from one side. Two were unknown to him and carried bows. The other three, however, were well known to him and one of them shouldn’t have been there at all.

"LAURENDIL!"

Laurendil looked up in surprise to see Sador on the roof of a building, the look on the younger ellon’s face enough to spur him into action. Without conscious thought he ran towards the wall, his arms outstretched.

"JUMP!"

Sador climbed the parapet and was about to fling himself off when he was grabbed from behind. Laurendil saw him struggling to free himself and then someone fell off the roof with a scream. Before anyone could react a body hit the pavement. For a sick moment Laurendil thought it might be Sador but a quick glance proved that it was not. Laurendil looked up to see Sador struggling with a second elf. Making a quick decision he turned to Urundil.

"Give me your bow."

Urundil obeyed without question, handing Laurendil the bow and an arrow. Laurendil nocked the arrow and took careful aim.

"Sador! Let go and drop!" he shouted and was pleased to see the younger elf obey without hesitation. For a second the other ellon stood there in surprise at suddenly not having a hold on Sador, then he was screaming as an arrow pierced his shoulder.

By now the shouting and screaming had brought others to the courtyard and several stood around with their mouths gaping. Two of them were kneeling beside the prone body that had fallen off the roof.

"His neck is broken," one of them said, looking up at Laurendil accusingly.

Laurendil glanced at the body dispassionately. "Then he is no longer our concern, but Lord Námo’s. Gilvagor, you, Haldir and Elennen keep these bystanders away. Urundil, find a way up."

"At once, lord," the Noldo said and quickly went into the building, which turned out to be a residence, its owners temporarily absent. The stairs to the roof were found and Laurendil followed Urundil up to where they discovered Sador bending over the other ellon attempting to remove the arrow and staunch the flow of blood. Laurendil nodded in approval.

"Are you well, youngling?" he said as he knelt beside the Sinda to give him a hand. The kidnapper was already unconscious. Sador looked up with a smile.

"Well enough now that you are here. What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be in Lórien giving Lord Irmo grief?"

Laurendil laughed. "He decided he needed a respite from my presence and sent me to check up on you."

Sador gave him a jaundiced look. "I think there’s more to it than that, but I am content to wait to hear the entire story later. What happened to the other?"

"He’s dead."

Sador nodded. "Lord Námo’s problem now."

"Let’s get this one fixed up and then we need to find the weaver’s shop."

"Is that where I was held?" Sador asked.

In moments, with Urundil’s help, they brought the ellon down to the courtyard. Several elves were there sporting warrior braids who recognized Laurendil and gladly took over the task of removing the body and transporting the other ellon to the healers.

"I want two guards on him at all times," Laurendil ordered and no one questioned his right to do so. He then requested some of the other ellyn to accompany him to the weaver’s shop.

"If they’re smart they will have fled by now, but they may think they still have everything under control," he told Sador as they made their way along the street. As they approached they saw that the shop was still open. Laurendil gave a few soft commands and soon several of the elves had melted away to find the back door and prevent any escape that way.

"Let’s hope our quarry hasn’t fled, but even if they have, there’s no real escape. We know who they are." With those words he entered the shop with Sador, Gilvagor, Haldir, Urundil and Elennen following him.

What they found was almost ludicrous and anti-climactic. The ellon who had threatened to maim Sador was lying on a table in the front of the shop, clearly unconscious, while Mistress Menelgileth and another elleth were tending to him. Mistress Menelgileth was weeping. Apparently, the ellon was dear to her, though whether a son or a husband Sador did not know. Laurendil sighed and signaled for the others to take over.

A quick examination showed that the ellon was badly bruised with a broken nose but otherwise not seriously harmed. Laurendil ordered him removed to the healers and Mistress Menelgileth was taken into custody. The other elleth, it turned out, was her sister who only knew that her brother-in-law had suffered a fall. Brief questioning on Laurendil’s part convinced him that the sister knew nothing about the kidnapping and indeed she had looked appalled when she was told.

"I knew she had a hatred of the Amaneldi, but I never knew it was so deep and abiding," she confessed before Laurendil allowed her to return to her home.

Soon, all was in order and Laurendil was escorting Sador back to Haldir’s home where he was happily reunited with Netilmírë. Then, and only then, did Sador allow himself to break down and weep in his anammë’s arms. No one thought the less of him for doing so and at one point Laurendil took him into his embrace and held him until he fell asleep.

67: Return to Tirion

Laurendil wasted no time in questioning Menelgileth and discovering who else was involved in the kidnapping. Within hours three other people, including the Master of the Smith’s Guild, were taken into custody by a contingent of guards sent by Calandil on Laurendil’s orders. It turned out that the ellon who had died had been the smith’s son and the elf was devastated when he learned what had happened. Laurendil delayed leaving Kortirion to allow the ellon to attend his son’s funeral.

All who were arrested, it turned out, were Sindar who had come to Tol Eressëa with the first wave of returnees. Netilmírë, when she heard that, thought it significant. When Laurendil questioned her, she told him what Gwilwileth had said. Laurendil and the other Amaneldi were shocked at the revelation.

"Whoever these elves from Aman were, they were intent on fomenting distrust between the Tol Eressëans and the Valar," Netilmírë concluded.

Laurendil nodded. "I noticed when I came here that there was a sense of unease whenever the Valar were mentioned, but I’m afraid my own distrust of them did not allow me to probe further into its cause."

Sador quickly recovered from his ordeal and was more upset over the loss of his braid than anything else. "I ought to just cut off the other one," he said to Laurendil and Netilmírë. "I look ridiculous with just one."

Laurendil, however, disagreed. "Your hair will grow back on that side eventually. In the meantime, you should consider it a badge of honor."

"I’m sure I can weave the braid back into your hair, inyo," Netilmírë said with a smile. "It won’t be quite the same but you won’t look so lopsided while your hair is growing back."

In the end, though, Sador decided not to bother. Netilmírë trimmed the area where the braid had been so it didn’t look so ragged and everyone agreed that the single braid made the ellon look quite dashing.

"You might start a new fashion trend among the warriors, youngling," Laurendil quipped. Haldir and Gilvagor sniggered. Sador muttered a single word in Sindarin that set the older elves laughing.

They left Kortirion two days after the rescue and were sailing within hours of arriving in Tavrobel. Besides the prisoners, Haldir and Gwilwileth decided to come as well.

"For there is a complaint against the Amaneldi I would have addressed," Haldir had said in explanation and Laurendil did not dispute him.

When Sador asked, Laurendil explained that upon arriving in Tirion he had found Olwë visiting Arafinwë. Once apprised of the situation the two kings combined their forces and Olwë offered his personal ship to transport Laurendil to Tol Eressëa.

Thus, it was not long before Sador was back in Tirion. Arafinwë took one look at his ward and hugged him tightly, refusing to let him go until he was assured that the ellon had suffered no real harm save for having one of his braids cut off. Arafinwë ordered a trial to be held in three days’ time.

"That will give me time to cool down so I can judge more fairly," he told Sador and Laurendil.

"But what about Glorfindel, Atar?" Sador asked, for Laurendil had told him the reason for his coming to fetch the younger ellon. "I have to go to Valmar. Finrod is waiting for me."

"I will send a message to your brother letting him know what has happened. As soon as the trial is over you and Laurendil will leave for Valmar. You cannot leave before that, yonya, as you are a key witness."

Sador reluctantly agreed, chafing at the delay as he worried about Glorfindel’s safety. No one had seen him or heard from whoever had taken him. The ellon fingered his remaining braid, hoping his gwador had not suffered maiming as he almost had.

In the meantime, Sador and Netilmírë confided to Arafinwë, Eärwen and Olwë their news about being related and the three royals rejoiced. "I am so glad you have found your anammë, yonya," Arafinwë said with a smile as he gave Sador a hug, "but I hope you will continue thinking of us as your family as well."

"Anammë and I talked it over and well...," Sador felt suddenly shy, and found he couldn’t continue. Netilmírë gave her great-grandson a fond smile.

"I think it best if our true relationship remains private for now, my lord," she told Arafinwë. "Sador will remain my apprentice, but otherwise, he should continue being your ward. He loves you too much, you see, and does not want to have to give you up."

"You cannot lose us, yonya," Arafinwë told Sador. "We, too, love you too much to let you go that easily. Rest assured that you will always be a part of this family. I doubt if Findaráto will have it any other way."

****

The trial was both impressive and very public. Olwë decided to delay his return to Alqualondë to attend. "The offenses were committed by my brother’s people," the Telerin king said, "and against one whom I consider family."

Thus, when the prisoners were brought forth, they were made to kneel before the Noldóran and the King of Alqualondë in all their terrible splendour. Gwilwileth looked upon the proceedings with interest. She had seen how Sador had been welcomed by the royal couple and by Arafinwë’s court. The Lady Amarië especially expressed shock and anger at Sador’s treatment and fussed over him, much to his embarrassment and everyone else’s amusement. She also saw how the prisoners were treated. She had feared that being Sindar the Noldor might be tempted to ill-use them, but she saw that they were treated with respect at all times, especially Menelgileth.

The testimony and questioning went on for some time and were most thorough. Netilmírë spoke of the failed mission of the guildmasters and Sador told of his own investigations. The attack on Sador and the events that followed were carefully examined. When Sador described the voice warning him to be ready to flee, all looked upon the Sinda with wonder.

"Clearly, the Valar are watching over you, yonya," Olwë said, his expression one of surprise. "Though I wonder that they did not stop the initial kidnapping to begin with."

Sador shook his head. "Lord Námo said that our affairs are our own to deal with, but I suspect that it is as I told Haldir and Gwilwileth. Lord Námo has a vested interest in his... er... charges. He doesn’t ever want to see us darken his doorstep again."

"We are thankful that the Valar saw fit to have one of their servants watch over you," Arafinwë said. "I do not wish to contemplate what might have happened to you otherwise."

The revelation that certain elves of Aman had spread vicious lies about the Valar and how the Dead were treated was also a shock to many and Arafinwë was most grieved by this. "I regret that any suffered for these lies. The Valar have never shown any vindictiveness towards those who fled. My own son stood before them in the Máhanaxar and he has told me what occurred there. It is probably not possible to find who among us spread such lies. The best we can do is speak the truth and let all know that no one has ever come to judgment chained."

"Certainly the testimony of the Reborn would go a long way towards dispelling such lies among the Tol Eressëans," Olwë commented.

Haldir stepped forward then. "But in fact, that has not happened, lord King, for as my Gwilwileth admitted to me just recently she was too afraid to ask me about my judgment, fearing what she might learn. I suspect many have felt reluctant to ask the Reborn such questions for that very reason. As one who has recently been Reborn, I did find it puzzling that whenever I mentioned any of the Valar, especially Lord Námo, those around me stiffened and looked wary."

Laurendil spoke up. "Then perhaps it is time for the questions to be asked and the stories of the Reborn to be told, so that all may learn the truth about the Valar and those whom they judged."

There was a thoughtful silence all around and then Arafinwë turned his attention to the prisoners and the question of higher prices. The prisoners attempted defiance, especially Mistress Menelgileth, but in spite of it, they all found themselves answering the kings’ questions. Arafinwë and Olwë were implacable in their interrogations. Both kings assured everyone that they had decreed that there would be no inflation of prices for goods sold to the Tol Eressëans.

"I have made it a point," Arafinwë said, "to ensure that my directives in this are being carried out. The people of Tol Eressëa are our kin and we should treat them as such."

Careful interrogation of the weaver and the smith revealed that they and other guildmasters had been responsible for setting higher prices within their own guilds and passing them on to the merchants who had no choice but to pay the price demanded. Arafinwë looked weary at this revelation.

"It seems that the initial lies of some of our own people led to great bitterness on the part of some of those living on Tol Eressëa, which led you to prey upon your own people’s resentments in the hope of... what?"

"In the hope that there would be a second rebellion," Olwë answered his son-in-law, his voice and expression cold and implacable as he stared at the prisoners. "Perhaps even another Kinslaying."

Sador shivered visibly at those words and Netilmírë put a comforting arm around his shoulders. "What would that accomplish?" he asked.

"The displeasure of the Valar if nothing else," Arafinwë answered, his eyes flashing darkly with suppressed fury.

Eventually it was determined that the weaver and the smith were the ringleaders of the plot and were thus held the most culpable. Appropriate punishment would be meted out at a future date.

"Though I cannot imagine a greater punishment than to lose your own son to your folly," Arafinwë told the smith, who wept at these words. "I should send you all to Valmar to be tried before the Valar, but I think we will not bother them with such trivialities as these. Instead, I will consult with my fellow rulers about how best to handle this, for never have we had such happenings in Aman in all the centuries I have held the crown of the Noldor. And, unfortunately, yours is not the only conspiracy that has been uncovered of late."

So the trial ended inconclusively, but no one really minded, for all understood the gravity of what had happened and praised Arafinwë for wanting to go carefully and make no hasty judgments.

****

The prisoners were finally removed to a lone tower and kept under constant guard until such time as Arafinwë was ready to proclaim his judgment upon them. Haldir and Gwilwileth, much to their surprise, were invited to stay at the palace and speak with Arafinwë and his court about conditions on Tol Eressëa.

"I understand your own family refuses to see you," Arafinwë said to Haldir, who acknowledged the truth of the king’s words. "I regret that you have suffered so. I know my own son feared for his welcome among us, to the point that he was willing never to leave Lórien but to take up service to Lord Irmo if his amillë and I refused him. I wonder how many of the Reborn have found themselves in similar straits?"

"I do not know, my lord," Haldir said. "But I suspect more than we suppose."

Arafinwë sighed. "Something else for us to think on."

****

Sador was packing within an hour of the trial, ready to leave as soon as possible. Arafinwë little liked it, but knew he could not stop his ward from riding off for Valmar. Instead, he decided to accompany Sador and Laurendil to the city of the Valar.

"I wish to consult with Ingwë and Valmar is on the way to Vanyamar," he told Sador. "Also, Glorfindel is my son as much as Findaráto or you are. I would like to be there when he is found."

Thus, the King of the Noldor was seen riding out of Tirion along the Eastern Road towards Valmar with a retinue that included his ward and Lord Laurendil and many marveled at the sight, for few had any memory of their king riding out in full battle dress with a fell light about him.

68: The Hunt

Sador paid little attention to where they were going as they made their way past the mansions of the Valar and headed towards Eldamas, intent only on being reunited with his gwador. Arafinwë had to physically rein him in, grabbing his horse’s headstall at one point.

"We must leave the horses here, yonya," the King said when they came into a particular courtyard. "Come. Dismount and take a moment’s ease while I determine where Findaráto is."

"He said he would be at Lord Oromë’s mansion," Sador said as he reluctantly dismounted. "Laurendil told me."

"And that was some days ago, youngling," Laurendil said as he dismounted as well. "He and Prince Ingwion may well be somewhere else by now. It will not take long to find out."

Thus it was that the patrons of the Laughing Vala were awarded with the sight of the Noldóran entering the establishment with a full retinue of warriors. Even Sador had been given appropriate battle dress, though Laurendil had politely refused it when offered.

"My allegiance is to Lord Irmo now," he had told Arafinwë. "I am a healer and will not take up arms again save in defense. Yet, your son has my life and so I will stand by him and do whatever he requires of me."

Arafinwë had not been sure what Laurendil had meant, though he remembered the words this ellon had spoken to Findaráto upon their reunion. When Sador had explained the significance of his friend’s words, Arafinwë had looked upon the Noldo in wonder.

"You gave my son such an oath?"

Laurendil had nodded. "As has my wife only recently, though Findaráto wanted to refuse her. Only with the intervention of the Valar did he accept her life into his keeping."

Now, Laurendil stood by Arafinwë, the only person in his party not in battle dress, yet those looking on noticed the strange front braids and the fell light in the ellon’s eyes and did not doubt that perhaps this one was more dangerous than all the other warriors combined.

The innkeeper was solicitous towards Arafinwë and, when asked, acknowledged that Lord Findaráto and Prince Ingwion had taken rooms at the inn.

"But they have not been seen for two days now, my lord," the innkeeper told them. "I was given a message to be delivered to a Lord Laurendil from Lord Findaráto, though." The innkeeper produced a scrap of parchment which he handed to Laurendil when the ellon identified himself.

Laurendil read the contents of the note. "We are to meet them at the Máhanaxar an hour before sunset on the day we arrive," he told Arafinwë.

"That’s a good three hours from now," protested Sador. "What kind of game are they playing?"

"Hush, yonya," Arafinwë said, taking Sador into his embrace and giving him a quick hug. "If Lord Oromë has declared a Hunt, we must follow the directives precisely. We will take rooms here or elsewhere and refresh ourselves before going to the Ring of Doom."

So it was that the innkeeper of the Laughing Vala found himself with a full house. Rooms were found for them all, though several of the guards ended up taking rooms in another inn nearby, for the Laughing Vala was not overly large and Arafinwë refused to evict the other patrons.

"I will not force others to leave on my account," he told the innkeeper firmly. "I would sooner sleep in a hayloft than see others thrown out for no other reason than that I might need their room."

Sador chafed at the seeming delay and Laurendil had to make him sit down and eat something. "A warrior never passes up the opportunity to eat a hot meal and to rest, youngling," the older elf said with a smile so as to remove the sting from his reprimand. "I do not understand what this Hunt is, but I do know that your gwador takes it very seriously. Never have I seen such a fell look upon him, not even in the midst of the Dagor Bragollach."

"I just hope Glorfindel is well," Sador admitted as he took a sip of meat broth. "Why has there been no word from his kidnappers?"

No one had any answer to that.

****

This time, as they made their way through Valmar, Sador paid more attention to their route and found himself suitably impressed by the city, though he did not permit himself to dawdle as their party made their way down the Landamallë, intent as he was on reaching the Máhanaxar. He did, however, slow down enough to look into the courtyard fronting Lord Námo’s mansion when Arafinwë pointed it out to him. He gazed at the mansion with interest and, Arafinwë noted in surprise, with longing. He had to pull the younger elf away.

"Come, child, we must not be late," he admonished Sador and the ellon nodded and followed the King through the west gate.

Soon they were approaching the Ezellohar and everyone stood for a moment in awe. Arafinwë bowed to the Trees and the others followed suit. Then they were passing into the Ring of Doom.

"Finrod!" Sador cried and raced across the intervening space into his gwador’s arms, paying little heed to anyone or anything else.

"Sador, gwador nîn," Finrod said as he looked upon his brother and noticed the missing braid, "what has happened to you?"

"Nothing of import," Sador said with an impish grin. "I decided to start a new fashion trend."

Finrod gave the younger ellon a strange look and then glanced up to see his atar approaching with Laurendil by his side and a contingent of well-armed guards behind them. "Atar! What are you doing here?"

Ararfinwë gave his firstborn an appraising look. "Am I to sit idly by when one of my children is missing? I lost the children of my body to my half-brother’s madness, I will not lose the children of my heart to the madness of others. Yours is not the only conspiracy afoot, my son."

Finrod blushed and gave his atar a bow. "Forgive me, lord. I was just surprised to see you."

"Welcome, Cousin," Ingwion said, moving to embrace Arafinwë and giving him a kinsman’s kiss. "I am glad you have decided to join in the Hunt. The more the merrier."

"It has been long and long since last I joined in the Hunt, Ingwion, but I would not miss this for anything. Glorfindel is precious to me, no less than Findaráto or even you. How is your atar?"

"Well enough, I suppose. I’m afraid he’s not very happy with the Valar right now, but there is no time to explain."

Arafinwë gave his older cousin a searching look but nodded his head in acquiescence. "Then we will postpone your explanation until later. I must needs consult with my uncle on a grave matter anyway."

Finrod introduced Sador to Ingwion and the older ellon gave the younger elf a warm greeting. "If you are my cousin’s otorno, then you are mine as well," Ingwion said and gave Sador a kinsman’s kiss, which Sador returned shyly.

Then, and only then, did Sador realize that two of the Valar and several Maiar were there as well. One of the Valar was Lord Námo who looked at him with a strange expression that left the ellon feeling nervous.

"You handled yourself well, child," the Lord of Mandos finally said, speaking quietly. "I am well pleased with you."

Sador positively glowed with the Vala’s praise. Námo turned to Oromë. "I will leave you now, my brother. Happy hunting." Then he was gone. Oromë looked upon the elves standing before him and smiled.

"Our quarry is not one of the fell creatures of my Fallen Brother that range in the wastes of Valinor or in Endórë, but other elves who would disrupt the Sérë Valaron."

"But what about Glorfindel?" Sador demanded. "Why aren’t we looking for him?"

"Hush, child," Arafinwë admonished him gently. "Do not interrupt Lord Oromë."

"Nay, Pityahuan," Oromë countered with an indulgent smile. "Let the child ask his questions. It is how he will learn. Come here, Sador." The Vala gestured and Sador came to stand before him. Oromë placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Listen to me very carefully, child," Oromë said quietly. "I do not call a Hunt on a whim, and when I do there are grave consequences for all involved, Hunter and Hunted alike. Glorfindel is not the Hunted, but the bait. Yet, I assure you he is well and will return to you when the time is proper for him to do so. In the meantime, you will remain at my side while your other brother and his cousin lead the Hunt."

"I do have one question of my own, my lord," Arafinwë said with a respectful bow.

"Ask your question then," Oromë commanded with a nod.

"Why was I not informed of any of this immediately?"

It was Ingwion who answered. "Lord Manwë refused to allow me to leave Valmar or to send a message to either Atar or you. He made me wait an entire day before he allowed me to send a message but warned me I could only send one and it had to be to the right person." Ingwion paused and grimaced at the memory. "I was at a loss to whom to send my message but Elessairon, who was there when we learned of the Hunt, suggested Findaráto was the right person, remembering that he and Glorfindel were otornor. Thus it was that I sent the message to your son rather than to you."

Arafinwë nodded. "You did well, as did Elessairon. He is an intelligent ellon and I have high hopes for him." He then turned to Oromë with another bow. "Thank you, my lord, for indulging me."

"It was not an indulgence, Pityahuan," Oromë said with a smile. "Now, let us begin the Hunt."

"Wait!" Sador exclaimed. "Where is Elessairon? Will he not join us?"

Ingwion shook his head. "Lord Manwë would not allow it, for he is not yet of age and my atar is not here to give his permission. He and the others who accompanied Glorfindel and me to Valmar are guests of Lord Manwë for the moment, which is why you did not see them at the inn."

"I imagine that did not sit well with young Elessairon," Arafinwë said with a grin.

"Nor with our cousin, Alassiel, believe it or not," Ingwion said with a laugh, "for she, too, wished to join us but Lady Varda would not hear of it and so she sits by the Elentári’s side and stews."

"She is a fierce warrior-maid," Oromë said with a small smile, "but now is not the time for her. That time will come soon enough. Now let us begin. Ingwion, you will speak of all you know of the events leading up to Glorfindel’s disappearance. Begin with the Song."

Ingwion took a deep breath and then proceeded to tell what had happened in Vanyamar when the Valar sang an ancient lullaby. Anar sank into the West and the stars blazed forth in the night sky before he finished his tale, showing them Glorfindel’s knife and pointing to where it had been found.

"There was blood on it, though I do not know whose," he concluded. "I took the knife to Lord Manwë and threw it at his feet."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow at that and Ingwion blushed, though it was hard to see it in the dark with only the stars illuminating them. "I was... upset," the ellon explained lamely and Arafinwë snorted.

"The last time anyone was that upset with Lord Manwë, I spent two months in solitude contemplating my actions."

"Solitude! You?" Finrod asked, his eyes wide with surprise. The other elves looked equally stunned by Arafinwë’s words.

Arafinwë nodded, casting a wry glance at Oromë. "It was very... restful."

The Vala laughed outright at that. "Indeed. Nienna said as much."

"Was there no trail you could find?" Laurendil asked Ingwion, steering the conversation back to the original subject.

The Vanyarin prince shook his head. "There was a storm and all traces were lost. I think they headed north, but I cannot be sure and..." here he cast a glance at the Vala who stood beside him smiling serenely, "and the Valar are not forthcoming with clues."

Oromë shook his head. "This is your Hunt, young Ingwion. You must find such clues as there may be. I only provide the means for you to do so. The rest is up to you and your companions."

"Who benefits from Glorfindel’s disappearance?" Sador asked. "They kidnapped him for a reason. Why has there been no word?"

No one could answer that and the conclusions they drew were troubling. Ingwion especially did not like where his thoughts led him and he muttered a particularly vicious oath under his breath. "There is one possibility, though I hate to think on it," he said.

"What is it, Cousin?" Arafinwë asked.

Ingwion looked up at the Noldóran, his expression bleak. "Ingoldo."

"Even now?" Arafinwë queried, then sighed. "Tinwetariel was very hostile towards Glorfindel right from the beginning."

"If either is involved in this..." Ingwion stopped with a grimace. "There would be no ransom demand. Glorfindel would be taken for the sole purpose of removing him from the scene... permanently."

"You mean... kill him?" Sador whispered, appalled.

Ingwion shook his head. "They would not dare go that far, I don’t think."

"Ingoldo is many things but a Kinslayer is not one of them," Arafinwë replied firmly. "So now the question is, do we look for Glorfindel or do we go after Ingoldo?"

"Are we sure that he is involved?" Finrod asked. "I remember him, of course, but I do not recall him being a troublemaker."

"He has been a thorn in my atar’s side for some time now," Ingwion said, though he did not bother to elaborate.

"He fears you," Arafinwë said. "That can be used to our advantage. If he is not involved it will be easy enough to ascertain."

"So do we go to Vanyamar?" Finrod asked, but Ingwion shook his head.

"He will not be there. Every year at this time he goes to the royal hunting lodge."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow. "How appropriate." Then he cast a glance at Lord Oromë. "And how coincidental."

Oromë shrugged. "If you believe in coincidence, Pityahuan."

Arafinwë stared at the Vala for a moment, then nodded, turning to his guards and dismissing them. "For I shall join the Hunt with my son and will be under Lord Oromë’s protection." The guards were reluctant to depart but knew better than to argue and soon they were gone.

Oromë looked upon the five remaining elves with satisfaction. "Let us ride then." As he spoke he led them all to where several horses were waiting for them outside the Ring. The elves and Maiar mounted. Oromë leapt upon his steed Nahar, shining silver in the night.

"Where do we go?" Sador asked.

"North," Ingwion replied.

Then Oromë raised the Valaróma to his lips and sounded it. All who heard its notes felt their blood burn as if with fire and they were caught up in the thrill of the chase. They rode north across the plains of Valinor, moving like a swift mist under starlight.

The Hunt had begun.

****

Sérë Valaron: The Peace of the Valar; similar in concept to the Pax Romana. However, it is not imposed upon the people of Aman by military might but is a natural consequence of the divine nature of the Valar themselves.

Pityahuan: Little Hound; an epessë or nickname given to Arafinwë by Manwë during his apprenticeship with the Elder King after Arafinwë turned away from the Rebellion to take up the kingship of the Noldor.

69: Glorfindel on Taniquetil

Glorfindel woke to bright sunlight and pain. He nearly screamed when he inadvertently moved, trying to shield his eyes from the snow glare that surrounded him. His memory was slow to return and he had difficulty putting the pieces together, though eventually he was able to recall the chain of events that had led him to where he was... wherever that was. He leaned against the wall, his eyes closed, waiting for the pain to subside, and tried to ascertain his condition. He was soaked through to the skin from the snow seeping into his clothes. His ribs hurt and he had trouble breathing. He was dizzy and his eyes refused to focus for more than a few seconds at a time. Eventually, the realization that he was even leaning against a wall registered in his mind. If there was a wall, there had to be an entrance.

He began to move, arbitrarily choosing a direction, crawling on his hands and knees, his left shoulder touching the wall for guidance, for he had to keep his eyes slitted because of the intense glare and could see little. It was slow going, not the least because the pain in his body was more than he could manage at times and he had to make frequent stops to catch his breath and convince himself that moving was better than standing (or in this case, lying) still. Also, the snowdrifts here by the wall were deep in places and he sometimes had to make swimming motions as he crawled through them, thereby aggravating his injuries even more. Eventually, though, he reached a corner and turned left.

His head was pounding and his limbs trembled with fatigue. He thought he slept for a bit, for he found himself waking up. He started moving again and came to another corner. Now the glare was less intense with the bulk of the building blocking some of the sunlight and he found the shade a blessed relief. Then the wall ceased altogether and he fell on his left shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain that became a whimper as waves of nausea swept through him. He feared he would be sick and indeed he was, adding misery upon misery. Still, afterwards his head no longer hurt and he could think more clearly. He struggled up to a sitting position and took in his surroundings.

He was at an entrance, tall and imposing, with carved figures of eagles on either side gracing the top of the huge mithril gates which stood open, their wings outspread and touching to form an arch. Crystal globes stood on pillars of ice before the entrance, illuminating the area with a rainbow of light that shimmered above him. Beyond the gates was a flagged courtyard with a fountain that burbled even at this great height amidst the snows, the water dancing around a statue of Varda, her hands outstretched above her, a single living star suspended between them, glowing and pulsating gently. And beyond that....

With growing horror Glorfindel realized that he was where he had been forbidden to come. He was sitting before the gates of Ilmarin, the mansion of Manwë and Varda, on Taniquetil.

Panic set in. It did not matter that he had been brought here against his will. He was not supposed to be here. For a brief moment he considered making his way into the courtyard to seek aid for his injuries but he dismissed the idea almost at once. Injured or not, he had no business being there. He tried to stand but another wave of dizziness brought him back down to his knees and with a muffled sob he began crawling away from the gates. His only thought was to get down the mountain before the Valar or their servants discovered him there. He had an idea that punishment would be swift and highly unpleasant if he were caught anywhere on the mountain.

He crawled, collapsing at times when the pain became too overwhelming or his strength failed him. Somehow he managed to find the road that led between Ilmarin and Vanyamar and the going was somewhat easier, but his relief did not last. Suddenly, as out of nowhere, a fierce wind arose and the light was blocked out by squalls of snow that blew around him. He could no longer see where he was going. Still, he continued crawling, the need to get down the mountain his only thought.

It was too much, though, and finally he sprawled upon the ground weeping in despair until he fell into unconsciousness.

He was never aware of the three Maiar who had followed him and now stood guard over him. Nor was he aware of the cloaked figure who appeared out of the storm, gathering him into his arms and carrying him away.

****

Warmth and the absence of pain greeted him upon his waking. That and darkness. He was lying on something soft, and a fur rug covered him. As his eyes became more focused he realized that there was the flickering light of a fire nearby so he was relieved to know he was not blind. He tried to sit up but someone loomed over him and pressed him back down with a gentle yet firm hand.

"Stay still," the figure said. In the flickering of light and shadows cast by the fire Glorfindel could not see who it was. The voice was soft and he could not decide if it were male or female and decided he didn’t care.

"Wh-where?" was all he had the strength to say.

"You are safe," the figure said. "Go back to sleep. You are still recovering from your injuries."

Glorfindel felt a cool hand on his forehead and before he could utter a protest he felt himself spinning back down into unconsciousness and sleep overtook him once again.

****

He was feeling hot and then cold and he had a terrible thirst and nightmares assailed him. He woke at one point screaming and felt himself being cradled and a lullaby crooned over him until he fell asleep again. He was bathed in cool cloths or additional blankets were piled over him when the fever or chills became too much. He woke two or three times to the sound of his own weeping. Then someone would gather him into their arms and rock him back and forth in an attempt to offer comfort. There was none to be had, but he would eventually fall asleep again, his tears spent.

Finally, he woke feeling clearheaded. He lay there for a moment or two enjoying the luxury of not being in pain. He felt weak, but not terribly so and slowly he sat up and looked around. He was in a cave, rough-hewn but warm and dry. He was lying on a shelf of rock with several thick piles of fur under him and another covering him. A small fire danced merrily nearby, its smoke drawn towards a slit in the rock above it. He did not see any opening leading to the outside and concluded he must be in an inner chamber. He found a small flagon of water sitting on the floor next to him and eagerly drank from it. Hunger awoke in him then and he wondered how long it had been since he had last eaten. He was about to rise from his bed in search of food when he heard someone approaching the chamber. Realizing he was naked Glorfindel hastily returned to the bed and covered himself up.

The person entered and he found himself looking upon one who appeared to be an elf, and by his beard, one of the oldest. The ellon was dark-haired and grey-eyed, his beard long and flowing. He wore a shapeless brown robe cinched at the waist by a length of rope. He was carrying a tray and smiled when he saw that Glorfindel was awake.

"Ah, awake at last, are you? Good. Good. I’ve brought you some broth to sip on." He sat on the edge of the shelf and laid the tray on the floor beside him, picking up the bowl and a spoon. Glorfindel found himself feeling weak all of a sudden as the smell of the broth assailed him. He had been without food for longer than he thought. With trembling fingers he reached out for the bowl but found it difficult to hold it.

"Here, let me hold it for you," the stranger said and handed him the spoon. Glorfindel leaned over and ladled some of the broth onto the spoon and with his first sip felt as if the world had righted itself and all was now well. He concentrated on finishing the broth, content to wait until later to demand answers to the questions roiling within him. Soon the broth was gone and then he was chewing slowly on a piece of soft bread while the stranger refilled his water flagon.

Finally, having had his fill of food, Glorfindel leaned back against the wall of the cave, wrapping the fur rug around him and gave the strange elf a nod. "Thank you."

"You’re most welcome youngling," the elf said with a smile.

"My name is Glor..."

"Glorfindel, yes I know. You may call me Yáravinyon."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at hearing the elf name himself, but decided to concentrate on more pressing matters. "Where am I?"

"My home," Yáravinyon said simply and gave a small chuckle at Glorfindel’s expression. "Oh, it’s not as terrible as all that, child. These caves are quite warm and offer good protection. My needs are simple and my wants few. I am content. Now, I have made an attempt to repair and clean your clothes but I will admit I’m somewhat lacking in skill in that area, so you will have to make do with one of my own robes. Not as fine as what you are used to wearing, no doubt, but adequate to your needs at the moment."

Glorfindel shook his head. "I am grateful for whatever you choose to give me for my comfort."

Yáravinyon gave him a searching look. "Polite, if nothing else," he finally said as he stood up. "There is a place nearby where you can bathe and no doubt you would like to use the privy."

Glorfindel nodded, suddenly aware of his body’s demands and with some help from Yáravinyon, stood up, the rug still wrapped around him. Yáravinyon led him to another chamber lit by several candles. There was a pool of hot water, the water flowing out at one end and disappearing into the wall. He saw a square of rough cloth on the edge of the pool along with some cleansing sand and a neatly folded robe. The older elf pointed to another opening along one side. "You’ll find the privy that way. Take care in getting into the pool for the water is quite hot, but not scalding. Take your time. When you are finished follow the passage back to the sleeping chamber. I will wait for you there." So saying he gave Glorfindel another smile and left him to his own devices.

Returning from the privy, Glorfindel took some time to undo his braids so he could wash his hair and was glad to see that a comb and a small bowl had been included with the other bathing paraphernalia. He put the beads and gems in the bowl, removing as well the velvet bag around his neck which held the beryl Olórin had gifted him. It was only then that he realized that his peridot ring was missing. He wondered at that but was not sure where he might have lost it. Indeed, it never occurred to him to think that someone might have taken it. He regretted the loss but knew there was nothing he could do about it now. Sighing, he stepped into the pool.

The water was indeed hot, but pleasantly so, and Glorfindel felt his muscles easing and he almost fell asleep. He washed himself and finally, almost reluctantly, he got out, shivering in the colder air as he dried himself off and put the robe on. He picked up the bowl and comb and took them with him back to the sleeping chamber, intending to rebraid his hair later when it was drier.

"Feeling better?" the older elf asked when he entered the chamber to find that the other elf had brought more food for him.

"Yes, thank you." Glorfindel sat on the shelf and looked at the tray of food with interest. He did not think he could be hungry again so soon, but the sight and smell of the thick stew made him salivate and without any encouragement he fell to eating it. Yáravinyon looked on with an indulgent smile. Soon the bowl was empty and Glorfindel felt stronger than he had, but now he was also feeling sleepy again and attempted to suppress a yawn.

"Why don’t you lie down for a bit?" Yáravinyon said. "You are still recovering and will no doubt require much sleep. I know you have many questions, but they will wait. You won’t be going anywhere soon I’m afraid, as there is quite a storm raging outside."

Glorfindel went still at those words. He vaguely remembered being caught in a storm as he tried to get off the mountain. "Am I still on the mountain?"

"Hmm, yes."

"Then I cannot stay, I must get off." Glorfindel started to rise, but Yáravinyon pushed him back down.

"Not so fast, youngling. As I said, no one is going anywhere. A storm rages across the whole mountain range and you would be lost within a minute if you were to step outside. You are safe enough here."

"No, you don’t understand," Glorfindel was beginning to feel panic and anger spurred him. "I cannot stay here. I’ve been forbidden..."

"Ah, so that’s the way of it," the older elf said, the light of understanding in his eyes. "Rest assured, child, that the Valar are neither vindictive nor unreasonable. I have no doubt that they are quite aware of where you are and why. Have you no trust in their mercy?"

Glorfindel subsided then and shook his head. "Lord Námo told me if I disobeyed I would not enjoy the consequences."

"But have you disobeyed them, child?" Yáravinyon asked gently. "Did you deliberately climb the mountain?"

Glorfindel shook his head again. "It doesn’t matter. I’m on the mountain. I’m not supposed to be on the mountain. I have to get off. Please, I have to leave." He was panicking again and weeping in frustration. Suddenly, Yáravinyon took him into his embrace and held him, letting him cry himself out.

"It does matter, child," the elf said soothingly. "The Valar are not tyrants. You need not fear them. You’ve done nothing wrong. Others have wronged you. Now, lie down and sleep. As soon as the storm ends I will lead you to Vanyamar. Sleep now, child... sleep... and do not fear. All will be well."

With that, he laid Glorfindel back down onto the bed and covered him up, stroking his forehead and crooning a lullaby until the younger elf fell asleep.

****

How long he was there, Glorfindel never knew. He slept much of the time, and ate when he awoke. He remembered taking another bath at one point. Mostly he and Yáravinyon sat on the sleeping shelf while Glorfindel told him about his life, both before and after his death. Yáravinyon proved a good listener and encouraged the younger elf to speak. When he came to describing the events leading to his coming to Valmar, though, Glorfindel found himself shaking for no particular reason and could not speak for some time.

"You suffered a grave shock to your fëa, child," Yáravinyon said, laying a comforting arm around the ellon’s shoulders. "It was a frightening experience for you and I do not believe you have recovered completely from the trauma."

"I was back in Gondolin," Glorfindel said, a haunted look upon his face. "It was so dead. Every time I thought of Gondolin I remembered how alive it was, but this was a dead city and its very... deadness frightened me. I didn’t belong there any more and that frightened me even more."

"As well it should, child," the other elf said. "As well it should. The Past is a dangerous place to be, for it is full of regrets and ‘should-have-beens’. It does no good to dwell there overlong. The present moment is all any of us are ever offered, even we who will live until all the ages of Arda are spent. Take joy in the Present and leave the Past where it belongs."

The older elf’s words brought comfort to Glorfindel and he was able to continue his narrative, bringing the tale up to the point of his attack.

"It grieves me, though it does not surprise me, that Vorondil was involved," Glorfindel commented when he was finished. "Ever did he despise me, though I took little account of it, thinking it was only spite."

"That any elf would offer violence to another elf is even more disturbing," Yáravinyon replied with a troubled look.

Glorfindel merely shrugged and that one gesture grieved the older elf even more at the thought of such innocence lost that this child would accept the idea of violence against another elf as all too common an event to comment on.

"I wish this storm would end," Glorfindel said at the last.

"Do you tire of my company so soon, youngling?" Yáravinyon asked with a wry grin and Glorfindel blushed.

"Nay, I do not," he answered, "but I chafe at the enforced inactivity. My friends will be worrying for me and wondering if I am well. And the... silence of the Valar is... deafening."

Yáravinyon raised an eyebrow at that. "An interesting turn of phrase, but I think you are rather missing the point."

"What do you mean?" Glorfindel asked in puzzlement.

Yáravinyon gave the younger elf a piercing glance. "Who do you think told me where to find you?"

Glorfindel stared at the older elf in shock. Yáravinyon merely nodded and took his leave, wishing the younger elf a good night. It was a long time though before Glorfindel could fall asleep.

And the storm raged for three more days.

70: Hunter and Hunted

The ride north through the night was both glorious and frightening. As promised, Finrod and Ingwion took the lead with Arafinwë and Laurendil directly behind them. The Maiar ranged about them on either side and behind while Sador rode next to Oromë in the middle of the cavalcade. Sador felt both sick and feral and he could not get the image of blood — the flowing warmth, the salty taste — out of his mind. He leaned over his horse, urging it to greater speeds, losing himself to the bloodlust. Oromë reached over and with a single hand plucked the ellon from his horse and settled the elf before him, wrapping a protective arm around Sador’s middle.

"No!" Sador screamed in embarrassment, struggling against the Vala.

He saw Finrod turn around and give him a fierce smile that caused the ellon to moan as a wave of darkness swept through him. He could not understand what was happening to him as ecstasy took him. Oromë held him close.

"Did I not warn you that there were grave consequences for both Hunter and Hunted, child?" the Vala asked. "You feel the bloodlust, don’t you?"

At Sador’s nod, the Vala began singing. It was a wild song of the chase yet, oddly, it did not evoke any further emotions of a dark nature. Instead, Sador found himself growing calmer and more focused, the blood images receding and other images of green forests and open glades under starlight taking their place. He felt one with the Vala’s song of fresh earth and green smells, which banished the tangy iron smell of freshly flowing blood from his nostrils. The Maiar picked up the song and the sound of it was both joyous and terrible and Sador wept cleansing tears of release as the dark wave receded, though the ecstasy remained. He must have fallen asleep for he suddenly came to when the rush of hooves slowed and Sador saw they had come to a road heading north.

Finrod reined his steed and waited until Oromë came up beside him, casting a concerned look at Sador who was eyeing him with some embarrassment. "Are you well, gwador?"

It was Oromë who answered, though. "Do not fear, Findaráto. Your brother was merely overcome with the call of the chase. He is well. I will see that he does not suffer unduly from the Hunt."

Finrod nodded, then leaned over and, taking Sador by the back of his head, gave him a brief kiss on the brow before releasing him. Then without a word he joined Ingwion at the front and the cavalcade continued along the road. The stars wheeled across the heavens as the night slipped towards dawn. Sador was now wide awake.

"Look! What’s that?" he pointed towards the east where the sky was beginning to lighten. Far in the distance he could see a mountain rising above the plain, its peaks wreathed in eternal snows. Much of the lower part of the mountain was covered with clouds, though the highest peaks rose clear above them.

"That is Oiolossë," Oromë explained.

Finrod called out. "There is a storm on the mountain."

"Yes. My brother Manwë’s work is quite spectacular, is it not?" the Vala replied.

"But what does it mean?" Sador asked, wondering if the storm had anything to do with Glorfindel being missing.

Oromë looked down at the ellon sitting before him and smiled, though Sador could not see it. "It means there’s a storm on the mountain, child, nothing more."

Sador nodded and settled back into Oromë’s embrace, content to be carried to their destination. The road they were on veered towards the east. Now the sun, rising above the horizon, was in their eyes. Another, narrower road led towards the northwest. Finrod called a halt, leading them to a copse some small distance from the roads.

"We will rest here for a few hours, I think," Finrod said to Oromë. "Valar and Maiar can go without rest but I would not want to weary these fine horses and I for one am ready to drop."

"Then we will rest," Oromë said, handing Sador down to the ground before dismounting himself. "My people will see to the horses and we will have a fire and something hot to eat before you sleep."

By this time the other elves had dismounted and joined Finrod and Sador. Arafinwë glanced at the young Sinda. "You are well, yonya?"

"Yes, Atar," Sador said. "I...I’m just not used to all this."

"Nor am I," Laurendil said. "I almost feared being swept away by my emotions, but somehow managed to pull myself back."

Oromë gave the Noldo a wry grin. "You have been on the Hunt before in Endórë, my son, though you did not recognize it as such. Sador, on the other hand, has never experienced the Hunt and so was more susceptible to the lure of the bloodlust. He will do better now, I think." The Vala gave the young Sinda a warm smile and Sador smiled shyly back.

In a short time the elves were fed and all but Arafinwë were fast asleep. The Noldóran sat by the fire speaking softly to Oromë, describing the trial and what came of it.

"So much hate," Arafinwë said, shaking his head. "Melkor did his work too well, I fear."

"But Eru will not be denied," Oromë said, "and the Marring will someday be transmuted into Healing for us all."

"I don’t even know what would be an appropriate punishment," Arafinwë confessed. "I am almost tempted to ask my son what he would have done as king if the situation had arisen in Nargothrond."

"Why don’t you?" the Vala asked gently.

Arafinwë grimaced. "I do not wish to appear... naive before my firstborn. Stupid, I know..."

"Not stupid at all, Atar."

Arafinwë and Oromë looked up to see Finrod sitting up.

"Forgive us, yonya, we did not mean to disturb you."

"You were not disturbing me, Atar." Finrod stood up and came and sat down beside him. "I am grieved that you have been put in such an untenable position." He sighed as he looked into the fire. "Eru knows I had more than my share of trials while king thanks to Fëanáro’s legacy of hatred and mistrust." He glanced at Arafinwë. "I do not think the less of you because you do not know how to handle this situation and I will gladly give you my thoughts if you ask for them."

"Thank you, yonya," Arafinwë said with all sincerity. "Your words of encouragement mean more to me than you will ever know. I think in the long run it will be I who will learn the meaning of kingship from you rather than the other way around."

"Nay," Finrod countered with a shake of his head. "I think we will learn from each other, Atar, as is only meet."

Arafinwë gave his son a hug and then at Oromë’s suggestion they both lay down to sleep, leaving only the Lord of the Forest and his Maiar servants awake and on guard.

****

The sun was two-thirds down the western sky before they set off again. This time, Sador rode his own horse and did not succumb to wild emotions. They moved along the northwest road. Oromë explained to Sador where they were going as they rode.

"This is the Mall’ Etelerroron, which leads eventually to Formenos. Long has that place of exile stood empty, but I fear that soon it will not be. The royal hunting lodge of Ingwë lies nearly halfway to Formenos from Vanyamar, deep in a forest to the west of the road. We will arrive at the lodge an hour or so after sunset."

"And what will we find there when we arrive?" Sador asked.

"Answers," Arafinwë called out from ahead, his voice cold and implacable. "Answers to questions I never thought to have to ask."

The rest of the journey was done in silence. At some point Ingwion veered west off the road along a track that was barely perceptible to Sador. Then, they were slowing down and finally Ingwion called a halt.

"The lodge lies less than a quarter mile from here," he explained. "I would take them by surprise if I can, so we will leave the horses here."

Oromë nodded. "We will be here when you return."

"You do not come with us?" Sador asked in surprise, for he simply assumed that the Vala and Maiar would accompany them all the way.

Oromë shook his head. "This Hunt is yours, my children."

Laurendil turned to Finrod. "You have my life, aranya. Tell me what you wish from me."

Finrod nodded. "I would ask that you stay close to Sador. This will be a new experience for him and he might be overwhelmed by what happens. No, gwador," Finrod turned to Sador who was looking rebellious, "I do not disparage your bravery, but Laurendil has had greater experience in these matters and you can learn much from him. Also, though you go armed, you have little skill in fighting."

"Actually, yonya," Arafinwë said with a wry smile, "that could hold true for myself and Ingwion as well. Only you and Laurendil have had any real experience in bearing weapons of war."

"True, but you and Ingwion know well the weapons of the hunt and so I do not have any fear for either of you. Sador, on the other hand, has not had such experiences."

Sador still looked rebellious at Finrod’s words but allowed himself to be led by Laurendil into the woods and soon the seriousness of their mission imposed itself upon his consciousness and his resentment abated. They moved noiselessly through the woods, following Ingwion, who alone knew the way with any degree of certainty. Soon they found themselves looking at a turreted lodge made from stone set in a small clearing. Lights flickered through the windows. Ingwion drew them together and whispered a description of the lodge’s layout.

"There is one large room on the ground floor with a kitchen in the back. Stairs to the left of the main door lead to a sleeping loft. There is a back entrance through the kitchen."

"Laurendil, Sador and I will take the back entrance," Arafinwë said, "while you and Findaráto go through the front."

Ingwion and Finrod nodded. "What are you going to do, exactly?" Sador asked them. "Ring the bell?"

Finrod grinned. "The idea has its merits, especially as the door may be bolted now that it is after dark. We will need to get inside somehow."

So it was decided and Arafinwë led the way for the other two ellyn as they moved towards the back of the lodge. The door, when they tried it, was bolted from inside, so they hid themselves in the darkness and waited.

****

Vorondil was sipping some mulled wine before the fireplace when there was a banging at the front door. The sound of it startled him and he jumped, spilling some of the wine on him. He muttered an oath. Ingoldo, on the other hand, merely looked up from his book in disgust.

"It had better be important whoever it is," he said. "I come here each year to get away from the court."

"Is that what it is then?" Vorondil asked somewhat nervously. "Some messenger from Vanyamar?"

"We’ll see soon enough," the Vanya said as he nodded to Tulcaner who was acting as Ingoldo’s body servant tonight. There were about a half dozen guards at the lodge, and they took turns seeing to their lord’s needs. Tulcaner went to the door and unbarred it, opening it and stepping back in surprise when he saw Ingwion standing there with another elf he did not know.

Ingwion did not wait for the guard to let him in but entered in an imperious manner. "Ah, Uncle. I trust your hunting has been fruitful this time? And Vorondil, is it?"

Vorondil just sat there staring at Ingwion and Finrod stupidly, trying to understand why they would be there. Ingoldo looked at his nephew warily, suddenly afraid. Finrod noticed immediately that Vorondil had taken to wearing warrior braids, though they were sloppily done and looked somewhat ludicrous on the ellon. At the sight of the braids, his expression darkened to wrath. At the same time, Ingwion noticed the peridot ring on Vorondil’s left ring finger. In two strides he was upon the younger ellon with a long knife against Vorondil’s throat.

"You have something that does not belong to you, child," the Vanyarin prince said in a whisper that was terrible to hear, for it was ice cold and a fell light shone from his eyes. Vorondil quailed at the feel of steel against his flesh but he kicked out at Ingwion’s legs and the move surprised the prince enough to force him to step back. Vorondil took advantage of this and ran towards the back of the lodge. There was a confused noise behind him but he paid little heed as he raced through the kitchen to unbolt the back door. He was through and running towards the nearby woods when something tackled him from behind and he fell. In minutes he was being trussed up and upon being brought to his feet, discovered that his attacker had been the Sinda potter and that surprised him all the more, for he had dismissed Sador as unimportant.

Arafinwë and Laurendil, meantime, had rushed into the lodge to help Ingwion and Finrod. Most of the guards had retired and were found in the sleeping loft. Ingwion relieved them of all weapons and marched them down the stairs where Laurendil began tying them up even as Sador brought Vorondil inside. Ingoldo tried to brave it out, but Ingwion’s presence unnerved him as nothing else could and he was soon confessing to his nephew his role in the conspiracy. Tulcaner managed to escape in the confusion, though Ingwion did not doubt that he would be found soon enough.

Vorondil received the brunt of Ingwion and Finrod’s questioning. Finrod, still furious, cut Vorondil’s braids off and threw them into the fire. Ingwion ripped the ring from the ellon’s finger, holding it up for all to see.

"This ring belongs to Glorfindel, given to him by Lord Manwë himself. What did you do with him, Vorondil?"

"I did nothing," the ellon cried, white-faced with his own fury at what Finrod had just done to him. "I never touched him."

"How did you come by the ring, child?" Arafinwë asked but Vorondil refused to answer and short of beating it out of him (Laurendil’s suggestion) there was little they could do at the moment.

Ingoldo was tied up as well and soon they were all marching through the woods towards where Oromë awaited them. When those from the lodge saw the Vala, many quailed, Ingoldo and Vorondil especially. Oromë took one look at them all then pointed to three of the guards.

"These three are innocent of any wrongdoing. They may be released and their weapons returned to them. As for these others..."

The Vala looked at the remaining guards as well as Ingoldo and Vorondil and his anger was terrible to behold. One of the guards was violently ill and another fainted outright. Ingoldo paled and Vorondil screamed. One of the Maiar had to grab him and hold him down, for he tried to flee, bound though he was.

"There is one other who escaped," Arafinwë said.

"He will not get far," Oromë said, his expression softening as he looked upon the King of the Noldor. "You have done well, my children. I am pleased with the outcome of this Hunt."

"But we haven’t found Glorfindel, lord," Sador said, his expression one of confusion.

"That was not the purpose of the Hunt, otorno," Ingwion said, laying a hand on the younger ellon’s shoulder. "It was never about finding Glorfindel. He was the bait and has served his purpose. This was always about finding those responsible for breaking the Sérë Valaron and bringing them to justice."

"Glorfindel will return when it is proper for him to do so," Oromë said with a gentle smile for the Sinda who still looked doubtful. "Now, come to me, child."

Sador moved to stand before the Vala. With a swift motion Oromë grabbed Vorondil by the hair and forced him to kneel before him. Vorondil looked as if he would faint at any moment, his face white with shock. The Vala’s expression was dark and forbidding, yet his tone, when he spoke, was almost mild, which only made it worse for all who heard it.

"You play a dangerous game, Vorondil Aldundilion, a game you know little about. You will be judged by those whom you have wronged and if you are lucky you will not be brought to stand before the Valar in the Máhanaxar. For now, though, you will serve another purpose."

Oromë took a knife and, grabbing the ellon’s arm, slit the tunic and shirt underneath and made a shallow cut. Vorondil cried out but otherwise did not seek to escape from Oromë’s grip. The Vala allowed the blood to well up before dipping his fingers in it and then smearing it on Sador’s forehead and cheeks.

"Our quarry was no fell creature of the dark but elves who have known nothing but the light of the Valar’s benevolence. Yet, they would seek to disturb the peace which this land enjoys out of spite and malice and even just for the fun of it." Here the Vala cast his gaze on Ingoldo who reeled slightly at the force of Oromë’s regard but otherwise stood his ground. "You have participated in your first Hunt, Sador Bronwegion. You have done well and I am pleased with you. Remember the blood of this one that I have smeared upon your brow and cheeks. Remember the cost to you and to your brother for this one’s folly."

"What cost to me, lord?" Sador asked. "Vorondil has done nothing to me personally."

"Has he not?" Oromë countered. "His folly brought you to the Hunt and the lust for blood that is a consequence of it. Few among the Eldar do I invite to participate in the Hunt, for the cost in innocence can be terrible indeed."

"But I am no innocent, lord," Sador replied. "I have taken lives and all of them elves. I am as guilty of Kinslaying as any who attacked Alqualondë or the Havens."

"Had you truly been guilty of Kinslaying, child," Oromë said, "you would not have been as disturbed by the feelings of bloodlust as you were. No, you were ever innocent and now it has been lost to the evil these others would do."

Oromë then pressed his hand upon the cut on Vorondil’s arm and soon the blood stopped flowing and the cut was healed as if it had never been. "My people will take these to Vanyamar," the Vala said. "You, my children, have yet another task."

"Is the Hunt still on then?" Finrod asked wearily, for now that the excitement of the chase was over he was feeling exhausted.

For the first time that night, Oromë smiled and it was as if the sun had risen. "Nay, child. The Hunt is over. This is something else entirely. For now, return to the lodge and rest. What else needs doing can wait until morning. Sleep well, my children, and fear not. I will set my people to guard you."

With that, Oromë issued orders and soon several of the Maiar were riding swiftly away, each with a prisoner before them. The three guards whom the Vala had declared innocent also left with the Maiar. Arafinwë gave Oromë a bow and the others echoed him before they returned to the lodge. In a short while all five elves were fast asleep. The Maiar ringed the lodge, swords of light drawn. Oromë stood at the edge of the clearing where the lodge was situated and danced under the stars to music only he could hear.

****

Note: The concept of Oromë’s Hunt is based very loosely on the Wild Hunt, which is a popular mythological motif throughout Europe (known as wilde Jagd in Germany), though I have taken my cue from the myths of the British Isles where the hunt is led by either Herne the Hunter (British) or Gwynn ap Nudd, King of Annwfn (Welsh). Annwfn is the Welsh Overworld.

71: Formenos

Sador woke to full daylight and realized that he was alone in the sleeping loft. He went through his ablutions in record time and was soon joining the others in breaking his fast, feeling somewhat embarrassed at sleeping so late.

Finrod smiled at him. "Do not fret so, brother. You are quite young and the Hunt is very exhausting to those of us who are not Maiar or Valar. You have done quite well. I remember the first time Lord Oromë invited me to the Hunt. I slept for days afterwards and I was several centuries older than you are now."

Sador was mollified by Finrod’s words and soon forgot his embarrassment. "Where are we going now, do you know?" he asked the other elves but none of them had an answer.

When they had finished eating and had put the lodge in order, Ingwion locked the doors with the key he had found on his uncle and they made their way back along the track to where the horses were picketed. There they found Lord Oromë standing beside Nahar, now glowing white in the sun. Of the Maiar there was no sign.

Oromë smiled at them and gestured to Sador to approach him, taking the younger ellon by the shoulders and gazing into his eyes. Sador felt himself falling into an Abyss that was not cold and empty but warm and fecund with potentiality. He felt his mind opening to the Vala’s touch. He did not flinch nor did he feel fear, though he wondered briefly if he should, for the Vala’s gaze was on one level quite frightening. Yet, there was a sense of serenity to it that Sador welcomed and so he allowed himself to fall, trusting that the Vala would catch him in the end. He did not know how long it lasted and he seemed to come to himself only when he felt Oromë kiss him on the brow. He blinked, feeling slightly disoriented and saw the Vala nod in satisfaction, though he said nothing and Sador found he was disinclined to speak himself.

Without a word, Oromë released his hold on Sador and turned to mount his steed. Finrod had to take Sador’s arm and lead him to his horse and help him mount before going to his own steed. Then the elves were following the still silent Vala back to the Mall’ Etelerroron. Sador was surprised when Oromë led them, not south towards Vanyamar, but north.

"Why do you lead us to Formenos, lord?" Arafinwë asked and the sound of his voice, though softly spoken, rang harshly in the silence that had enveloped them until then.

"Is that where I lead you, Pityahuan?" Oromë countered mildly.

"There is nothing else that lies in this direction, lord," Arafinwë said, not to be put off.

Oromë stopped and the others followed suit. He gazed at the King of the Noldor with something like amusement, though his eyes were dark and the elves, except Arafinwë, found it difficult to look at the Vala directly. "My brothers taught you well, young Arafinwë. You were ever an apt pupil."

"I do not desire to visit the site of my atar’s death," Arafinwë said coldly. "I will not sully myself by going to a place touched by Melkor’s evil."

"Then you are already lost, child," Oromë said, his voice going cold. "For the very ground you ride upon has been touched by my Fallen Brother’s hand and evil is all around."

Arafinwë went white at the Vala’s words and swayed slightly. Finrod reached out to take his atar’s arm and steady him. For a long moment no one spoke or moved, then with a stifled sob Arafinwë dismounted and began walking away from them. Finrod started to follow but Oromë stayed him with a look.

"Let him be, child," the Vala said. "This is a battle only he can fight."

So they waited in silence, watching as Arafinwë walked towards a stand of trees and, entering the woods, was soon lost to sight, but not to hearing, for after a few minutes they heard him scream in rage. Ingwion went white at the sound. Finrod and Laurendil both sat looking grim, their eyes dark with their own memories of battles fought within themselves. Sador closed his eyes and leaned against his horse’s neck, his fingers wrapped tightly in the beast’s mane. Oromë never moved and his expression was unreadable.

Then there was absolute silence, which seemed even worse than the screaming. It was nearly an hour later before they saw Arafinwë come out of the woods. The others had dismounted in the meantime, standing by their horses and waiting. Arafinwë’s hair was in disarray, twigs and leaves caught in his locks. His expression was bleak and he did not speak nor would he look any in the eye, merely mounting his horse. Oromë gazed upon him placidly then nodded.

"Let us ride," he said quietly and without another word mounted his horse and set Nahar to a gallop. The others followed. Finrod cast a worried glance at his atar but Arafinwë kept his eyes on Oromë and would not acknowledge anyone else’s presence.

For several hours they rode thus, stopping only once to allow the horses to drink from a stream and to see to their own needs. Arafinwë refused to speak and the other elves left him alone, much as it grieved them to do so. Sador seemed the most affected by Arafinwë’s silence and Oromë took a moment to quietly reassure the young ellon, rubbing his back and stroking his hair until the elf was calmer.

"Arafinwë is fighting a battle with himself, child," the Vala told him. "One that all must fight at some point in their lives, even you."

"I don’t understand," Sador said, his voice full of confusion. "What battle?"

"Whether or not to let go of the Past... all of it. Not just this part or that, but everything and everyone. Your atar has yet to let go of that part that concerns his own atar."

"B-but if I... if I let go of it, will I not lose it?" Sador tried to understand the Vala’s words but failed. "How can I lose my family all over again?"

"You will not, child," Oromë assured him. "Letting go is not the same as abandoning or forgetting. Letting go is allowing the Past to be the Past and not some adjunct of the Present. Letting go allows one to live in the Present in hope for the Future, not in regret for what was or what might have been. Arafinwë needs to let go of his atar’s memory. Only when he has done so will he be able to do what is necessary as Noldóran."

Sador gave the Vala a quizzical look and then his expression cleared somewhat. "You mean... the judgment against the people who... kidnapped me."

Oromë nodded and gave the ellon a hug, pleased that this Child was learning his lessons so well. The Valar had high hopes for this one and Námo’s decision to release him from Mandos earlier than would have been proper was ably justified by Sador’s actions to date.

They resumed their ride and sunset found them approaching the vale where Formenos stood. By mutual consent they slowed to a halt and spent a few moments gazing at the fortress that Fëanor and his sons had built in their exile from Tirion. It was a grim looking place and Sador had in his mind the sense that it was more a prison than a home.

"Yes, this will do," Arafinwë whispered and the other elves started at his words, so used had they become to his silence.

Without another word, Arafinwë spurred his horse forward and soon they were all at the front doors of the fortress. They hung open, one door half off its hinges. Inside, centuries of dust and debris covered the floors and there was the musty smell of decay. They walked warily through the rooms until they came upon an inner room where no windows were. Finrod and Laurendil hastily made torches from rags and they saw an iron vault, its door open. Inside were three golden frames on pieces of moldering velvet. All of them stood there in awe, realizing what had once lain there.

"He should have given them up," Arafinwë said, staring at the frames, his expression as bleak as they had ever seen it. "They weren’t worth the price we all paid for them, the price some of us are still paying."

"Perhaps not," Oromë said. "That is neither here nor there, now. The question before you Pityahuan is this: what price are you still willing to pay for clinging as fiercely to these as your half-brother did?" He pointed to the empty frames where once three Silmarils had sat, their light hidden away by more than just an iron door.

Arafinwë did not answer immediately, but finally he turned away from the vault and looked at Oromë directly, then fell to his knees. "Forgive me, lord. I have been a fool and worse than a fool."

"Nonsense, my child," Oromë said kindly. "You have been a faithful son who did not wish to give up his memories of one who could not be the atar he should have been to you. Your loyalty does you credit. Your willingness to put the Past aside does you even more. I am proud of you Arafinwë and am pleased that you are finally ready to let go. Now tell me your thoughts."

Oromë raised Arafinwë to his feet and gave him a smile which the Noldóran returned somewhat shakily.

"I think Formenos will be inhabited again."

Oromë nodded. "I think so, too."

****

They spent the next three days cleaning the place up as best they could, removing as much of the dust and debris as they were able. Maiar came and helped them fix the front doors and to remove the vault. Arafinwë gave orders to have it and its contents melted down.

"Let Lord Aulë do with it as he wishes. Perhaps a better use will be found for this metal than the one my brother put it to."

Finally, Arafinwë was satisfied that they had done what they could. "I will have others sent up to finish cleaning and getting the place ready for those who will live here for a time."

"How will you ensure that they will not just leave?" Sador asked, but it was Oromë who answered, looking grave.

"We will ensure it, my son. My brother Námo will speak the doom before all."

The elves looked at the Vala with surprise, even Arafinwë. "Must it really come to that, lord?" he asked sorrowfully, well remembering the last time the Lord of Mandos had spoken a similar doom upon his half-brother.

"The Sérë Valaron has been seriously disrupted, Arafinwë," Oromë said somewhat coldly, the fire of anger in his eyes causing them all to flinch. "We will not permit those who are guilty to go unpunished, even if you are willing to let them go."

"But isn’t that our decision to make, lord?" Ingwion asked. "Lord Ulmo told me that the Valar will not interfere with the internal problems of the Eldar."

Oromë nodded. "Nor will we, but are we not also of Aman, more so than even the Eldar? Our Peace has been broken as has not happened since before the Darkening when Fëanáro threatened Ñolofinwë. Those sent here will learn the meaning of justice at our hands, justice as well as mercy."

No one dared dispute the Vala’s words. Soon they were ready to leave, though Oromë declined to accompany them.

"I feel the need to hunt, my children, far to the north where fell beasts still roam. I will leave you now. You have all done well, and I am pleased with you, as is my brother, Manwë. Return now to Vanyamar. Glorfindel waits for you there with much impatience." He smiled then and gave each of them a kiss on the forehead, lingering somewhat when he came to Sador, as if he was loath to let him go. Then he mounted Nahar and the Maiar who were there joined him on their own horses. As Oromë rode away they heard him raise his voice in song and for a moment they were caught up in the thrill of the chase that the music evoked within them, then the Vala and his Maiar attendants melted into the fabric of the landscape and the elves found themselves alone.

Arafinwë was the first to stir. "Let us go. Your brother is waiting for us."

72: Return to Vanyamar

Long before the storm blew itself out Glorfindel was ready to scream. Only the fact that he was still recovering from his beating prevented him from running out of the cave to brave the blizzard, that and the fact that Yáravinyon had calmly taken away his robe and the fur rugs that made up his bed when Glorfindel tried to leave anyway late on the second day.

"When you are ready to see reason and not act like a petulant elfling, I will return these to you," the older elf said to the ellon raging before him, his face burning with humiliation at how easily Yáravinyon had stripped him of his robe.

Yáravinyon left Glorfindel to himself for a time. At first the younger ellon stood screaming his frustration, pounding his fists on the rock face of the chamber, but finally he wore himself out and collapsed in a huddle upon the cold floor. Thus, it was, when Yáravinyon returned some hours later with a tray of hot food he found Glorfindel lying in a fetal position rocking himself. The older elf sighed and put the tray down. He removed his own robe then reached down and picked the younger elf up as if he were no more than an elfling of ten summers. Glorfindel did not resist as Yáravinyon carried him to the bathing chamber and stepped into the hot pool, lowering the younger elf into the bubbling water.

The ellon gave an involuntary sigh and closed his eyes. Yáravinyon held him in his arms until he felt the ellon begin to relax and then let him go, keeping a steadying hand on his back so Glorfindel’s head remained above water.

"I know how frustrated you’re feeling, my son," the older elf said quietly, "but you cannot go out in the storm. You would be lost and I suspect that Lord Námo would be less than pleased to see your sorry fëa once more in his care."

Glorfindel opened his eyes at that and gave Yáravinyon a tremulous smile that soon turned into tears. "I’m sorry... I’m sorry."

The older elf took him into his embrace and rocked him gently. "I know you are, child. I’m not angry. If anything, you’ve been rather amusing. I’d forgotten how amusing elflings were."

"N-not an elfling," Glorfindel protested with a slight hiccup.

"No? Well you could have fooled me, my young elf," Yáravinyon said with a smile and Glorfindel found himself returning the smile with one of his own.

Yáravinyon released the younger ellon from his embrace. "When you are ready, I will have your robe waiting for you along with your dinner." Then he stepped out of the pool and, without bothering to dry himself off, walked out of the bathing chamber, leaving Glorfindel alone.

Glorfindel remained in the pool for some time reveling in the warmth of the water and the sense of serenity it evoked within him. Eventually, though, he did get out, hunger driving him. He returned to the sleeping chamber to find that the fur rugs had been returned along with his robe, which he donned gratefully, feeling somewhat shy now that his tantrum was over. Yáravinyon said nothing but handed him the tray with his dinner on it and with a soft ‘thank you’ Glorfindel sat down on the bed shelf and ate.

"I suspect the storm will be over by tomorrow night," the older elf said in the ensuing silence. "We can leave the next morning."

Glorfindel just nodded, now content to stay where he was. Yáravinyon smiled knowingly and when Glorfindel finished his meal, took the tray from him and wished him a good night. In minutes Glorfindel was fast asleep.

****

"If I didn’t know better, I’d swear this storm exists for the sole purpose of keeping me here with you," Glorfindel said sourly to Yáravinyon sometime during the following morning as he stared out of the cave entrance into a wall of white.

Yáravinyon only chuckled, watching the younger elf with amusement. "Rather full of yourself aren’t you?"

"What do you mean?" Glorfindel turned from the entrance to face the older elf. "I know this storm isn’t for my benefit, at least I hope it isn’t."

"Why?"

"Because it would mean that I’ve been manipulated all along," Glorfindel grimaced at the thought. "This prohibition against climbing Taniquetil, for instance. Everyone knew about it, including my enemies, it seems. I can only imagine that I was dumped on the Valar’s doorstep for the sole purpose of invoking their ire."

"If that was their intent, they have failed miserably, of that you may be assured," Yáravinyon said firmly.

"How can you be so sure of that, meldonya?" Glorfindel asked, looking perplexed. "I am sure of nothing anymore."

Yáravinyon came and placed his hands on the younger elf’s shoulders. "I am sure," he said quietly but with such authority that Glorfindel had no choice but to believe him.

"Who are you Yáravinyon?" Glorfindel finally asked, stepping back out of Yáravinyon’s hold. "Why do you haunt these caves?"

For a long moment the older elf merely stared at him and Glorfindel began to squirm under his regard. Then Yáravinyon smiled. "As to that, best beloved, I do not, as you say, haunt these caves."

Glorfindel gasped at the ellon’s words and started trembling, fear and awe warring within him as Yáravinyon slowly began to change. The dark hair lightened to a rich brown and the beard disappeared altogether. The rough robe turned into an ankle-length tunic of midnight blue velvet cinched at the waist by a belt of red-gold chain. A circlet of red-gold with a single large garnet graced his brow. Glorfindel found himself facing the Elder King of Arda.

Manwë reached him before he fell senseless to the floor.

****

Glorfindel woke to silence and thought he had somehow gone deaf, but then realized that he was no longer hearing the storm raging outside. He sat up, finding himself lying on his bed of furs. Manwë was sitting on a chair that had not been there before, gazing placidly at him. Glorfindel involuntarily shrank against the rock wall, unsure of what was happening.

Manwë raised a hand. "Peace, child, you are safe and all is well."

"I’m on the mountain," Glorfindel said flatly.

Manwë nodded. "Yes, you are, and I’ve enjoyed our time alone together... tantrums and all."

Glorfindel blushed at that and cast his eyes down in embarrassment. "So what now, lord?" he muttered without looking up.

Manwë stood up and gazed down at the ellon with great tenderness. "Now, you return to Vanyamar as I promised, but not until the morrow. Do I make myself clear?" This last was spoken with a ring of authority that caused Glorfindel to look up and nod with great sincerity.

"Yes, lord. I will not depart from here until you give me leave."

"That is well, my son. Rest now. In the morning your clothes will be returned to you and one of my people will escort you off the mountain. We will speak again soon." With that, Manwë bent down and took Glorfindel by the shoulders and gave him a kiss on the brow, then released him. Glorfindel found himself feeling inexplicably drowsy all of a sudden and was falling into a deep and dreamless sleep before Manwë disappeared, leaving the chair behind.

****

Morning came with brilliant blue skies and Anar rising merrily from the sea. Glorfindel woke to find himself feeling more refreshed than he had since his awakening in the garden of the Reborn. A tray of food sat next to his bed and across the chair were his clothes, freshly cleaned and neatly mended.

"Probably had Lady Vairë do the mending," the elf muttered, allowing himself a chuckle at the Elder King’s expense, then looked guiltily around in case he’d been overheard. When nothing untoward happened he rose from his bed and went in search of the privy and his bath before returning to don his clothes and break his fast. Only then did he make his way to the entrance to look out onto a field of white and sighed, wondering when he would be allowed to leave.

"You may leave at any time, youngling."

Glorfindel turned to see Olórin standing there smiling, his arms outstretched to receive the ellon, giving him a fierce hug.

"Oh, Olórin! Everything is so confusing. Lord Manwë pretending to be a... a... I’m not sure what he was supposed to be... and I was with him for all that time and never knew... and I’m on the mountain where I’m not supposed to be, but no one’s angry and I just don’t understand."

He was practically wailing at the last and Olórin simply laughed, hugging the ellon closer to him and giving him comfort.

"Now, tush, my elfling. It’s not as bad as all that. You should feel honored that Lord Manwë looked after you himself instead of having one of us do it. And you must not read too much into the prohibition against being on the mountain. That is for your own sake. You are not ready for what will be demanded of you when at last you are permitted to come before the Elder King on Taniquetil. Be patient, child. There is much for you to do here in Aman. Now, if you’re ready, let us leave this place and return to Vanyamar. Many are worried for you and will be glad to see you safe and sound."

Glorfindel nodded and without another word elf and Maia left the cave, walking easily upon the pristine snow. Glorfindel had no idea where they were in relation to Vanyamar but Olórin knew the way and the elf was content to follow his friend. An hour later saw them reaching the north gate of the city and the guards there gave glad cries to see the ellon returning safely. One of the guards ran towards the palace to give the news.

"This is where I leave you," Olórin said, giving Glorfindel a hug. "I have other duties and you are back where you belong."

"Thank you," Glorfindel said simply and then he was alone with the guards. Giving himself a shake he set off for the palace and before he was even halfway there Ingwë came running down the street to greet the younger elf, throwing his arms around Glorfindel.

"Yonya, you are alive," Ingwë said with great feeling.

"Last time I looked," Glorfindel replied with a cheeky grin. "I’m not that easy to get rid of, my lord. It’ll take another Balrog for that."

Ingwë laughed in relief. "Indeed. Come, let us return to the palace and you may tell me all about it."

"Where are Ingwion and the others, lord? Are they all right?"

Ingwë nodded as they made their way back up the wide avenue to the palace. "Yes, all are well. My daughter, Findis and the other ellith as well as Elessairon and Lómion have since returned from Valmar. Ingwion, I understand, is with Findaráto. Lord Oromë declared a Hunt and invited them to it."

"A Hunt?" Glorfindel asked with a confused look on his face. "What does that mean?"

"Ah, yes, of course. You might not remember from before as you were quite young when you left Aman. Lord Oromë will sometimes call a Hunt against the fell creatures left behind by Melkor. Few of the Eldar participate for it holds great danger for those who do. When you went missing Oromë declared a Hunt."

Glorfindel cast a wry glance at the High King. "Well, if so, lord, they failed miserably in finding me."

"Ah, but you weren’t the object of the Hunt, yonya. You were the bait."

Glorfindel stopped and stared at Ingwë in shock. "B-bait? I was the bait?"

Ingwë gave the ellon a solemn nod. "Yes. Come, I will explain it all to you when we are inside. I know it is confusing for you but I assure you that all is well now. Ingwion and Findaráto will return soon, I do not doubt, and they will tell you everything."

Glorfindel allowed the High King to lead him inside and soon they were alone in Ingwë’s study sipping on mulled wine as they sat before a cheery fire. Glorfindel told Ingwë everything that had happened in Valmar and afterwards when he found himself on the mountain. Ingwë did not interrupt but he looked upon the ellon with surprise and wonder, especially when Glorfindel described how Yáravinyon transformed into Lord Manwë.

"You are very fortunate in your friends, child," Ingwë said softly and he stared pensively into the flames of the fire crackling merrily in front of them.

"I was never so shocked in my life," Glorfindel commented with some feeling. "In fact, I actually fainted."

"I don’t wonder," Ingwë replied with a smile. "When my son returns with Findaráto, we will have a feast to celebrate. Meanwhile, why don’t you go look up Alassiel and the others. They are anxious to see you again."

"I’m surprised they were not here to greet me," Glorfindel said.

"My fault, actually," Ingwë admitted. "I thought you might be too overwhelmed if everyone greeted you at once and I wished to hear your story first."

"Thank you, lord," Glorfindel replied with a short bow as he stood up. "I appreciate your concern for my well-being. With your leave, I will seek out my friends and assure them I am well."

Ingwë nodded and Glorfindel left. For a long time afterward, the High King sat before the fire, deep in thought. Then he stood up and walked out into the garden, wandering aimlessly, still thinking. He came upon a particular fountain where he was unsurprised to see the object of his thoughts sitting calmly on its edge. He approached and fell to his knees before the Elder King, who looked upon him with a benign smile.

"Forgive me, Sire," Ingwë said quietly, tears in his eyes. "I’ve been very foolish in my anger towards you."

"My son, it is I who ask for your forgiveness," Manwë replied with great tenderness, placing a hand on Ingwë’s head in benediction. "Nai maruvar sérë ar nilmë imbë met tennoio." Then Manwë reached down and raised the elf to his feet, giving Ingwë the kiss of peace, which the High King returned.

The two of them sat by the fountain and spoke for a long time of many things.

****

Garnet: There are many myths and legends surrounding the garnet. One Biblical legend is that Noah hung this gem on the ark to light his way through the dark and stormy nights of God's wrath. The garnet continues to be the protective gem of journeyers.

Nai maruvar sérë ar nilmë imbë met tennoio: "May peace and friendship abide between us (dual) forever."

Note: Yáravinyon is the Quenya version of the Sindarin Iarwain, which, according to the most recent linguistic studies among Tolkien scholars means "ancient-new" [iar "ancient" + gwain (with zero lenition) "new"]. Think "ever ancient, ever new" and you get the sense of the name’s meaning. An appropriate title for the Elder King of Arda. I do not, however, claim that Tom Bombadil and Manwë are one and the same. I’m sure that the Elder King, in a fit of humor, "borrowed" the name for his own purposes. I am equally sure that when, some several millennia later, Glorfindel actually met Tom Bombadil, that venerable personage enjoyed the joke as much as the elf did.

73: Reunion

Glorfindel found his friends easily enough and they greeted him with much enthusiasm and relief. Alassiel, especially, was pleased to see him and gave him a kiss that was more passionate than propriety would normally allow, but no one minded, least of all Glorfindel. It took some time for everyone to tell their stories. The others grimaced when Glorfindel told them about the attack and Vorondil’s role in it.

"I find it hard to believe that he would be a party to something like this," Elessairon said, "but I can’t say I’m surprised. He has ever considered the Reborn as beneath the rest of us."

When Glorfindel told them about the Elder King they looked at him in awe.

"That Lord Manwë would humble himself so far..." Alassiel began, but Glorfindel shook his head.

"Nay, it was not an act of humility, at least not in the way you mean, but it was an act of love and I will be forever grateful."

Elessairon told him about the finding of his knife and how Ingwion confronted the Valar. "He practically accused Lord Manwë of kidnapping you," the younger elf said, growing pale at the memory. "I thought for sure Ingwion would be skewered on the spot. It was terrible to behold."

Glorfindel put his arms around the ellon’s shoulders in sympathy. "I’m sorry I’ve been the cause of so much grief for you all."

Elessairon gave a snort of disbelief. "Nonsense, meldonya. You’ve enjoyed every minute of it, and frankly, when all is said and done, so have we."

Everyone laughed at that.

****

Arafinwë’s party returned the following day and the inhabitants of the city were nonplused to see the King of the Noldor riding in without an escort, still dressed as if for battle, as were all but one of his companions. They rejoiced to see their prince riding alongside the Noldóran, and there were many who recognized Finrod and stared at him in wonder, for they knew he had died and was now Reborn. Some muttered darkly, reminded that their own Dead had yet to be released from Mandos. Laurendil and Sador were ignored, much to Laurendil’s amusement and Sador’s relief.

Ingwë and Glorfindel met them before the front gates of the palace. All five elves gathered around the Noldo, Arafinwë reaching him first and giving him a fierce hug. Ingwë merely smiled indulgently, standing to one side while even his son ignored him as Ingwion gave Glorfindel his own hug and the two kissed as brothers. Only when they were all assured that Glorfindel was indeed well did they turn to Ingwë to give him their greetings.

"Forgive us, Uncle, for not greeting you immediately," Arafinwë said with a short bow before accepting Ingwë’s embrace. "I’m afraid all we could think of on our way here was seeing Glorfindel again."

"Frankly, Nephew," Ingwë rejoined with a laugh, "I would have been disappointed in all of you had you done otherwise. I am glad you are all well. Welcome, Findaráto. I rejoice that you have been reunited once again with your atar. Now, why don’t you introduce me to your companions."

Finrod introduced Laurendil and Sador to the High King, who greeted them graciously and warmly. "Glorfindel has told me much about you, Sador," he said when the Sinda was made known to him. "And I see that there is more than one tale here," he added, eyeing Sador’s single braid. "Come. I have ordered a feast for tonight. In the meantime, you should all refresh yourselves and later we will trade stories."

Thus, an hour later the five who had been a part of the Hunt were bathed and dressed (all but Ingwion in borrowed clothes) and sitting comfortably in Ingwë’s study along with Glorfindel and his friends, taking turns telling each other their stories. At one point Ingwion reached into an inner pocket of his outer robe and pulled out Glorfindel’s ring.

"My ring!" Glorfindel exclaimed. "I thought I lost it on the mountain."

Ingwion shook his head with a grimace. "I found this on Vorondil. He was wearing it when we took him prisoner."

Glorfindel stared at Ingwion in shock for a moment, then slowly took the ring and put it on, feeling immeasurably better as soon as he did.

Ingwë shook his head in sorrow. "So we must add thievery to the list of crimes this ellon has committed."

"As well as blasphemy," Finrod added coldly. Everyone except Glorfindel, Laurendil and Sador, gave the Noldorin prince a puzzled look. Finrod shrugged. "Perhaps the Amaneldi will not see it as such but every elf on Tol Eressëa will say the same. When Vorondil dared to give himself warrior braids..." He found he couldn’t finish the thought for the anger it brought forth.

Laurendil offered an explanation when it was obvious Finrod could not continue. "Too many of us paid the ultimate price for these braids," he said as he fingered his own. Sador, everyone noticed, was doing the same with his single braid. "Too many of us still pay for them in ways none of the Amaneldi can imagine. That one such as Vorondil would dare dishonor the warriors who fought and died so he might know only peace and safety..." He shook his head. "Call it what you will; we call it blasphemy."

Glorfindel nodded, looking grim. "And he will pay for it, I promise you. I did not fight one of Morgoth’s balrogs just so he could feel self-important."

Ingwë looked troubled at their expressions and sighed. "I will postpone judgment until I have heard all parties in this matter. Even more disturbing than young Vorondil’s role is my brother’s in helping with your kidnapping, Glorfindel, for which I apologize."

Glorfindel nodded in acknowledgment of the High King’s apology but did not otherwise speak. Ingwë then turned to Ingwion, "But tell me, my son, where have you been? The Maiar came with the prisoners some days ago and I looked for your coming soon after, but you did not follow."

It was Arafinwë who answered. "Lord Oromë took us to Formenos, Uncle. There was a task that needed doing."

Ingwë looked at Arafinwë in surprise. "Formenos! You went to Formenos? But why?"

"I have decided it will be inhabited again for a time and Lord Oromë has approved my plan in the name of the other Valar."

Ingwë sat in silence for a time and none dared interrupt his musings. Finally, he sighed and, with a nod, said, "You will have to tell me your thoughts on this later, Nephew. I had hoped never to see that drear and haunted place inhabited again."

"So did I, Uncle," Arafinwë replied, sorrow etched on his fair face.

The uneasy silence that followed was broken when Glorfindel suddenly stood up and reached over and pulled hard on Sador’s braid, eliciting a surprised shriek from the Sinda. "New fashion trend indeed! I think it just looks ridiculous." He stuck his tongue out and then deftly moved out of Sador’s reach as the Sinda stood up and ran after him out into the garden.

The others all started laughing as they watched the two ellyn chasing each other with Glorfindel taunting Sador and Sador shouting imprecations in a mixture of Sindarin and Quenya. Finrod and Laurendil, especially, were laughing hysterically, with Finrod translating the Sindarin for the benefit of the others.

It was some time before they were able to get themselves under control and by then everyone’s mood had brightened and all thoughts of a darker nature had flown.

****

In spite of the fact that his clothes were borrowed, as was the circlet of gold upon his head, Arafinwë looked every inch the Noldóran when he joined the others for the feast.

"I packed very lightly for this trip," he quipped to Ingwë and the High King laughed.

Finrod, Laurendil and Sador were also suitably attired in borrowed finery and many remarked over the ellyn’s braids, for not everyone understood their significance and wondered why the firstborn son of the Noldóran would sport such a barbaric look in the High King’s presence.

Glorfindel found that the bags he had left behind in Valmar had been returned to him in his absence so he was able to don the formal robes that he had worn to his meeting with Manwë, including the chaplet of leaves that Ingwion and Indil had given him as their Begetting Day gift. When Arafinwë saw it his eyes widened in surprise.

"I wondered what had happened to it," he said. "I did not think to look for it here in Vanyamar. I simply assumed Amillë took it with her when she fled to Lórien after Atar’s death."

"She may have, but I cannot say for sure," Ingwë replied. "At any rate, my son and daughter gifted it to Glorfindel on his Begetting Day. I have no objections."

"Nor do I," Arafinwë said, casting a smile at Glorfindel.

The feast began on a joyous note but was marred by an unexpected intrusion when Vorondil’s parents arrived in Vanyamar, having been apprised of their son’s arrest by a messenger sent by Ingwë. Aldundil refused to wait until morning to request an audience with the High King and strode into the feasting hall, full of wrath. Vorondil’s mother, Calalindalë, followed behind her husband, clearly embarrassed and fearful.

"What have you done with my son, Ingwë?" Aldundil demanded. "Why have you imprisoned him who is still a child?"

"A child who plays a dangerous game, Aldundil," Arafinwë answered before Ingwë could speak, his voice cold and unbending. "And I suggest you show proper respect to the High King in his own hall."

Aldundil scowled, his features dark with fury. Calalindalë looked as if she would start weeping at any moment. "I want to see my son," Aldundil said.

Ingwë shook his head. "No, Aldundil. Not before the trial."

Calalindalë went absolutely white and Findis ran to her and led her away to compose herself, murmuring softly in the other elleth’s ear. Aldundil never noticed.

"Of what is he accused? Surely he is too young to have caused that much trouble?"

"This is neither the time nor the place..." Ingwë began but Aldundil interrupted him.

"Make it the time and the place, Ingwë," he shouted heedlessly in his anger. "This is my son you are talking about and I want to know what he has done."

Laurendil suddenly stood up. "Peace Aldundil. All will be explained at the proper time. Go to your wife and give her what comfort she will allow you to give."

Everyone stared at the Noldo with the strange braids and Aldundil started, for he had not paid attention to anyone but Ingwë. He recognized the voice, though it had been in another time and place when last he had heard it. He stared at the ellon who had addressed him and slowly recognition came.

"Glorendil?"

Laurendil nodded. "It is good to see you again, mellon nîn. I was not aware that Vorondil was your son. I am sorry that we must meet again under these circumstances."

"You know one another?" Finrod asked in surprise.

Laurendil smiled at his liege lord. "Yes, aranya. We met during the War of Wrath."

"Ah, I believe I was still in Mandos at the time trying to convince Glorfindel that calling Lord Námo a... a ninny wasn’t the smartest thing an ellon could do."

"You called the Lord of Mandos a ninny?" Sador asked, laughing.

Glorfindel shrugged. "I was mad and he wouldn’t let me climb the fountain."

Everyone looked at the golden-haired Balrog-slayer with varying degrees of wonder and surprise. Arafinwë rolled his eyes and Ingwion grinned. "No wonder Lord Námo kicked you out of Mandos when he did," the Vanyarin prince said. "He probably did it out of self-preservation."

Glorfindel smirked and many of the elves laughed. Aldundil, however, was not amused and glowered at them all, but addressed himself to Laurendil. "I was not aware that you had returned to Aman, Lord Glorendil."

"Yes, I returned only recently. I am now an apprentice to Lord Irmo and hope to someday be accepted among the Lóriennildi."

Aldundil looked at Laurendil in surprise. "A healer! You were ever the consummate warrior. I cannot imagine you giving up your sword."

"I gave up my sword the day I failed my king, Aldundil, though I continued to fight against Morgoth’s minions until the end."

Aldundil glanced at Finrod sitting at the high table, then back at Laurendil. "And did you foreswear that oath you told me about?"

"No," Laurendil said flatly. "Findaráto still has my life and always will."

Ingwë looked puzzled at Laurendil’s words. "Whatever does that mean? I’ve never heard such an expression."

Laurendil stared at Finrod. "Aranya?"

Finrod gave the barest of nods and then in a single motion that was swifter than most eyes could follow he was up and standing behind Laurendil with a knife at the ellon’s throat. Laurendil never flinched. Nearly everyone gasped and most of those at the high table stood up in shock. Even Aldundil paled at the sight.

"Findaráto! What is the meaning of this?" Ingwë demanded, shock and anger warring in his expression. He waved away the guards who had advanced on the high table with swords drawn. Laurendil stared placidly at the High King.

"It means, my lord, that Findaráto has my life and may do with it as he pleases."

Finrod glanced at Ingwë with a sad smile on his face. "You see, Uncle, in Endórë life was... different than here in Aman. A ritual developed among the rulers of Beleriand in which we accepted the lives of our subjects into our keeping and they in turn gave us their absolute trust."

"But... why?" Ingwë asked. "Such an oath is too dangerous..."

Finrod nodded. "Yes, much too dangerous. I only accepted the oath from a handful of my people and some I did not accept at all. Laurendil was one of the first to take the oath and has ever been faithful to me."

"No, aranya," Laurendil said sadly. "Not always."

Finrod took the knife away from Laurendil’s neck but did not release him from his embrace. Instead, he leaned over and planted a kiss on the ellon’s cheek. "Yes, my son, always," he said softly. Laurendil closed his eyes as he leaned into Finrod’s embrace. "Do you not understand? I knew you would not follow me to death. I knew you had another destiny. Do not regret your decision. I would have refused you had you asked to come."

Laurendil gave a stifled sob and Finrod brushed his hand over the ellon’s hair. "Hush now, best beloved. All is well. Remember, I have your life still in my keeping and that is all that matters between us."

Laurendil nodded and Finrod finally released him, returning to his seat as calmly as if nothing untoward had happened. Laurendil collapsed into his chair and wept quietly while Sador leaned over and put a comforting arm around the Noldo’s shoulders. Ingwë slowly retook his own seat and everyone else did the same. For a long moment, the only sound was Laurendil’s quiet sobs, then Ingwë glanced at Aldundil still standing defiantly before him and sighed.

"Tomorrow, Aldundil, I will let you see your son for a brief time. Go now, and see to your wife."

It was a dismissal that Aldundil did not dare ignore. With a stiff bow he turned and walked away. Laurendil suddenly stood up, no longer weeping. "Aldundil, what did you tell your son about the War?"

Aldundil stopped and turned to stare at Laurendil. "Little enough and much of it was severely curtailed in detail. Why?"

Laurendil nodded. "It is as I thought. I’m afraid Vorondil has romanticized your stories, wishing to be as great a warrior as you. What you say explains much about his behavior."

"And does that knowledge help mitigate his actions?" Aldundil asked hopefully.

Laurendil shook his head. "No, mellon nîn. It only makes it worse for your son. I’m sorry."

Aldundil stared at Laurendil for a moment before shifting his attention to Ingwë. "When is the trial?"

"In two days’ time."

Aldundil nodded, gave the High King another stiff bow and left. No one was in the mood to continue the festivities after that.

74: Trial’s Beginning

The sight of the High King’s brother being brought back to Vanyamar in the presence of warrior Maiar and bound shocked many and not a few wondered what had transpired to bring such a thing about. Tinwetariel, when she learned about her husband, flew into a rage, which proved her undoing, for in her fury she revealed more than she had intended to Ingwë who looked upon her with cold dispassion.

"I think, my dear, you have said quite enough." Ingwë spoke mildly, though his eyes glowed with a dangerous light. "You had best retire to your apartments until such time as I summon you. I will have guards placed before your doors to deter unwelcome visitors."

Tinwetariel paled at that, for she understood what Ingwë was actually saying. "I had nothing to do with any of this, sire," she said as contritely as she knew how, though it failed to move her brother-in-law.

"Indeed? Well, I’m sure it will all be straightened out at the trial," was Ingwë’s only comment. Tinwetariel paled even further and soon was being escorted back to her apartments.

As promised, Aldundil and Calalindalë were allowed to see their son. The visit lasted five minutes. Aldundil was mollified to see that Vorondil was not incarcerated in some dark and dank hole, though in truth, he reflected, it would have been nearly impossible to find such a place in Vanyamar. Instead, his son was being kept, along with the other prisoners, in a separate tower of the palace where they were accorded every luxury except their freedom. By necessity, each was housed in a separate room with a guard before each door. There was no communication between the prisoners but otherwise there was little for any to complain about.

Vorondil, of course, had plenty to complain about and spent most of the five minutes allowed for the visit weeping and wailing about the unfairness of it all and how he never touched the damn Reborn so why was he being punished and anyway it wasn’t as if he were guilty of Kinslaying or anything and....

By the end of the five minutes Aldundil was disgusted, disgusted with his son and disgusted with himself. Calalindalë merely wept and had to be physically pulled away from her son by Aldundil and the guard who stood outside Vorondil’s room.

Ingwë secluded himself for the next two days, refusing to speak to anyone who might be involved in the trial. He had those versed in the laws of the Eldar record the testimonies of those who had taken part in the Hunt as well as Glorfindel’s own story. The prisoners all refused to cooperate, though Vorondil still insisted that it was all a mistake and why wouldn’t anyone listen to him?

Unbeknown to Glorfindel, he was under constant guard, both by elves and Maiar. Ingwë did not wish the ellon to be accosted by Vanyar who might resent him and Manwë was concerned that the recent events might trigger another psychic break. Glorfindel was seen fingering his peridot ring rather frequently and acting somewhat nervous, starting at the slightest noise. The Maiar reported that the ellon refused to sleep without a candle burning through the night and more than once had woken yelling from a nightmare. Finrod and Sador had taken turns sleeping in the same room with him but their presence did not seem to bring him much comfort.

Tulcaner was captured the day after the Hunt and brought to Vanyamar by two of Oromë’s people. Ingwë deemed him the most dangerous of the prisoners and reluctantly ordered that he be chained by one ankle and no sharp implements be allowed in his presence. Thus, he was forced to eat with his fingers and was not allowed to use the privy but was given a chamber pot for his needs instead.

The day of the trial came and it was as if all of Aman wept at the necessity of it, for the sky was dark with rain clouds and thunder rolled ominously across the landscape, though there was no lightning. The trial was set for noon, but it could have been the middle of the night, so dark had it become outside. Thus, the throne room where the trial would take place was aglow with lights from crystal lamps. Rain spattered on the roof as the trial commenced.

If the trial for Sador’s kidnappers had been impressive, this one was more so. Ingwë and Arafinwë were clothed in regal splendour, their expressions solemn and grim. All looking upon the two kings had no doubt that they were indeed the lawful rulers of Eldamar and they would brook no dissent to their authority. Although, technically speaking, Arafinwë was a witness, Ingwë decided that the gravity of the situation demanded that he also be one of the judges.

"I fear that I am incapable of judging this alone... or perhaps I am too much the coward," Ingwë had confided to his nephew. Arafinwë had shaken his head.

"No, Uncle. You are no coward and having had Olwë by my side during the trial for Sador’s kidnappers helped immensely. I will be honored to assist you in this."

So, the two kings sat together and the grim majesty of their presence caused all to wonder. Besides the two kings, two others acted as Questioners for the Crown, sitting at a table before the thrones. One was Ingwë’s Steward, an elleth named Lindórië, the other was Lord Valandur, Findis’ husband. Rather than being dull and slow, as Vorondil had dismissively considered him, Valandur was regarded as one of Ingwë’s most astute loremasters and was highly respected among the Vanyar for his sagacity. Both were obviously well versed in the Laws and Customs of the Eldar.

The prisoners were brought in and allowed to sit. All were bound. Only Vorondil was gagged, for he refused to keep silent, his constant complaints annoying even his fellow prisoners. Aldundil refused to look at his son. Tulcaner was the only prisoner brought in in chains and he was set apart from the rest.

The Steward declared the trial open and read the charges against the prisoners collectively and individually for all to hear. Afterwards, she called for Glorfindel to give his testimony.

Glorfindel had dressed carefully for the trial in a severely plain tunic of green-grey worsted wool with only the simplest of embroidery along the hem, placket and sleeves in muted colors, mostly greens and browns with the occasional deep yellow or dark red for highlight. The plain linen shirt underneath was dyed a dark grey. His breeches were of leather, also dyed grey. Only the gemstones in his braids, glittering in the light of the crystal lamps, lent any brilliance to his attire.

As Glorfindel stood before the thrones waiting for the first question, there was a shimmer of light all around and then Lord Námo was there. All went to their knees, save for Ingwë and Arafinwë, who stood, giving the Vala their bows. Surprisingly, Glorfindel, Finrod and Sador also remained standing and bowed as well. Námo acknowledged their bows with a nod of his head and bade the others to rise.

All looked upon the Lord of Mandos in awe, many also in fear. He was dressed in an ankle-length velvet tunic of unrelieved black. Black fur trimmed the hem and three-quarter sleeves, as well as the high neck. The shirt underneath was black watered silk with black thread embroidery on the cuffs. The tunic was belted with isilsardi and amber. His blue-black hair was braided in fire opals, marillar and obsidian along with mithril beads and his head was crowned with a diadem of mithril in the shape of flames with a single ruby in its center. Around his neck was a pendant in gold and silver showing the Sun-in-Eclipse suspended on a mithril chain. Námo’s expression was solemn, but not grim, though few there were capable of looking at him directly, especially the prisoners.

Ingwë addressed the Lord of Mandos with another bow. "My lord, we give you greetings."

Námo did not smile, but his mien lightened somewhat. "Thank you, Ingwë. I am here as a representative for my fellow Valar."

"Will you then act as Judge in this matter?" Ingwë asked.

Námo shook his head. "No, at least not unless necessary. I am here to bear witness to my Lord Manwë of the justice of the Eldar and to declare the doom upon those found guilty of disrupting the Sérë Valaron."

It was at these words that many began to understand the gravity of the charges against the prisoners. Even Vorondil went still and nearly fainted when Námo turned his implacable gaze upon the prisoners, eyeing them one at a time.

Ingwë bowed again. "Then with your permission, lord, we will begin."

Námo nodded and the High King and the Noldóran sat. After everyone else had settled down, Glorfindel’s statement was read aloud by Valandur while copies of the statement were given to the Steward and the two kings. When the statement had been read, the questioning began.

"Why did you go to the Máhanaxar the second time, my lord?" Lindórië asked respectfully. "What did you hope to gain by going to such a deserted place?"

"I cannot adequately answer your question, my lady," Glorfindel said. "I only knew that I was feeling restless and needed to be somewhere. Yet, as I wandered through Eldamas and then into Valmar I knew I was being followed. I decided to make my way to a more secluded spot so as to avoid having innocent people hurt if whoever was following me wanted to harm me."

"You had no fears for yourself, then?" Lindorië asked.

Glorfindel smiled. "I had my knife."

The Steward looked nonplused at that. Many of the onlookers noticed the Lord of Mandos almost smiling at Glorfindel’s words.

"But why the Máhanaxar?" Valandur asked. "Why not some other remote place?"

Glorfindel cast a quick glance at Námo before turning his attention back to Valandur. "I had some... unresolved issues I needed to address." Then he turned to Námo fully, ignoring everyone else. "I made another connection, did you know that? Just before they showed up." There was no doubt as to whom he was referring. "I remembered something."

"And what did you remember, my son?" the Vala asked gently.

"I remembered you holding me at the end, when Judgment was over. You called me your son then as well."

"Do you remember your Judgment?" Námo asked.

Glorfindel shook his head. "Just the end when you held me and comforted me." He gazed at the Vala for a moment. "Will I ever remember my Judgment?"

Námo shook his head. "I do not know, child. That you remember as much as you do is remarkable given the short time you’ve been Reborn. Findaráto will tell you that he has only just begun to remember all that occurred within the Máhanaxar. If you are meant to remember the rest, you will. Take comfort in the memories you do have. With Judgment comes Forgiveness and Reconciliation and that is what you have remembered. Hold to that and all will be well with you."

Glorfindel nodded then turned back to face the High King’s throne. All there had listened with rapt attention to the conversation between the Noldo and the Lord of Mandos and marveled at their words. Many of the Vanyar looked upon Glorfindel and even Findaráto with new eyes and were dimly beginning to perceive what dying had cost them.

Ingwë cleared his throat. "Do you know why you were attacked, child?"

Glorfindel gave the High King an appraising look and there was something in the ellon’s eyes that reminded Ingwë that, newly Reborn though he might be, Glorfindel was no elfling, but a proven warrior who remembered the Light of the Trees and who had died in terrible agony.

"I was attacked because I am a Reborn," the ellon answered levelly, "but worse, because I am an Etyangol whom Lord Námo released from Mandos before those Noldor and Vanyar who fought and died in the War of Wrath."

"What role did Vorondil play in all this?" Lindorië asked.

Glorfindel shrugged. "I do not know, lady. If he did anything to me beyond watching me being beaten it was after I lost consciousness. What happened afterwards is beyond my ken."

"But not beyond mine," came a booming voice from nowhere in particular followed by a laugh.

Suddenly the throne room became almost too small for all of them as the Presence of Tulkas Astaldo made itself known. The golden-haired Vala stood before the throne next to Glorfindel who took an involuntary step to the left. Without bothering to look, Tulkas casually grabbed the ellon’s arm and pulled him into a rib-cracking embrace.

"Carefully, brother," Námo said with an air of infinite patience. "Don’t forget how fragile these Children are."

"Huh? Oh, yes, sorry," Tulkas released Glorfindel who wheezed a bit trying to get his breath back.

"My lord?" Lindórië asked, swallowing nervously when the Vala looked at her.

"I was there when it happened, Little One. I watched as three held down the Balrog-slayer while two beat him senseless. I had to be very firm with my warriors who wanted to come to our favorite elfling’s rescue." Here he stopped long enough to laugh again and wrap his arms around Glorfindel to give him another bone-crushing hug. Námo actually stepped forward and gave his brother Vala an understanding smile.

"Why don’t I hold him for you, brother? You’re likely to do him serious damage before you finish your testimony."

It took Tulkas a few seconds to realize what Námo was talking about before he quickly released Glorfindel from his embrace with another apology. The ellon had meanwhile turned an interesting shade of purple. He looked almost grateful when the Lord of Mandos took him into his own arms. Many of the elves shuddered, wondering which was worse, falling into Tulkas’ embrace or Námo’s.

"You were saying, my lord," Valandur said quietly once he saw that Glorfindel was safe in Námo’s arms. And I never thought I would actually think that was a good thing, he thought wryly to himself.

"It was I who made them forget this one’s knife so the princeling could find it," Tulkas replied. "And I watched as that one," he pointed a finger unerringly at Vorondil without even bothering to look, "kicked Glorfindel in the ribs, spat on him and then stole the lad’s ring."

"Ring?" Lindórië asked for she did not recall any mention of a ring in the elf’s testimony.

Námo lifted Glorfindel’s left hand. "This ring, to be precise," the Lord of Mandos said. "A gift from the Valar."

There were murmurs all around at that. Rare it was that any of the Eldar were gifted by the Valar in token of services rendered and then it was usually one Vala or another, but not all. Námo continued speaking, looking directly at Vorondil as he did, his voice as cold as the Helcaraxë.

"My Lord Manwë was most displeased when he was told of the theft... as was I."

No one was surprised when the ellon fainted.

Tulkas laughed and spread his arms wide. "You Children have much to learn. I wish you joy in the lessoning." Then he was gone and it suddenly became easier to breathe.

For several minutes no one moved or said anything. Námo kissed the top of Glorfindel’s head and released him from his embrace with a small smile, which the ellon returned.

"Do you have any further questions for me, arani meletyaldar?" Glorfindel asked respectfully.

Ingwë looked at Arafinwë who shook his head, then turned back to Glorfindel. "Nay, child. We have no further questions for you." He glanced at the still unconscious Vorondil who was being looked after by a healer and sighed. "Let us have a fifteen minute recess."

The two kings rose and all bowed to them as they made their way out of the throne room. Glorfindel gave Námo a grin and went to join his friends.

"Well that went better than I thought," Glorfindel said with a sigh of relief.

Ingwion shook his head. "The trial is far from over, otornya. Your testimony was merely the first."

"I wonder who they will call next?" Alassiel asked curiously.

Glorfindel gave her a meaningful look. "I’m wondering which of the Valar will show up next."

They all shuddered at the implications of the ellon’s words. Glorfindel gave them his most winning grin and then laughed, twirling around so that his braids sparkled in the crystalline brilliance of the light globes. The onlookers watched the ellon spin about, mesmerized, lost in the interplay of light shimmering around the Reborn elf.

Fifteen minutes later, after Vorondil had finally been revived, Ingwë and Arafinwë returned and the trial resumed.

****

Isilsardi: (Quenya) Plural of isilsar: moonstone. A symbol of truth in self-reflection and showing what ‘is’ [isil ‘moon’ + sar ‘stone’].

Amber: Among other things, it signifies the presence of Eru Ilúvatar.

Opals: A symbol of faithfulness.

Marillar: (Quenya) Plural of marilla: pearl. A symbol of purity and innocence.

Obsidian: Associated in our world with Hades, Greek god of the Underworld, and thus an appropriate gemstone for the Lord of Mandos. It gives one strength to stand on one’s own convictions against any enemy (hidden or otherwise).

Ruby: Considered to be the most powerful gem in the universe. It is a symbol of royalty and it gives the wearer the ability to see things in a true and correct manner.

Arani meletyaldar: (Quenya) Your Majesties.

75: A Surprising Turn of Events

Ingwion was the next witness called. As with Glorfindel, his statement was read aloud before questions were put to him. Surprisingly, it was Námo who asked the first question, stepping forward from beside the dais where he had been standing. The question, to many, did not seem to have any relevance to the trial, but no one was foolish enough to point that out to the Ordainer of Fates.

"I’m curious to know, Ingwion," Lord Námo said mildly, "what you meant by accusing us of being responsible for Glorfindel’s disappearance."

Ingwion paled slightly at that and cast a quick glance at his atar, who merely raised an eyebrow in response. Ingwion bowed to the Vala. "I am sorry, my lord, I am afraid I allowed my emotions to overcome my reason. After all that has happened lately..."

"Do you understand now why Lord Manwë initially refused to see you?" Námo asked, his tone still mild.

Ingwion nodded, looking somewhat embarrassed. "Why did he change his mind?"

Námo raised an eyebrow and smiled thinly. "Well, as Varda told Glorfindel, my brother is rather fond of elflings."

Ingwion blushed at that and looked down at his feet.

"Also," Námo continued, "Oromë declared a Hunt just then and told us you would be called to participate along with Findaráto, Laurendil, Sador and the Noldóran."

Arafinwë started at that, for he had assumed his decision to accompany Sador and Laurendil to Valmar had to do with his desire to speak to Ingwë. Námo gave the king a knowing glance. "Incidentally, that is why Sador’s ... escape from his captors was... er... facilitated by one of my brother Oromë’s people. We needed Sador’s presence in Valmar."

Sador paled at the Vala’s words and Laurendil had to put a steadying hand on his back.

"That is what I don’t understand," Lindórië said. "Why the Hunt when Lord Glorfindel went missing but not when Lord... S-sador was kidnapped?" She stumbled slightly over the unfamiliar name.

Námo’s expression darkened. "For that you will have to ask my brother Vala. I do not dictate when or if a Hunt is called."

Valandur gave the Vala a wry smile. "Do we dare hope that Lord Oromë will make an appearance before this court?"

Ingwion quickly stepped to one side, looking alarmed. Glorfindel snickered and many smiled, including the two kings. Námo laughed outright and that laughter was echoed by another’s. Oromë appeared quietly before the thrones, giving Ingwion a grin.

"Come here, my princeling," Oromë said with a gesture and Ingwion complied, standing before the Lord of Forests. Oromë put a hand on the ellon’s shoulder and gazed intently into Ingwion’s eyes. Ingwion paled somewhat but did not look away and some wondered if he was even able to.

"Accusing the Elder King of complicity in Glorfindel’s kidnapping was both brave and foolish," Oromë said softly, almost conversationally. "I almost called off the Hunt, for I was unsure you were ready for it. I am glad I was proved wrong. I think, however, you might benefit from spending a few months with Lord Námo’s sister. She’s rather used to dealing with recalcitrant elflings." Here Oromë gave Arafinwë a brief glance and a smile. Arafinwë chuckled.

Ingwion swayed slightly and grew even paler. Námo took a few steps and stood behind the ellon, supporting him. "Nienna is already expecting you, my son," Námo said gently. "When this trial is over, my people will escort you to her house there by the Ekkaia." He bent down and kissed the top of the Vanya’s head, then released him. Oromë nodded once and bent down and whispered in the ellon’s ear but what he said, none heard. Ingwion, for his part, nodded once, still looking white, and then stumbled to where his friends were standing. Glorfindel caught him and gathered him into his arms.

Oromë, meanwhile, addressed the court. "The Hunt was not called on Sador’s account because as grievous as the assault was, those responsible did not invoke the ire of the Valar."

Sador looked nonplused at that and Oromë turned and gave him a warm smile. "Do not fret, my child. We take a dim view of what happened but leave it to the Noldóran to sort it all out." Then his expression darkened to something that made many who saw it quail. "On the other hand, those responsible for Glorfindel’s kidnapping intentionally flung the Sérë Valaron in our faces when they... dumped Glorfindel on Lord Manwë’s front doorstep, so to speak. It was a deliberate insult and we were not about to ignore it. Thus, I called the Hunt."

"Why us?" Arafinwë asked.

Oromë gave the King of the Noldor a smile. "You, Pityahuan, and Findaráto because Glorfindel is a member of your family. Laurendil, because he will not willingly leave Findaráto’s side for all that he has foresworn the taking of arms. Ingwion for his insolence." Ingwion blushed at that and his atar gave him a sympathetic smile. "And Sador..." Oromë paused and gave the young Sinda a warm smile. "Well, let’s just say I had my reasons for including him." Sador blanched at that and Finrod put a comforting arm around his shoulders.

"And so you called a Hunt," Ingwë said, "and the result was these." He looked pointedly at the prisoners, especially Ingoldo. "Does anyone have any more questions for my son?"

"There is the question of the ring, sire," Valandur said. "Where was the ring found and under what circumstances?"

Glorfindel stepped forth then and explained how the ring had been given to him by the Valar as a Begetting Day gift. Ingwion then related how he had found the ring on Vorondil’s finger when he entered the hunting lodge.

"You recognized the ring right away," Valandur said. It was not a question, though Ingwion took it as such, for he nodded.

"Yes. I was there when Lord Manwë gifted it to Glorfindel. It is a rather unique ring made by Lord Aulë at Lord Manwë’s behest for Glorfindel alone, or so I was told."

Valandur looked at the two Valar standing near him for confirmation and both nodded but otherwise did not comment.

"How did Vorondil’s hair get so ragged looking?" Valandur then asked.

Before Ingwion could answer, Finrod stepped forward with a bow. "I’m the one best able to answer that question, Uncle."

"Speak then, Findaráto," Ingwë said with a nod.

Finrod took a deep breath and kept his eyes on Oromë. "When Ingwion and I entered the hunting lodge, I noticed immediately that Vorondil was sporting warrior braids that he had not earned. His blasphemy was more than I could endure so I cut them off and threw them into the fire."

"Blasphemy?" Lindórië asked. "In what way could anyone commit blasphemy by wearing what to me are rather ridiculous looking front braids?"

Before anyone could respond, there was a stir among the crowd and Aldundil stepped forward, white-faced and in shock, as he stared first at his son, who sat there in mute misery though no longer gagged, and then at Finrod.

"Is it true?" he asked in a strangled whisper. "Did my son actually...." but he could not continue and when both Finrod and Laurendil nodded, he started to sway, then caught himself with a stifled sob and in two strides reached one of the armed guards standing near the prisoners and, expertly grabbing the unsuspecting guard so he would not be able to resist, pulled the ellon’s sword out of its sheath and then advanced on Finrod. There was instant pandemonium that was stilled only when Námo stepped forth and with a single gesture plunged the room into near darkness, save for a single shining crystal globe that cast an eerie glow upon the scene.

"Á PUSTA!" the Vala shouted and all movement ceased except for Aldundil who never stopped, oblivious to all but Finrod. Slowly the lights returned.

All watched as the elf advanced upon the Noldorin prince, who never moved, though Laurendil and Glorfindel quietly flanked him, with Sador on the other side of Laurendil and Ingwion on the other side of Glorfindel. Finrod kept his eyes on Aldundil who went to his knees before his prince and presented the sword to him.

"A-aran veleg lîn," he whispered, speaking in Sindarin to everyone’s amazement, "thou hast my life, in trade for the life of my son, for he has sinned against thee."

Laurendil’s eyes widened and Sador gasped. Glorfindel’s expression became instantly unreadable. Arafinwë rose in shock and consternation, understanding enough to know what Aldundil had just done. There were shocked murmurs all around, for some of the Vanyar understood what the Noldo had said, having learned something of Sindarin during their sojourn in Beleriand while fighting in the War of Wrath. They quietly translated Aldundil’s words for those who did not know the language. Ingwë demanded a translation which Arafinwë gave in a whisper and the High King stared at the still kneeling Noldo in wonder.

Finrod never moved and he never took his eyes off of Aldundil. When he finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper but everyone could hear his words. "Your son’s offense was not against me, Aldundil, but against Glorfindel. It is before him you should kneel."

"No, Finrod," Glorfindel replied flatly, "you are the highest ranking warrior among us. To you belongs the right of execution."

Murmurs all around at the elf’s words threatened to explode into shouts of denial but one look at the faces of the two Valar convinced everyone to remain silent. Vorondil looked ready to faint again.

Finrod glanced at Glorfindel and Laurendil, and both nodded. Then he looked again at Aldundil. "Your son is still an elfling, else I might well have demanded his death. Yet, if I send you to Mandos in his place, what good will that do?" He looked up at Námo who merely stood there, placidly waiting for whatever would come. The Vala would not interfere with Finrod’s decision.

Ingwë had no such compunction. Standing, he addressed his great-nephew coldly. "I will not permit you to execute anyone, Findaráto. I do not recognize your authority to do so."

Finrod looked at his uncle for a brief moment and then back down at Aldundil. Suddenly, and more quickly than even elvish eyes could follow, the sword was in his hand and the cold blade was lying against Aldundil’s neck. The Noldo never flinched, though he closed his eyes in anticipation of his death.

Arafinwë put a hand on Ingwë’s arm to still the High King’s protest, shaking his head. Ingwë stared at his nephew in surprise but finally acquiesced and remained silent. Finrod was no longer looking at Aldundil but at Vorondil.

"Do you understand, child, what is at stake here?" he asked quietly, yet all looking upon him shivered at his implacable expression and the fell light that seemed to surround him. "Do you comprehend the gravity of what you have done and what the price of your folly might be? Your atar kneels before me in your place, willing to give up his life for yours. He is a true warrior, where you but merely play-act as any elfling would."

Then he handed the sword to Glorfindel who took it, holding it by the hilt with the point planted on the floor. Finrod, meanwhile, knelt before Aldundil and placed his hands on either side of the ellon’s face. Aldundil opened his eyes in confusion when he sensed the pressure of the blade no longer on his neck and felt something like fear course through him as he tried to move out of Finrod’s hold. Finrod shook his head.

"No, my son, do not resist." Then Finrod leaned forward and their foreheads met. Aldundil stiffened suddenly and then collapsed into Finrod’s embrace with a sob. Laurendil, meanwhile whispered into Sador’s ear, who nodded and stepped away to speak softly to one of the younger pages of the court. The elleth ran off, her eyes wide with fear and wonder. Then the Sinda walked over to one of the guards standing nearby and removed the ellon’s knife from its sheath without a word before returning to stand beside Laurendil. The guard made to stop the Sinda but a look from Oromë quelled him.

There was no sound, save for Aldundil’s quiet sobs which became soft moans as the intimacy of the contact between him and Finrod deepened. Finally, Finrod moved and without a word Laurendil helped him to his feet, while Sador gave Aldundil a hand. The Noldo’s expression was blank and unseeing and he swayed slightly in Sador’s hold. The page returned just then with several strips of cloth. Finrod reached for the knife in Sador’s hold. He grabbed Aldundil’s hand and sliced the palm before doing the same to himself. Then he grasped the other’s bleeding hand, handing the knife to Laurendil, who calmly wiped the blade with one of the cloths that the page was holding. Meanwhile, Sador quietly spoke into Aldundil’s ears the words of the oath and Aldundil repeated them in a toneless manner, still in shock.

"By our blood mingled, our minds now one, I give thee my oath, aranya, that thou mayest have my life into thy keeping, tenn’ Ambar-metta. Valar valuvar."

Finrod spoke then and his words were implacable and irrevocable.

"By our blood mingled, our minds now one, I accept your oath, Aldundil, and take your life into my keeping, tenn’ Ambar-metta. Valar valuvar."

Then he released his hold on Aldundil and took one of the strips of linen, tying it around the elf’s hand before wrapping the last strip around his own. Aldundil simply stood there, never taking his eyes off Finrod. The former King of Nargothrond then took Aldundil fully into his embrace and kissed him on the forehead. "Your life is now in my keeping and I do not choose to take it from you."

He looked over Aldundil’s shoulder. "Come here, Vorondil," and the strength of his command was such that Vorondil involuntarily rose, though he was still bound to the chair. Ingwë nodded to the guard and the ropes were cut. Vorondil stumbled towards Finrod and his atar, his features white with fear. Finrod looked at him with dispassion as Laurendil came around and forced the ellon to his knees.

"I know you do not understand what has happened here, child," he said softly. "But I promise you that some day you will. Your atar has traded his life for yours and it is now in my keeping. You may both regret it before very long, but it cannot be helped. Know this, child. You are mine because your atar is mine and when I return to Lórien to complete my apprenticeship with Lord Irmo, you and your atar will accompany me."

Ingwë spoke up then, looking less than amused. "He has not even been tried yet, Findaráto. Don’t you think we should at least try him before passing sentence?"

Finrod shook his head. "No, Uncle. In this you have no say. Vorondil is mine. I claim him and will not be denied."

Ingwë started to protest when Námo stepped forward. "Nay, Ingwë," the Vala said solemnly. "Manwë decrees it so. Therefore this doom is now made: Vorondil will go with Findaráto as his bondsman and perform such service as Findaráto demands."

"For how long?" Ingwë asked.

Finrod shrugged and looked at Námo. "How many blows did Glorfindel receive?"

Oromë was the one who spoke. "My brother Tulkas says that between the two ellyn, thirty blows were administered, more than half after Glorfindel had already lapsed into unconsciousness."

All gasped at the viciousness of the attack and none disputed Oromë’s accounting. Finrod stole a glance at Glorfindel who stood stock still, his face etched with remembered pain, and nodded. "Then for thirty years you shall remain in Lórien, Vorondil, as a servant to the Reborn you so despise. Perhaps during your indenture you will learn something to your benefit."

Námo nodded. "For thirty years, then. In that time take counsel with thyself, child of Aldundil and Calalindalë, and remember who and what thou art. But after that time this matter shall be set in peace and held redressed, if Findaráto will release thee."

"As to that, we will see." Finrod replied with a nod. "Remember, child, I have your atar’s life in my keeping, to do with as I will." Vorondil’s eyes widened and Finrod smiled, though it was not a pleasant smile to see. "You think you fear me, child, but I promise you that before we are through with each other I will teach you the true meaning of the word."

He let his words sink in for a moment. Vorondil was now sobbing and Aldundil looked ready to collapse. Calalindalë had in the meantime come to stand by her husband and son, looking confused and bereft. Finrod took pity on her and spoke softly a few words of comfort to her before turning the the High King.

"I think, Uncle, these three are not necessary for the rest of this trial. Perhaps they may retire to their apartments for the nonce."

Ingwë nodded. "Let it be so." Within a short time Aldundil was leaving the throne room with his wife and son, his expression still blank with shock. At Finrod’s suggestion, Laurendil went with them.

Ingwë gave Arafinwë a glance, then shook his head. "I think we need another recess." He stood up and strode out of the room. "Findaráto, with me," he ordered without looking at his great-nephew. Finrod gave his friends a wry look before following the High King out, walking side-by-side with Arafinwë.

Those left behind noticed that the two Valar exchanged satisfied grins, and shuddered.

****

Aran veleg lîn: (Sindarin) Your Majesty, based on the Quenya construction with the same literal meaning of "king your mighty". For the curious, Aldundil’s words to Finrod in Sindarin were: Geril guil nîn, am mbangad cuil nîn ’nin guil en-ion nîn, dan agor úgarth dallen: literally, "Thou hast my life, for the purpose of trading my life for the life of my son, for he did wrongdoing against thee".

Note: Some of the wording of Námo’s doom against Vorondil is borrowed from the doom uttered against Fëanor when he was sent from Tirion into exile. See The Silmarillion, "Of the Silmarils".

76: An Interlude Among Kings

Finrod followed his atar and Ingwë into an antechamber set aside for the kings’ use during the trial to find, not his great-uncle glaring at him as he entered the room, but the High King of all the Elves and tried not to flinch.

"This is supposed to be a trial," Ingwë said without preamble, his voice dangerously cold, "not an exhibition of Heceldarin oath-taking rituals. That oath is far too dangerous..."

"Do you think I don’t know that?" Finrod practically shouted, his face suffused with barely suppressed fury. He turned suddenly and slammed a fist into the wall. "Damn Aldundil and his son for putting me in such a position."

The two kings stared at Finrod, nonplused, then Ingwë spoke, his voice going soft. "Why did you force the oath on Aldundil then?"

Finrod turned around, his expression still angry. "FORCE? I didn’t force Aldundil to do anything. I have never forced anyone to take that oath, Uncle, never! But when Aldundil spoke the words... and in Sindarin no less!... I had no choice."

"You could have refused his oath," Arafinwë reminded him. "You told us yourself that you did not always accept someone’s oath."

Finrod nodded. "Except for the small matter that he was offering his life in exchange for his son’s. In that, I had no choice."

"I do not understand," Ingwë said. "You still could have chosen..."

"No, Uncle!" Finrod interrupted, still furious. "As soon as Aldundil spoke he gave me no choice. It was either accept his oath or take that sword he held and remove Vorondil’s stupid head from his shoulders right then and there. And make no mistake, Uncle, if I had decided to refuse Aldundil’s oath, I would have done just that, and damn the consequences. Accepting Aldundil’s oath was the only way to save them both."

The utter sincerity of Finrod’s words shook both kings to the very core of their fëar and they looked upon him as if he were a stranger. Ingwë saw before him not his great-nephew, but a fellow king. He had a sudden vision of Findaráto sitting on a throne, dispensing justice with grave sagacity and stern majesty and he mourned for that delightful and innocent ellon who had played happily at his feet as an elfling.

"Do you think Aldundil knew what he was doing?" Arafinwë asked.

Finrod gave his atar a mirthless grin. "Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing, Atar. Laurendil told me that Aldundil was initiated into the Sindarin warriors’ society during the War of Wrath. By rights, he should be wearing warrior braids, but I understand that when the Amaneldi warriors returned home they undid their braids out of shame. It seems that the Amaneldi who had remained behind did not want to hear about the War of Wrath from the returnees. Not that I blame them. Well, that is going to change. Aldundil will wear the braids he earned and he will tell Vorondil what really happened in Beleriand. Perhaps then the ellon will begin to understand what being a warrior truly means."

Finrod sighed then, his anger dissipating. He flopped down into a chair, closing his eyes. "I just wish I knew what I’m supposed to do with him otherwise."

There was a shimmer in the air and suddenly all three elves were kneeling before the Elder King who looked upon them with mild amusement. "Now, my Children, none of that. We are all kings here and I come not as your lord but as a fellow ruler. Rise now and let us continue this most interesting conversation in comfort."

Manwë took a seat and the elves followed suit. For a long moment, no one spoke. Ingwë waited respectfully for Manwë to speak first. Arafinwë sat with an amused expression on his face. Finrod refused to look at anyone. Manwë gave the younger ellon a sympathetic smile but his tone when he did speak was less warm.

"You took Aldundil’s oath in anger, my son," he said without preamble. "That was unwisely done and there may be grave consequences for you both later. Aldundil deserved better from you. For all that his son is a foolish ellon, Aldundil has ever been an honorable and courageous elf."

Finrod nodded. "I know and I regret it, but it was as if I was being pushed into a corner by circumstances and...." He shook his head, not sure what he wanted to say.

"A situation that arises now and then when one is a ruler," Manwë said gently. "The trick is not to let it happen in the first place."

Finrod looked up at that. "And how does one do that?"

Now Manwë’s smile was genuine and he gave a small deprecating laugh. "When I have figured that out, my son, you will be the first to know."

Ingwë and Arafinwë both snorted in surprise at the Elder King’s words and then they were all laughing. Their mood lightened and Ingwë spoke to Finrod.

"I apologize for my anger, Findaráto. I fear I will never fully understand what you experienced in Beleriand and how the conditions there under the Shadow changed you. Even now, though you are Reborn, I sense a terrifying hardness to you that I never thought to see in any elf. It grieves me that you must lose so much of your innocence."

Finrod shrugged somewhat diffidently. "As to that, Uncle, I cannot say. As more and more of my memories of my previous life return I find myself thinking in ways that are still strange to me, yet at the same time are frighteningly familiar."

"Then I do not blame you for being angry," Ingwë replied. "You have conducted yourself with amazing self-possession and while I cannot approve of what you have done, I am nonetheless proud of you for handling such an awkward situation with as much grace as you have."

Ingwë then stood up and held out his arms and Finrod went to him, accepting the High King’s embrace. "Thank you, Uncle. Your words comfort me and give me hope."

Arafinwë stood up then and gave his son a kiss on the forehead. "I, too, am proud of you, my son," he said simply and with all sincerity and Finrod basked in the love that both kings offered him.

Then Manwë stood and suddenly it was as if he embraced them all at once and there was such a sense of love and acceptance in that embrace that Finrod staggered slightly and remained standing only because he was still in Ingwë’s arms. He felt the Elder King speak in his mind.

*You will take Aldundil and his family to Lórien and you will teach him not to be ashamed of what he did and who he is. When the time is right, send him back to Tirion.*

*How will I know...*

*You will know, child. You will know,* came the promise from the Elder King and then the elves were alone once again.

For several minutes no one spoke. Finrod was still in Ingwë’s embrace and did not wish to leave it, comforting as he found it, but eventually he gave a sigh and stepped out of his great-uncle’s arms and gave him and his atar a rueful smile.

"I think we should get back to the trial."

Ingwë and Arafinwë nodded and without another word the three kings left the room together.

****

Heceldi: Forsaken Elves, a name of the elves of Beleriand who never came to Aman, used primarily by loremasters. Might be considered as something of an insult. Heceldarin is the plural adjective.

77: Trial’s Ending

When they returned to the throne room it was to find that Oromë had left but Námo was still there. The Vala gave them a shrewd look and then smiled, nodding, as if pleased by what he saw. When Finrod would have gone to join Glorfindel and Sador, Ingwë stayed him and, taking his hand, led him to the dais, ordering another chair to be placed beside his own throne.

"Sit beside me, Nephew," Ingwë whispered so only Finrod and Arafinwë could hear, "for I deem you have greater experience in such matters than your atar or I and we would welcome your wisdom in judging these prisoners."

Finrod stared at the High King for a moment before giving him a deep bow and complying to Ingwë’s wish. As he sat, Finrod was revealed to them all as one endued with solemn majesty no less than that of the High King’s and all looked on in amazement and wondered. So it was that the High King was flanked by two fellow rulers when the questioning of the prisoners began.

None were willing to respond to the questions put to them, yet all of them discovered, to their horror, that they were unable to resist answering. All felt the implacable power of the three kings who sat in judgment. Even the bystanders could feel their potency and none were unmoved. The awful presence of the Lord of Mandos did nothing to make things easier and all the prisoners quailed whenever Námo’s gaze fell upon them.

Thus, it was discovered that three others were involved in the attack on Glorfindel and orders were issued for their arrests once their identities were revealed and confirmed by Lord Námo.

"They may be in hiding," Glorfindel suddenly said, stepping forward to speak.

"And would you care to guess where they might be?" Valandur asked with a sardonic smile.

Glorfindel stared at the ground for a moment, deep in thought, before replying. "Look for them in Eldamas. That is where they were recruited."

"You know this for certain?" Valandur asked sharply.

Glorfindel gave the loremaster a feral grin. "So I’ve been told."

Every eye fell on Námo who evinced a virtuous air that many found disturbing. "Don’t look at me, my Children. I haven’t told Glorfindel anything."

Glorfindel snorted at that and gave the Vala a disbelieving look. Námo’s smile merely deepened.

"Then who..." Lindórië began then stop, blushing in embarrassment when Námo gave her a knowing look.

The Lord of Mandos nodded. "What the Elder King chooses to reveal to you Children and when he chooses to do so is his business. If Glorfindel says these others are hiding in Eldamas, I would suggest you take his word for it." Here he paused and gave them all a brilliant smile. "For some reason, my brother is rather fond of our little Balrog-slayer." He looked directly at the prisoners then, his expression never changing. "So he takes a rather dim view of all that has happened to him... as do I."

The Vala’s tone of voice was rather mild, which only made it worse. Every one of the prisoners blanched and in spite of the fact that they were bound to their chairs, two of them actually tried to flee and the guards had to subdue them.

Ingwë turned to the chief of his guards and nodded. "Eldamas then." The guard bowed and quietly motioned for several others to follow him out of the throne room. Ingwë continued to address the rest of the court. "We will continue with the trial of these five. When the others have been apprehended there will be another trial for their benefit. Let us proceed with the questioning."

Tulcaner was the most reluctant to speak, yet in the end, even he was unable to resist the relentless questioning, not only by Valandur and Lindórië, but by the three kings as well, for Finrod had questions of his own to which he wanted answers.

"I know why Vorondil and Ingoldo were involved in my brother’s kidnapping," he commented at one point, addressing Tulcaner and the three ellyn who had been taken at the lodge. "I am curious to know why you were involved."

It turned out that the other elves all had kinsmen residing in Mandos, they having died in the War of Wrath.

"Why should you rebel Noldor and the Sindar who forsook the Blessed Land for Endórë be released before the Faithful who died in a war not of their making?" Tulcaner snarled.

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that. "Is that how you see yourselves, as the Faithful? The ones who did not defy the Authority of the Valar, the ones who did not participate in the Kinslaying, the ones who did not die on the shores of Mistaringwë during the Battle-under-Stars or in any of the other battles fought across the face of Beleriand, the ones who were not enslaved by Melkor to toil in darkness and despair? Those Faithful?"

Tulcaner did not answer, but his sneer said it all. Both Glorfindel and Sador went absolutely white with anger. Ingwion, Elessairon and Lómion had to physically hold both of them back. Alassiel was seen wrapping her arms around Glorfindel in an attempt to comfort him. Finrod stole a glance at Námo, whose expression was impassive and unreadable, and sighed.

"You are, of course, correct," he said softly and sorrow dripped from every word. Not a few closed their eyes against the weight of grief that they inexplicably felt at hearing Finrod’s words. The former King of Nargothrond stood up then and a dark fire was seen burning in his eyes that made many shudder. "Yet, your anger is misplaced." Without looking he pointed at Námo. "There is the object of your scorn. There is the one who holds your kinsmen in his keeping, who decides who is Reborn and who is not. There is the one to whom you should complain." Now he pointed at the prisoners, his voice dripping with scorn. "Yet it took seven of you to subdue one Noldorin rebel, whose only real crime was that he was reborn before your kinsmen."

Silence reigned. No one moved, enspelled as they were by Finrod’s words. Slowly he sat and his voice, when he spoke, was devoid of any emotion.

"Do you know how I died?"

Ingwë put a hand on the ellon’s arm. "No, child. Do not torture yourself this way. It will do no one any good."

Finrod gave his uncle a brief, painful smile. "Dying was not the worst thing that happened to me, Uncle. Dying was the easy part. It was what came afterwards that was hard." He sighed then, closing his eyes to bring himself under control again. "As you wish, Sire. I will speak of it no more."

"But I will speak of it," Námo said gently and gave Finrod a sympathetic look when the ellon opened his eyes in surprise. The Lord of Mandos turned his attention to the court. "Findaráto is correct. Dying is often the easy part. Here before you is one who gave up crown and scepter for an oath to one of the Atani, an oath he held more precious than any Silmaril. Here is one who fought one of my Fallen Brother’s Maia servants, not with sword, but with Songs of Power, though he would have been better to have fought with sword, for he would never have defeated Sauron otherwise." He ignored Finrod’s expression of disbelief. "There are many ways to die, my Children, and some deaths are more gruesome than others. I will not bore you with the details. Suffice to say that Findaráto died in excruciating pain, yet I know he would gladly suffer death again should the need ever arise."

All saw Finrod nod at these words and even Glorfindel and Sador nodded, adopting Námo’s judgment of Finrod’s character for themselves. Námo continued.

"Findaráto, and all who have died, including the Vanyar and Noldor who died in the War of Wrath, suffered Judgment. There is no escape from that. Faithful or no, Rebel or no, Judgment comes to all who enter Mandos. Eru decrees it and I see it done. Judgment most often is the most terrifying thing any face, but afterwards comes Forgiveness and Reconciliation and the Renewal of Hope. Love there is and Mercy and none who come before us come chained."

He paused for a moment to allow time for his words to sink in. There were quiet sobs throughout the room and many who had wondered now confronted their own pain and sense of loss for the first time and found release in tears they thought had been shed long since.

When Námo spoke again, his tone was gentle and loving. "Your kinsmen will be released from Mandos, I promise you. The time of their release, however, is not yet. Have patience, my Children... and faith." He then turned to Finrod and gave him a warm, understanding smile, which Finrod returned.

At last the questioning was done. All eventually broke down and admitted to their crimes. Ingoldo had a defeated look on his face and his eyes were dark with fear. There was a brief recess while Ingwë conferred with Arafinwë and Finrod. When they returned to the throne room, Ingwë looked upon his brother Ingoldo with a mixture of sorrow and disgust as he addressed him.

"Did We not warn you, my brother, after the last time, that you should watch yourself? We know you have no fear of Us, but Ingwion is another matter...." He nodded in satisfaction when Ingoldo blanched. "Yes, and We would like nothing better than to leave you to his tender mercies."

Many stole a glance at the Vanyarin prince, who stood to one side of the throne dais with a grim look on his face as he stared at his uncle. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Ingwion was a dangerous foe to his atar’s enemies and many of the older elves remembered the circumstances under which Ingwion proved just how dangerous he could be. Ingoldo had good reason to fear the firstborn son of the High King. Ingwë smiled grimly.

"However, my brother rulers," — here he nodded to both Arafinwë and Finrod — "and I have decided on a different fate for you and the other conspirators. You will all be sent to Formenos for a period of time. Others will join you who were involved in a different plot but all are guilty of disrupting the peace of Aman."

Valandur stood then and bowed to the High King. "Sire, how will we ensure that they will remain in Formenos? For all his arrogance, even Fëanáro had a certain sense of honor and, at least in the beginning, abided by the terms of his exile. But I deem none of these have any honor left and I pity the guards who must be sent into exile with them."

Námo spoke then. "Fear not. The Valar will set the Maiar to watch Formenos. No elves but the prisoners and any family who wish to follow them need endure exile."

"How will they live? What will they do there?" Valandur asked.

"The climate is harsher than here, but not unduly so, and the land is arable," Arafinwë replied. "They can well support themselves with farming and the tending of sheep. It will give them something to do during their time of exile and will perhaps teach them humility, or the value of honest work, if nothing else."

Valandur nodded and bowed to the kings before resuming his seat, satisfied with the answers given.

Ingwë turned his attention back to the prisoners. "The length of your exile will be determined later, but you Ingoldo We banish from Eldamar along with Tinwetariel your wife."

There were shocked murmurs all around, but they stilled as Ingwë continued.

"You and Tinwetariel will remain in Formenos until this present Age ends as the Valar decree, at which time We will review your case and determine if you have shown yourself repentant of your crimes against Us. Only then will you be permitted to return to Eldamar, though the conditions of your parole will be very strict. The other prisoners, when their exile ends, will go to Lórien for a length of time to be determined by the Valar, there to serve the needs of the Reborn."

"Nay, Ingwë," Námo interrupted with a shake of his head. "Not to Lórien. They shall come to me instead."

There were gasps all around and one of the prisoners gave a strangled scream and fainted. Ingwë stared at the Vala in consternation. "Do you mean for them to die, lord?"

Námo shook his head. "Nay, child. I mean no such thing. They shall come before the gates of Mandos and I will set them to a task of my choosing. In Formenos they may learn repentance; in Mandos they will have a different lesson." The grimness of the Vala’s tone was such that no one even thought to ask just what that lesson might entail.

Ingwë nodded reluctantly. "It will be as you say, my lord. Will you speak then the doom upon these?"

Namo shook his head. "To Ingoldo and Tinwetariel only will I speak the doom as my lord Manwë dictates and only within the Máhanaxar. Bring them before us on the third day from now." Then, without another word, the Lord of Mandos simply was not there.

Ingwë sighed and cast a rueful glance at Arafinwë and Finrod before addressing the court. "This trial is ended. Remove the prisoners."

****

Mistaringwë: "Grey cold mountain lake"; the Quenya version of the Sindarin Mithrim.

Note: The Battle-under-Stars, or the Dagor-nuin-Giliath, was the second great battle fought in Beleriand when Fëanor led his people up the Firth of Drengist to the shores of Lake Mithrim. It was so called because Isil had not yet risen when the battle was fought.

78: Consequences

Glorfindel and Sador joined Finrod in the antechamber with Ingwë and Arafinwë. Sador was subdued and pensive. Glorfindel, for once, did not try to lighten anyone’s mood with a silly antic. Instead he actually fell into Finrod’s arms sobbing.

"I’m sorry....Imsorryimsorry...." Finrod’s expression was one of surprise as he hugged him.

"What is this, gwador? Why the tears? You’ve done nothing to be sorry about." He gave Ingwë and Arafinwë a rather helpless look. The two kings returned his look with concerned expressions of their own. Sador stood next to Finrod, rubbing Glorfindel’s back to comfort him.

Glorfindel gave a sniff as he tried to get himself under control. "Y-you had to take Aldundil’s oath... be-because of me. It-it’s all my fault you’re so angry."

"Because of you?" Now Finrod was totally confused. "Glorfindel, how do you figure all this is your fault? You’re the victim here."

"B-but Vorondil hates me." Glorfindel tried to explain. "He...he did what he did because he...he hates me and... and now you’re stuck with him... and his atar!" He was practically wailing again and it proved too much for Finrod, who hugged him closer and laughed.

"Oh gwador, gwador, gwador," he said as he rocked Glorfindel in his arms. "No wonder Lord Námo finds you so delightful. I may be ‘stuck’ with Vorondil and his atar as you say but that’s by my own choice and has nothing to do with you. Hush now, best beloved. All is well, truly."

It took several minutes to convince Glorfindel of that and Ingwë and Arafinwë, once they understood the situation, took it upon themselves to offer the ellon comfort, taking Glorfindel in their arms and speaking softly to him until he was calmer. Finrod, meanwhile, turned to Sador, who had not spoken.

"And do I need to be concerned about you, gwador?" Finrod asked gently, running a hand through Sador’s hair. The Sinda shook his head.

"No, gwador," he said quietly. "I am fine. I... just... I am thinking about what Lord Oromë said... about why he had me join the Hunt. What do you suppose he meant?"

Finrod nodded, gathering Sador into his arms to offer him some comfort. "You must not fear Lord Oromë’s reasons even if he does not choose to reveal them to you at this time. The Lord of Forests does not often concern himself with the Eldar and when he does it is always to their benefit, though I admit, at times it does not seem so." He gave Sador a brief smile which the ellon wanly echoed. "That Lord Oromë has taken an interest in you is a great honor. Try not to be concerned by it. He has made you one of his own and will ever treat you gently." He kissed Sador on the forehead and released him, giving him an encouraging smile. Sador ducked his head in embarrassment but otherwise appeared to be less pensive and worried.

"That’s better," Finrod commented, then gave a sigh. "I don’t know about anyone else, but I feel exhausted and would like nothing better than to take a long hot soak and fall into bed."

Arafinwë gave his son an amused look. "It’s barely time for the evening meal, yonya."

"I know, Atar, but taking Aldundil’s oath has left me depleted. I fear I will sleep through most of tomorrow, perhaps even into the next day." He gave a weary sigh. "As it is, I need to check on both Aldundil and Laurendil. I’m afraid Laurendil may have suffered a backlash from my earlier anger."

"How so?" Ingwë asked.

"As one whose life is in my keeping, Laurendil would have been completely open to me at the time I took Aldundil’s oath."

Ingwë gave an involuntary shudder and Arafinwë paled at his son’s words. Ingwë then turned to Arafinwë with a puzzled look.

"You participated in the War of Wrath," he said. "Did you ever come across this ritual while you were there?"

Arafinwë shook his head. "No, I did not, nor was I really aware of the significance of the front braids at the time. I noticed some of our people sporting them, but not all, and assumed they were merely imitating the Sindar out of respect or envy. I did not know nor did I care, as long as they fought and survived the fighting. When we returned, no one wore them, and I forgot about them until Findaráto was returned to us. I never knew about this oath until Sador and Laurendil explained it to me."

"It troubles me that such an oath ever developed," Ingwë said with a sigh. "How many of the warriors now living on Tol Eressëa have taken this oath and to whom?"

Finrod nodded in understanding. "You fear that once the other kings of Beleriand are released from Mandos those oaths will be... revived to the possible detriment to the peace of Aman."

"It is exactly what I fear, Nephew." Ingwë acknowledged. "That oath is too dangerous for all of us."

"Perhaps," Finrod agreed, "but for one thing: those who were once kings of Beleriand will cleave to your authority without question. You need not fear that it will be otherwise."

Ingwë gave his great-nephew a strange look. "How can you be so sure, child? Do you have such power of command over someone like Elwë?"

Finrod smiled with a shake of his head. "Nay, sire, but Anatar Olwë does... and Atar and I will see to Ñolofinwë, Findecáno, and Turucáno."

"Ñolofinwë may well dispute my right to be Noldóran," Arafinwë said ruefully, but again Finrod shook his head.

"Nay, Atar, do not be overly concerned. Ñolofinwë will be too unsure of himself as a Reborn to even think such a thing. He will be simply grateful that you have welcomed him back into your good graces and have forgiven him."

Arafinwë stared at Finrod in surprise. "But why should he look for forgiveness from me? If anything it is I who should ask for his forgiveness for deserting all of you, for turning back like a coward because..."

"Atar!" Finrod shouted in shock, taking Arafinwë by the shoulders and practically shaking him. "You are no coward! And you did not desert us. It was we who were the cowards, slinking away in the dark because we were too proud or too frightened to accept Mercy when offered to us. No. My uncle and all the others will be the ones looking for forgiveness."

For a long moment father and son stared at one another and then Arafinwë nodded once and Finrod gathered him into his arms and gave him a fierce hug, kissing him on the cheek before releasing him. Then he turned to Ingwë.

"The number of warriors who have taken that oath is probably less than you fear, Uncle, for many still reside in Mandos." He paused as if gathering his thoughts, but all noticed him swaying slightly with fatigue. Glorfindel held out a steadying hand and Finrod smiled gratefully. "When they are eventually released," he continued, "it may be some time before they even remember the oath or its consequences. I, for instance, had no memory of it until Laurendil appeared and spoke the words. Now, if you will excuse me, I must see to Aldundil."

"I will come with you, gwador," Glorfindel said in a tone that brooked no argument.

"And I will see that a bath and a light meal are waiting for you," Sador added.

Finrod nodded his thanks and with a bow to Ingwë and Arafinwë he and Glorfindel took their leave.

****

When they reached Aldundil’s apartments it was to find two guards standing before the door. Neither disputed Finrod’s right to enter but one of them spoke softly to him before opening the door.

"There was some trouble earlier, lord, but Lord Laurendil forbade us to interfere."

Finrod nodded and he and Glorfindel entered to find themselves in the midst of chaos, much to their dismay. Furniture was thrown all around and there was broken crockery scattered across the rugs along with what appeared to be locks of dark hair. Water dripped from overturned flower vases. In one corner Vorondil crouched with his hands over his head weeping while on the other side of the room Aldundil lay unconscious with an interesting bruise on his jaw beginning to form. Laurendil knelt over him, a look in his eyes that any orc would have recognized as dangerous. He had a knife in one hand.

"Laurendil!" Finrod called, putting forth all the power of his kingship into his voice.

Laurendil blinked, as if waking, and, looking up to see Finrod and Glorfindel, he dropped the knife with a sob but otherwise did not move. Glorfindel gave Finrod a wry look.

"He’s your vassal, you take care of him. I’ll see to Vorondil." Finrod chuckled and nodded.

Going over to Laurendil he crouched down and put a hand on the ellon’s shoulder. "What happened, otornya?"

Laurendil shook his head. "I don’t know. One minute all was quiet, the next.... When we got here Aldundil went directly to his room without speaking. Ten minutes later he came out with a knife in his hand and attacked Vorondil, attempting to cut off the ellon’s hair. I was so shocked I didn’t move fast enough but was able to prevent him from hacking off his own locks after he finished with his son’s. I’m afraid I had to be rather rough with him."

Finrod looked down at the still unconscious elf, a dark purple bruise on his jaw. "Where is Lady Calalindalë?" he finally asked.

"When Aldundil attacked his son I yelled at her to bar herself in her room. I feared in his state Aldundil might try to harm her as well."

Finrod nodded. "We will leave her there for now." Then he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "Lord Manwë warned me...." He shook his head and opened his eyes again and saw the confusion on Laurendil’s face. "Come. Let’s see if we can revive my newest vassal."

With that the two ellyn took Aldundil by the arms and hauled him up, laying him upon a couch that had not been turned over.

Meanwhile, Glorfindel knelt over the still weeping Vorondil. The younger ellon was a mess. His tunic was torn and there were shallow gashes on the back of his neck from the knife. His hair was even more ragged than before and Glorfindel could see that it would all have to be trimmed at the neckline. It would take some time for Vorondil’s hair to grow back.

Glorfindel sighed and reached over to take the ellon into his arms. Vorondil opened his eyes to see who was there and screamed.

"No! Nooooo!" He tried to get away but there was no place for him to go and Glorfindel’s hold on him was too strong.

"Hush now, child," he chided the ellon softly. "No one’s going to hurt you, least of all me." He continued holding Vorondil tightly, rocking him gently and began singing Námo’s lullaby. Eventually, almost against his will, Vorondil fell asleep.

Finrod came over then to see how Vorondil was doing and shook his head in dismay at the ellon’s state. "I’ll have Laurendil find some water and a clean cloth. We need to tend to those gashes before they fester."

"See if he can find some shears as well," Glorfindel said. "I’ll trim Vorondil’s hair while he’s asleep. I think it will be less of a shock for him if he sees it neatly trimmed instead of the rat’s nest it is now."

Finrod nodded and in short order Laurendil came back with a bowl of tepid water, clean cloths, some unguent smelling of lemon and a small pair of clippers. He and Glorfindel tended to Vorondil while Finrod sat next to Aldundil, waiting for the elf to waken, which he did about ten minutes later. By then, Laurendil and Glorfindel had finished treating Vorondil and were taking him to one of the bedrooms. Laurendil volunteered to check on Lady Calalindalë.

"Assure the lady that both husband and son are well," Finrod ordered, "but ask her to remain in her room until I send for her. I need to speak with Aldundil alone, so when you’ve seen to the lady stay with Glorfindel."

Both ellyn nodded as they left. Finrod turned back to Aldundil to see the older elf staring blankly up at him in confusion.

"Hello, Aldundil," Finrod said conversationally. "Do you know, I take a rather dim view of people attacking my property."

"P-property?" Aldundil’s confusion merely deepened as Finrod nodded.

"Yes. Vorondil is my property, or didn’t you know that is what ‘bondsman’ means?"

"M-my son... my son..." but he couldn’t complete his thoughts as he fell to weeping. Finrod sighed and gathered him into his arms and rocked him.

"Your son belongs to me as surely as you do, Aldundil, though the manner in which he does is different. Nonetheless, you had no right to do what you did."

"He dishonored you... me.... all of us!" Aldundil protested hotly through his tears.

"Yes, but it was not your place to punish him. That is my prerogative and mine alone."

Aldundil’s weeping abated and now he was beginning to feel embarrassed. "Forgive me, ar-aranya. I meant no disrespect."

Finrod released him from his embrace and looked at him with a mixture of exasperation and love. "I know you didn’t. Nonetheless, I’m afraid I will have to punish you for what you’ve done to my property."

Aldundil shivered at that, his expression bleak. "W-what..."

Finrod took a hank of Aldundil’s hair and held it up for the ellon to see. "You will resume wearing warrior braids. I trust you remember the pattern. I’ll see that the appropriate gemstones and beads are given to you if you tell me what they are. I expect to see you wearing them before we leave for Lórien."

"Th-that’s my punishment?" Aldundil asked, still feeling confused.

Finrod gave him a gentle smile, leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "For now," he whispered. "Now go clean yourself up and then see to your wife and apologize to her. Remain with her until I send for you."

Aldundil nodded as he struggled to rise from the couch, now subdued and embarrassed by all that had happened. He eyed the mess around him. "What about..."

"I’ll have my uncle’s people come and clean this up," Finrod said. "Go now. I needs must look in on Vorondil."

"My son..."

"Beyond having a very short hairstyle, thanks to your expert barbering," Finrod said with a wry twist to his lips, "he appears to be well physically, though I have yet to ascertain the state of his mind." Then his tone darkened and Aldundil nearly quailed at his lord’s expression. "He is no longer your concern, Aldundil. With your oath you gave him to me and I will see to his well-being from now on."

Aldundil closed his eyes for a brief moment and the grief that was etched on his face was almost more than Finrod could bear but then he opened his eyes, which were now clear of any confusion, gave Finrod a bow and without another word left to do the prince’s bidding. Finrod stood there for a moment in contemplation, then went to the door and, opening it, gave his orders to the guards before returning to see how Vorondil was doing. He found that Laurendil and Glorfindel had removed the ellon’s outer tunic and boots and had tucked him into bed. Glorfindel had done a decent job of trimming the ellon’s hair. It was short but neat and did not look too bad. More like one of the Edain, Finrod thought to himself with a fond smile at the memory.

"How is he doing?" he asked softly as he entered the room.

Glorfindel looked up with a grin. "Still sleeping like an elfling. I ought to run and get my stuffed toy for him."

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that. "Stuffed toy? You brought your stuffed toy to Ingwë’s court?"

Glorfindel laughed. "Nay, but Lord Námo did."

Finrod shook his head in disbelief. "You’ll have to tell me all about it later. For now, I need this particular elfling awake." He reached over and began gently stroking Vorondil’s cheek and calling him with voice and mind until the ellon began to stir, opening his eyes blearily. It took him a few seconds to recognize Finrod and when he did he tried to scramble out of his reach. Finrod sat down on the edge of the bed and took the ellon by the shoulders.

"Nay, Vorondil," Finrod said soothingly. "There’s nowhere for you to go. Settle down. No one will harm you. How do you feel, hinya?"

"M-my neck hurts," he said, looking somewhat lost and forlorn. The three older ellyn looked upon the younger elf with pity rather than with scorn, recognizing how very young he truly was for all that he had tried to act older.

"It will heal," Finrod said, "and your hair will grow back." They almost smiled when Vorondil threw his hands over his head in a vain attempt to hide his shorn locks. "For now, I want you to go and gather your belongings. Laurendil will go with you to help. Then I want you to bring them to my apartments. You’ll be staying with me until we leave for Lórien."

"Wh-why?" Vorondil asked, clearly confused and feeling somewhat fearful.

"I think your atar and ammë could use some privacy, don’t you?" Finrod asked gently with a small smile. "And this way, you will have time to get used to the idea of being my bondsman."

Vorondil gave a stifled sob at that and Finrod gathered him into his arms and hugged him. "There’s nothing to fear, child," he said as gently as he could. Whatever anger he had felt towards this ellon was long gone, replaced by an almost fatherly concern that he recognized as a concomitant consequence of taking Aldundil’s oath the way that he had. "You will find that I’m not an ogre and I will never command from you anything shameful or against your deepest will. Perhaps, in time, we will even find ourselves friends, though Glorfindel might have a thing or two to say about that."

Glorfindel snorted good-naturedly and stuck his tongue out at Finrod who smiled. Vorondil gave them both dubious looks but seemed calmer and more accepting of the situation. Finrod gave him another hug for good measure and smiled at him. "Good. Now, go with Laurendil and I’ll see you later." He turned to Laurendil with a rueful look. "Tell Sador I may be a while."

"The bath will be hot and the meal cold... or should that be the other way around?" Laurendil joked and he, Finrod and Glorfindel laughed. Even Vorondil was seen to giggle a little at the levity being displayed, which heartened Finrod and gave him hope that the ellon was not irredeemable.

When Laurendil and Vorondil, who had to borrow one of his atar’s tunics, left, Finrod and Glorfindel went to see Aldundil and Calalindalë. They did not stay long. Finrod told them what he had decided about their son and they were both resigned to it, though Calalindalë looked fearful until Finrod assured her he would never do anything to her son that would bring shame to him.

"I give you my word as King of Nargothrond, my lady, that your son’s well-being will always be of concern to me and I will do nothing to endanger it or bring him shame. He is my thrall, true, but he is still a scion of a noble family and will be treated as such by me in all things."

With that both Aldundil and Calalindalë were mollified. Finrod suggested they remain in their apartments for the rest of their stay until it was time to leave for Lórien. "For I think, lady, you will benefit by coming with us. Lord Irmo and Lady Estë will welcome you and this way you will not be separated from your loved ones."

Calalindalë thanked Finrod, as did Aldundil, and after a few more minutes of discussing details, he and Glorfindel left, encountering a team of servants busily cleaning the mess in the front room as they did.

"Now, I want that bath," Finrod said with much feeling as they walked down the corridor to his apartments. "And then I want to sleep for a very long time."

"Which means I finally have my chance at revenge."

Finrod stopped in amazement. "Whatever do you mean, gwador?"

Glorfindel gave him his most wicked grin. "Not telling, but don’t be surprised if you wake up feeling slightly cold... and wet."

Finrod narrowed his eyes and a dangerous gleam shone through them. "You wouldn’t dare."

For an answer Glorfindel stuck out his tongue and made a very rude noise, then stepped nimbly out of Finrod’s reach and ran down the corridor with his gwador running after him shouting threats and laughing at the same time.

****

Elwë: Elu Thingol.

Ñolofinwë: Fingolfin.

Findecáno: Fingon.

Turucáno: Turgon.

79: Return to the Ring of Doom

After careful consultation with his engineers and the Maiar who had helped with the cleaning of Formenos, Ingwë decided that it would be best to wait until the spring before sending the prisoners into exile. In the meantime, Arafinwë sent for his prisoners to come to Vanyamar, thinking it would be prudent to have all of them under one roof. The problem was, no one knew where they could be housed that would be isolated enough that they could not cause trouble in the city until Glorfindel remembered the caves where Manwë had kept him.

"They’re not overly large but they are large enough," Glorfindel explained to Ingwë. "There are three main caverns plus the bathing cavern and privy. I do not know how food can be gotten to them, for now I suspect that Lord Manwë simply made my meals appear when needed. The front entrance is the only one. There are no other exits so you won’t have to block anything up."

Ingwë nodded. "I will have my people take a look. Do you think you can remember where they are located?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "No, sorry. I’m afraid I have no idea where on the mountain I was. Olórin led me back to Vanyamar but not along any recognizable route. We didn’t even reach the road until the city was in sight."

"I will ask Lord Manwë then and get his permission to use the caves," the High King said. "Valanya will come before we leave for Valmar and I will go up to Ilmarin as is my custom on that day to pay my respects to the Elder King and his Spouse."

So it was decided. When Ingwë returned from Ilmarin it was with Manwë’s permission and directions and even a few suggestions on how to fortify the caves for the purpose they were to be used. Ingwë stated that he regretted that he even had to consider such a thing, and Manwë commiserated with him.

When the day came to travel to Valmar it was decided to leave directly after breakfast. It would be a large group that was traveling, for many of the Vanyarin nobles and not a few of Arafinwë’s people wished to witness the doomsaying against Ingoldo and Tinwetariel, and progress between the two cities would be slow. The older elves remembered the last time with Fëanáro, but for the younger elves this was a first.

Finrod traveled with his own party consisting of Glorfindel, Laurendil, Sador and Ingwion, with the addition of Aldundil and his family, as well as Elessairon, Lómion, Ercassë, Elemmirë and Alassiel. Lirulin had elected to remain in Vanyamar with Indil and Findis, for none of them desired to see Ingoldo or Tinwetariel again.

It was a somewhat strange group riding with Finrod, and the Vanyar who rode with the High King looked upon them with a combination of sincere interest and gratuitous curiosity. Many were surprised to see Lord Aldundil wearing those ridiculous front braids that the Noldorin prince and his otornor insisted on wearing. Even more shocking was the sight of Vorondil with his locks shorn and many wondered, erroneously of course, if Finrod had ordered them cut as a means of shaming the younger ellon who was now his thrall.

The problem with this theory, several others pointed out, including Lord Valandur, was that Findaráto was seen treating Vorondil with great gentleness and respect and the younger ellon did not seem unduly frightened of him. At one point, during a brief rest period, Findaráto was seen putting an arm around Vorondil and speaking to him quietly. No one heard what was said, but they saw Vorondil nod his head and actually smile at whatever was being told him, and many wondered at that.

They were even more amazed when, upon reaching the Ring of Doom, both Findaráto and Glorfindel took Vorondil into the center of the Ring and began pointing out various features to him, as if explaining something. The ellon, they saw, looked about in wonder, but not fear, and even appeared to be asking a question or two which one or the other of the Noldorin Reborn took pains to answer as completely as possible and with apparently great patience and even good humor. No one could figure it out and those who understood the truth were not about to enlighten them.

Ingoldo and Tinwetariel were brought into the center of the Ring of Doom, neither looking at all well. Glorfindel, as the injured party was there as well, along with those who had participated in the Hunt. Finrod insisted that Vorondil and Aldundil stand by him.

"This concerns you both as well," he told them. "While Vorondil’s doom was not uttered within the Ring, nevertheless it behooves us to ratify it here where all judgments are made." Both son and father paled at Finrod’s words and Vorondil began to tremble. Finrod put a comforting arm around the younger ellon and kissed his forehead. "There’s nothing to fear, hinya. Judgment has already been rendered. This is just a mere formality, nothing more."

Vorondil nodded somewhat reluctantly but did not look too convinced. Glorfindel clapped him on the shoulder and bent down and whispered something in his ear that seemed to calm him and he even gave the Balrog-slayer a shy smile, which Glorfindel returned with a grin of his own.

Then, just as the sun touched the western horizon, setting all ablaze in a glory of red and gold, purple and rose, the air around them shimmered and the Valar appeared sitting on their thrones in all their terrible majesty. Every elf there bent their knee to the Elder King who bade them to rise, his words solemn with the weight of glory that surrounded him.

"Not since Fëanáro has any Elda stood here to receive the doom of exile," Manwë said softly, though all heard his words. "It grieves me that we must do so again today. Yet, testimony has been heard and crimes have been confessed to. I have listened to the sentences passed upon all who transgressed the Sérë Valaron and I hereby ratify all judgments." He paused and looked straight at Vorondil, his expression becoming less stern, though no less solemn. He gestured to the ellon.

"Come here, Vorondil."

Vorondil swallowed visibly and blanched. Finrod took him by the hand and led him before the Elder King’s throne. Manwë stared at him for several moments. Vorondil wanted to look away, but found that he couldn’t and he grew even more pale. Finally the Elder King spoke.

"Findaráto hath claimed thee for himself and I accept his claim. Therefore, as agreed, thou wilt go to Lórien as Findaráto’s bondsman to perform whatsoever service he requireth of thee. For thirty years of the Sun thou wilt remain there and attend to the needs of the Reborn who pass through Lord Irmo’s domain. At the end of that time, and if Findaráto releaseth thee, thou wilt be free to leave Lórien and take up whatever life thou desirest. All judgments will be considered rendered and all debts paid. Dost thou understand the terms of thy thralldom, child?"

Vorondil could only nod, reeling slightly under Manwë’s regard. Finrod held him up and gave him an encouraging smile. Manwë nodded. "Then there is nothing more to say. Use the time in Lórien wisely, child, and listen to thy Master. He hath much to teach thee that will be to thy benefit." He reached down and gently took Vorondil into his embrace and planted a kiss on the ellon’s forehead, then gave Finrod a nod. "Go now." The two ellyn bowed to the Elder King and returned to their friends and family.

Manwë looked about and his expression darkened. "Let us proceed to hear the doom upon Ingoldo and Tinwetariel."

At that Námo stood up and his expression was such that none of the elves could look upon him. Ingoldo and Tinwetariel found themselves falling to their knees before the terrifying visage of the Doomsman of Arda.

"Thou, Ingoldo, and thou, Tinwetariel, did conspire against the Sérë Valaron in that ye did deliberately entice one who has yet to reach his majority into committing a heinous act upon another. And this deed was unlawful, whether of Aman or not of Aman. Therefore this doom is now made: For the remainder of this Age, as the Valar shall determine, ye shall leave Vanyamar where this crime was committed and abide at Formenos. Ye shall not be permitted to go more than one league from there in any direction, though within those bounds ye are free to wander. In that time take counsel with yourselves, and remember who and what you are. But after that time this matter shall be set in peace and held redressed, if others will release you."

"As to that, we will see," Ingwë stated and Manwë nodded.

Orders were given and the two prisoners were escorted away from the Máhanaxar. They would be returned to Vanyamar that very night while the High King and his party remained in Valmar. Finrod would leave in the morning with Laurendil, and Aldundil and his family, as well as with Ingwion who would continue on to Nienna’s house under a suitable Maiar escort, while Sador and Arafinwë would return to Tirion. Glorfindel and the four other Noldor who had gone to Vanyamar with him would remain there until the New Year as originally planned.

"I know you would rather come home, Glorfindel," Arafinwë said, "or even go with Findaráto, but I think you should continue your fostering under Ingwë for a time. It will not be for very long and then you will be together with your brothers once again."

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, Atar, I know, and truly I do not mind."

So the next day there were many farewells among the various parties and soon small groups were seen heading west or east, but the largest group went north. With them rode one golden-haired Balrog-slayer.

****

Valanya: Valar-day; what would be our Friday and in the Shire was called Highday. See Appendix D.

Note: Again, some of the wording of the doom against Ingoldo and Tinwetariel are taken from The Silmarilion, "Of the Silmarils".

80: Once Again to Lórien

Finrod and his party reached Lórien well after sunset on the third day from Valmar. As late as the hour was, Lord Irmo was waiting for them along with several Lóriennildi. The Lord of Lórien gave them all a warm greeting.

"Lord Aldundil, Lady Calalindalë, welcome to Lórien," the Vala said. "I trust that your stay here will be pleasant and fruitful. My people have arranged a pavilion for you."

Aldundil and Calalindalë bowed to the Vala and thanked him. Several Lóriennildi led them away after Finrod assured Aldundil that he was to take the next several days to acquaint himself with Lórien.

"I will send for you when I need you," Finrod said in dismissal.

Irmo then turned to Ingwion with a gentle smile. "Prince Ingwion, I know you are not happy to be here but I assure you that spending some time with Nienna is not the punishment you think it is. Rest here for the night and tomorrow my people will escort you to Nienna’s house. Fear not! I have been told that you will return to Vanyamar by the New Year."

Ingwion bowed but said nothing. In a short while he made his good-byes to Finrod and Laurendil, for they would not see him before he left Lórien and then he, too, was led away.

Irmo then looked upon Laurendil with something like amusement. "I understand, my son," Irmo said with a glint in his eyes, "that your wife has been spending the entire day preparing for your return. If I were you, I wouldn’t waste too much time making her wait."

Laurendil blushed and Finrod laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Go, gwador. I may be your king and have your life in my keeping but Manwen is your wife and she ranks me, at least in this much."

If possible Laurendil blushed even more deeply but did not offer any protest. With a hasty bow he set off towards his pavilion, only to be stopped by Finrod calling out to him.

"And if I see your face anytime before three days from now, I will have to be very angry with you, my son."

Laurendil grinned at that and gave Finrod a more formal bow. "Be iest lîn, aran nîn."

Finrod merely laughed, turning back to Irmo, who stood there with an indulgent smile on his face.

"Vorondil will stay with me for the time being," Finrod said and Irmo nodded.

"As I suspected. We do have one problem though. It seems that my brother, in his infinite wisdom, has decided to release an entire contingent of Reborn all at once, and we are presently short on beds." He gave Vorondil a sympathetic look. "I’m afraid, my son, that you will have to sleep on the ground until such time as we have a bed for you. I have my people making new ones even now but it may be a day or two before we have one ready for you. I hope you don’t mind."

Vorondil merely shook his head, trying not to show any anger. What was he going to say, anyway? He was a thrall, after all. It wasn’t as if his feelings mattered anymore. Finrod gave him a shrewd look but did not say anything to him. Instead he turned to Irmo with a wry grin.

"The timing does seem rather... suspect, wouldn’t you say?"

Irmo actually snorted. "Personally, I think it’s a conspiracy perpetrated by my fellow Valar. Sometimes I feel like a glorified innkeeper trying to find beds for all his guests."

Finrod laughed at that and even Vorondil found himself grinning in spite of himself. "Well, I guess there’s no help for it. By your leave, my lord, we will retire." Finrod bowed and Vorondil remembered to do the same.

"We will speak later," Irmo said with a nod and gestured for the remaining Lóriennildi to take the ellyn’s bags.

In short order Finrod and Vorondil were alone in the pavilion. There was only the one cot and on the floor beside it was a pile of furs and blankets. They were soon lying down, but Vorondil had difficulty falling asleep. He did not really believe that there were no beds to be had, and suspected that this was just a means of showing him he was just a thrall and didn’t deserve to be treated like a real person. The thought brought tears to his eyes and he tried desperately not to weep. Unfortunately, the harder he tried to stop the tears from coming the more they did and he found himself sniffling into his pillow, hoping Finrod wouldn’t hear.

That hope was doomed, for Vorondil heard Finrod sigh and rise from his bed. The ellon went perfectly still, wondering what punishment his... master was about to give him for disturbing his rest. He tensed in anticipation of pain and closed his eyes.

"I don’t know why you should have all the fun," Finrod said softly as he plopped a pile of blankets onto the floor next to Vorondil.

The statement so surprised him that Vorondil turned around to see Finrod standing there with a wry smile. "F-fun?"

The Noldorin prince knelt down and wiped the tears from Vorondil’s cheeks with a gentle hand. "I always enjoyed camping out, especially when not being pursued by orcs."

"Orcs?" Vorondil echoed, too stunned to say anything more coherent.

Finrod nodded, throwing a blanket over himself and getting comfortable. "Hmm. Yes, orcs. I can’t begin to tell you how many mudholes I slept in while hunting orcs... or fleeing from them. Now, do you think Lord Irmo would be terribly upset if we made a hole in the pavilion so we can see the stars or should we just move everything outside?"

Vorondil did not know what to say. In fact, he half suspected that this was just a trick on Finrod’s part to lull him into a sense of false security before turning on him, but somehow he couldn’t quite see that happening. Still, he was at a loss as to what to do or say at this juncture. Finrod saved him the trouble by reaching over and taking him into his arms and settling him there.

"Shall I tell you a story?" Finrod asked quietly. "There’s no campfire, but we can still tell tales and sing songs just like it was a real camping trip."

"I-I’ve never been camping," Vorondil confessed hesitantly.

"Never?" Finrod said in surprise. "Well, we’ll just have to remedy that, won’t we? We’ll rope in Laurendil. He just loves going camping, especially when it’s raining orcs and balrogs."

Vorondil looked up at Finrod in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely," Finrod answered with a laugh. "Now, what story would you like to hear?"

Vorondil shrugged, still unsure what was happening. The last thing he expected was for Finrod to treat him more like a younger brother than a thrall and he was not quite ready to accept the prince’s attempts at friendship.

"Would you like me to tell you how I found the Atani?" Finrod finally asked.

Vorondil gave him a surprised look. "Wh-what are they like?" he asked in genuine curiosity.

Finrod smiled. "When I first saw them I thought they were a rather strange group of orcs, but then I heard them singing...."

Vorondil was fast asleep before Finrod even got halfway through his tale.

****

Something ticklish woke him. Vorondil tried to focus his eyes to see what it was and found Finrod staring down at him with a smile. "Time to wake up. We have a guest." The prince’s eyes traveled to the right and up and Vorondil followed them to find himself staring at a rather amused looking Maia standing above them.

"Heeek!" Vorondil grabbed the blankets and threw them over him. Finrod just laughed and pulled them back down.

"None of that, my dear. We don’t want him to think we’re rude, after all."

The Maia spoke. "Lord Irmo bids you good morning and hopes that you will join him for breakfast. Oh, and you’re to bring your thrall with you."

Finrod’s expression went cold as he stood up and Vorondil was surprised to see the Maia take a step back. "His name is Vorondil," the Noldorin prince said quietly but with much authority. "Thrall he may be, but you will speak of him, and to him, with the same respect you would accord to any of the Eruhíni."

The Maia bowed at that, but offered no apology, merely fading away. Finrod shook his head and looked down at Vorondil, who lay there unsure how to respond to what had just happened. "Let’s go find the bathing pool. I don’t think it wise to keep Lord Irmo waiting."

****

They returned from their baths to dress and found that in their absence a second cot had been put in the pavilion and the blankets and furs that had been on the floor properly stored away. Finrod gave Vorondil a wry grin. "Sometimes it’s good to be king."

Vorondil actually laughed at that and Finrod was glad, for it was genuine laughter. Vorondil had a long way to go before he could be considered ‘rehabilitated’ but he was making a good start.

"Come. Let us go find Lord Irmo," he said once they were dressed and the two ellyn made their way to a particular grove where the Lord of Lórien waited for them.

****

Lord Irmo was sitting at a table laden with food when Finrod and Vorondil entered the grove. He looked up with a smile and gestured for the two ellyn to sit after they gave him their obeisance. "I trust you both slept well?" he asked.

They nodded and Finrod spoke for them both. "We went camping, but there was no campfire so we didn’t stay up late."

"I see," Irmo said with a knowing smile. "Please help yourselves. If there is something you wish and do not see let me know." However, it appeared that the Lord of Lórien knew their favorite breakfast dishes and soon the two elves were eating with great delight. There was little conversation at first, but eventually the ellyn slowed down enough to take their attentions off their plates and give them to Lord Irmo who all this while had watched them eat with faint amusement.

"You’ve complicated things for yourself, my son... and for us," Irmo said to Finrod, flicking a quick glance at Vorondil. "Taking Aldundil’s oath... that was not what we had planned."

"We, my lord?" Finrod asked curiously. Vorondil looked on the two of them with something like fear, knowing that whatever the dispute meant, he must be at the heart of it.

"We," Irmo repeated firmly, and the elves had no doubt whom he meant.

Finrod’s expression darkened somewhat. "I was not aware that I needed anyone’s permission to act as my conscience dictates... or as Eru wills."

Irmo raised an eyebrow at that. "And now you have a thrall..."

Finrod stole a quick glance at Vorondil who was trying not to be noticed by either of them. He placed a hand on the ellon’s back and began rubbing it to comfort him before turning his attention to Lord Irmo. "What I have is someone who made a mistake and will spend the next thirty years making amends. His status is my concern and mine alone. In the meantime he will be treated with all the respect any Child of Ilúvatar deserves. I will accept nothing less from anyone, least of all the Valar and the Maiar, who should know better."

Vorondil gave an involuntary gasp at Finrod’s words, his eyes widening in shock at the way the prince had spoken to the Vala and wondered if they would both be punished for such temerity. For several minutes no one spoke, then Irmo bowed his head. "I apologize on behalf of my people, Prince Findaráto. It will not happen again."

Finrod nodded. "And I apologize, as well, my lord. I know that what I did was... precipitous, to say the least, but there were lives at stake, lives I was not willing to see destroyed out of pique."

Vorondil paled, understanding that Finrod was speaking about him. Irmo glanced at him with a sympathetic smile. "You are correct, my son," he said, turning back to Finrod. "Such considerations cannot be easily discounted, but what exactly are we to do with you, young Vorondil, heh?"

Vorondil was wishing the ground would just open up and swallow him. He didn’t know what to say and was afraid to say anything. Finrod saved him the trouble. "For the moment he will follow me or Laurendil on our rounds and we will begin teaching him Sindarin. When he is proficient enough he will tend to the Reborn on his own, though I will continue to supervise his progress. Although he will not be formally admitted as an apprentice and will not wear a tabard, he will for all intents and purposes act as one and will attend the necessary lectures. Laurendil, Manwen and I will see to anything else that he needs to know. When his thirty years of service are up and he has proven himself to me to my satisfaction, he will be free to leave Lórien and take up whatever life he desires. I will not dictate the rest of his life for him, only these next thirty years. He will not leave Lórien save as I give him leave to do so and then only in the company of either myself or Laurendil or possibly his parents, but I withhold judgment on that for now. When he is not on duty or if I do not require his attendance he is free to pursue whatever activities he wishes. He is not to be bullied or otherwise treated disrespectfully by anyone."

Irmo raised an eyebrow and gave Finrod a knowing look. "You’ve thought it all out, haven’t you?"

Finrod smiled thinly. "Well, I had three days to think about it on the way here."

Irmo nodded and looked at Vorondil, giving the ellon a penetrating gaze. Vorondil tried not to squirm. "Do you understand the conditions which Lord Findaráto has dictated just now, child?"

Vorondil nodded. "Yes, my lord," he said faintly. "I-I’m to do whatever m-my... master tells me."

Irmo sighed and Vorondil wondered if he had somehow given the Vala a wrong answer, but neither he nor Finrod looked angry. Finrod placed a hand on the back of Vorondil’s head and made him lean forward so as to plant a kiss on his forehead.

"That will do for now, hinya," he said softly and the obvious love that Vorondil sensed from Finrod brought tears to his eyes and he found himself weeping.

"I-I’m s-sorry... I’m sorry," he cried and Finrod rocked him gently.

"I’m glad to finally hear you say that, child," he said. "It gives me hope for you."

****

Later, when Vorondil had calmed down, they took their leave of Lord Irmo. Finrod went in search of Eärnur and introduced him to Vorondil. The Telerin journeyman greeted the younger ellon with a wide grin.

"Oh, good. Someone whose Sindarin is even worse than mine," he said when Finrod explained that Vorondil would be taking Sindarin lessons in preparation for tending to the Reborn Sindar.

Vorondil gave the Teler a puzzled look. "But I don’t speak any Sindarin."

"Exactly!" Eärnur said and laughed. Finrod joined him.

"Perhaps you would care to offer Vorondil his first lesson," he said once he had gotten himself under control. "I needs must attend to other matters and would leave Vorondil in your capable hands. Perhaps you can also give him a tour and show him what his duties might be."

Eärnur bowed. "It would be my honor, my lord. Come, Vorondil. We can start at Lórellin and work our way back to the dining pavilion in time for lunch."

Vorondil looked at Finrod who gave him a nod. "And Eärnur," the Noldorin prince said with a knowing smile, "keep the language lesson clean. Vorondil’s still underage."

Eärnur feigned a scowl. "Oh bother, and I was so looking forward to teaching him all the insulting words so he can try them on you."

Finrod just laughed as he walked away. Vorondil gave the Teler a dubious look. Eärnur winked and began walking in the opposite direction. Vorondil quickly joined him. As the two of them strolled towards the lake, Vorondil decided that, as circumscribed as his life might be for now, it was not likely to be dull.

****

Be iest lîn, aran nîn: (Sindarin) "As you wish, my king".

Eruhíni: (Quenya): Children of Eru.

81: Judgment on a Minor Note

Vorondil’s good intentions to be obedient to Finrod lasted two weeks.

During that time he struggled with Sindarin, which he found confusing and incomprehensible for the most part. At the same time he was slowly learning his duties. He would not be ministering to the Reborn directly, but seeing to their physical needs — bringing them their meals, cleaning their pavilions, folding their clothes. It was menial and beneath him, but he had no choice in the matter. For the most part he did not see Finrod during the day as he went about his tasks, though his... master made a point of sharing the evening meal with him and quizzing him on his progress (or lack of it) in learning Sindarin and asking about his day in general.

Sometimes either Laurendil or Manwen would take him with them on their rounds and he always had to listen to the lectures (Finrod quizzed him about these as well and he learned quickly not to forget what had been taught) even though he knew he would never be allowed to minister to the Reborn or anyone else as a real apprentice. That wouldn’t have been so bad, he decided, being a real apprentice, but he wasn’t. He was a thrall, though no one used that word, not even Finrod.

He saw his parents only once in that first two weeks and then they were gone. Back to Tirion, Finrod told him after the fact, for his master would not allow him to say good-bye to them.

"I thought it best that they not stay," Finrod explained to him. "Your ammë was very upset at the thought of you doing menial work. I’m afraid both your atar and I had to be rather abrupt with her, so I decided not to allow her to say good-bye to you. Your atar agreed."

In truth, Vorondil did not mind that, for Ammë had always been a bit ... high-strung, but he greatly missed his atar and would have liked to have given him a proper good-bye.

The hardest part was, of course, remembering to call Finrod ‘Master’, though the few times when he forgot Finrod never chastised him and didn’t seem to mind one way or the other. It was everyone else who minded and more than once he was drawn aside by one of the Lóriennildi and taken to task for his forgetfulness. The message, if not the words, was always the same: "You’re a thrall, act like one".

Only that morning one of the Lóriennildi had scolded him and he was so despondent over it that even Finrod noticed and asked what was wrong when the two of them happened to be in their pavilion together shortly after the noonmeal.

"Nothing, Master," Vorondil said quietly as he stood over his bed and folded clothes. From the beginning Vorondil’s one task in caring for his master was folding Finrod’s clothes.

"I can do the rest myself," Finrod had said with a deprecating grin. "but I can’t fold clothes to save my life. That will be your job. I hope you can do it better than I or else we’re both going to look bloody ridiculous with wrinkled tunics."

In the end Vorondil had to have Lady Manwen show him how to do it properly.

Finrod glanced at his thrall and saw the set look on the ellon’s face. "Vorondil," he said quietly, "stop what you’re doing and look at me."

Vorondil put down the tunic he had just picked up to fold and looked up, biting his lip. Finrod studied him for a long moment, then very softly said, "Don’t ever lie to me, child. You will not enjoy the consequences."

That broke Vorondil’s resolve. His expression darkened to one of despair. He grabbed the tunic he’d been about to fold, bunched it up and threw it at Finrod, screaming, "I don’t care! I hate you! I hate all of you!"

Then he turned and ran out of the pavilion, and continued running, heedless of Finrod calling him to come back, heedless of anyone or anything but his own misery. He ran and ran, through one grove and another, past surprised Lóriennildi and disinterested Reborn. He ran until he found himself at the entrance to Lórien and the road leading back to Valmar and Tirion stretched before him. He was running down the road, sobbing, half blind with tears, when someone tackled him and he went down screaming, thrashing about in a futile attempt to escape.

"Vorondil! Stop!" Finrod ordered as he attempted to hold the ellon, but Vorondil was too far gone in despair to hear him, so he was forced to knock the child out with a well-placed fist.

****

Pain was the first thing Vorondil felt when he came to; fear was the second. Someone placed a cool cloth on his forehead and held a second one against his jaw which was where the pain seemed to be centered.

"You can open your eyes whenever you’re ready, Vorondil." Finrod’s voice was a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Vorondil bit back a sob and tried to turn away but Finrod grabbed his arm and held him back. "No, child. You’re not getting away with that. Open your eyes and look at me."

There was a note of command which Vorondil could not ignore and he reluctantly opened his eyes to see Finrod sitting next to him. They were back in their pavilion. Laurendil was also there, standing behind Finrod, his expression unreadable. A single lantern hanging from the center pole lit the pavilion and Vorondil could tell that it was now full night, though just how late it was he did not know. Finrod looked down at him and sighed.

"I think I should have just killed you the way Laurendil wanted me to," he said softly, his eyes dark with some emotion the younger ellon could put no name to and that frightened him as nothing else could have. He started screaming.

It took both Finrod and Laurendil to hold him down until his thrashings quieted and his screams became mere whimpers of sick despair that tore at the hearts of the two older elves. Finrod then gathered the elfling into his arms and rocked him.

"I’m sorry, child," he whispered, "I shouldn’t have said that, nor do I really mean it. Shh. It is well, Little One. Be still now."

It took some time but eventually Vorondil calmed to the point where he was nearly falling asleep, except his body decided at that moment to make its needs known and to his embarrassment his stomach rumbled loud enough for the other two elves to hear.

Laurendil chuckled and said, "I’ll get us some food, aranya. Vorondil’s not the only one who’s missed a meal."

Laurendil left and now master and thrall were alone. For a long moment neither moved nor spoke. Finrod continued holding Vorondil, who, besides feeling hungry, had a horrendous headache. It was hard to concentrate on the soft words which Finrod began speaking.

"I’m not going to punish you, Vorondil, but I will exact an oath from you that you will not run away from me again. Make no mistake, child. This will be as binding an oath as the one your atar gave me and if you break it I will punish you. I did not reign for over three hundred years of the Sun in Nargothrond without being ruthless when necessary, so do not make the mistake of thinking I do not mean what I say. I do."

Vorondil lay there, wishing Finrod had indeed killed him and said so in a strangled whisper made hoarse by tears. Finrod took a deep breath, shaken by the utter despair he heard in Vorondil’s voice.

"Oh, child, what did they do to you?" he whispered as he rocked the ellon tightly, hoping to offer him some comfort.

"W-who?"

"The ones who drove you to this hopelessness. Who has dared to rob you of estel?"

For some minutes Vorondil said nothing, then quietly, brokenly, he began to speak of the last two weeks, the difficulty he was having learning Sindarin, the menial nature of his duties without any of the glory of being a real apprentice, and finally everyone constantly reminding him of his thralldom.

"And... and I miss my atar," he ended with another sob.

Finrod sighed. "I know you do, child, but I promise you, you’ll see him at the New Year. Now, how exactly is everyone reminding you that you’re my thrall?"

So Vorondil explained and Finrod was very careful to keep the anger out of his voice, though it was difficult. "They had no right to say these things to you, Vorondil, and I wish you had told me earlier."

"I know I’m supposed to call you ‘Master’," Vorondil said with a heavy sigh, "but sometimes I forget. I don’t mean to, honest."

Finrod hugged him. "I know you don’t, Little One, but truly, I don’t care if you call me ‘Master’ or not. Call me whatever you wish."

Laurendil happened to walk in as Finrod was speaking, bearing a loaded tray, and grinned mischievously. "So, aranya, if Vorondil goes around calling you an orc-brained ninny, you’re fine with that?"

Finrod laughed. "As long as he does so respectfully, yes." Laurendil sniggered as he put the tray down on a table.

Vorondil looked upon them with a mixture of confusion and horror. "B-but I would never..."

"Well, I did," Laurendil said with a fond smile at the child, "and it was nowhere near respectful."

Vorondil gazed at the older ellon with wonder. "D-did you get punished?" he asked faintly.

Laurendil nodded and Finrod laughed again. "Indeed," the former King of Nargothrond said.

"W-what..."

"I promoted him to captain," Finrod explained as he and Laurendil shared a warm smile.

"That’s a punishment?" Vorondil asked in disbelief.

Laurendil nodded, his expression more sober. "I thought so at the time."

Finrod looked down at the ellon still lying in his embrace. "I told you I knew how to be ruthless when necessary."

Vorondil shivered at that. Then Finrod pushed him out of his arms. "Let’s eat," he said.

****

Later, Finrod insisted Vorondil get some sleep, assuring the younger ellon that no punishment would be forthcoming now that he understood what had brought about the earlier revolt. It took some doing, and Finrod ended up playing the harp and singing Námo’s lullaby, which Vorondil now listened to with a smile as he drifted towards the Path of Dreams, but he finally succumbed and then Finrod and Laurendil left the pavilion.

"Where do we go, aranya?" Laurendil asked quietly as he followed Finrod down the sward that lay between the various groves housing the pavilions. Finrod was walking at a determined clip and his expression was set. The last time Laurendil remembered Finrod with that look, the citizens of Nargothrond were summarily reminded who exactly ruled Nargothrond. Finrod had returned after a year’s absence with Bëor in tow and the reception was less than welcoming for them both in certain quarters. Bëor was ready to depart, not wishing to cause trouble for his lord, but Finrod began systematically reminding them all that he was indeed Fëanor’s nephew and not to be trifled with. It was at that moment that a certain lowly Ranger scout named Glorendil had fallen in love with his king and had given him his oath. In all the centuries since, Laurendil had never regretted that decision and thanked the Valar for the opportunity to serve the only king he would ever acknowledge in whatever capacity said king deemed appropriate.

Finrod did not answer, and Laurendil was content to merely follow his king’s lead. Eventually, Laurendil found himself in a part of Lórien he had not even known existed, though Finrod apparently knew just where he was going. They came to a particular grove and upon entering it Laurendil felt as if he’d stepped back into a time before Time. He had to listen carefully to ascertain that his heart was still beating and taking a breath was proving difficult. Then Finrod was touching his brow with a single finger and a light seemed to flow from it, silver and gold mingled. As the light flowed into him Laurendil felt himself coming back into focus and took a deep welcome breath.

"Stay here, Amborondanya," Finrod ordered quietly. "This grove does not welcome the Eruhíni gladly."

Laurendil nodded, automatically assuming the stance of a guard. Finrod smiled approvingly and then moved into the center of the grove, seemingly unaffected by whatever had assaulted Laurendil. Only starlight provided illumination, but it seemed as if Finrod was bathed in a silvery light that had nothing to do with the stars. For a moment Finrod merely stood there and Laurendil wondered what they were doing in this particular grove. The answer was not long in coming.

A shimmer of light grew near where Finrod stood and then Lord Irmo was there, along with Lord Námo. That nearly unnerved Laurendil and he had a sudden urge to flee, some primal need screaming in the back of his mind that he ruthlessly suppressed, though it was a near thing and he felt faint. The two Valar stood silently before Finrod with implacable expressions. Námo was dressed in a flowing robe of silver figured silk, while on his head he wore a circlet of silver with a single large isilsar. Irmo was dressed similarly in a robe of gold figured silk. A gold circlet with a single large anarsar graced his head.

"You should not have come here, Arafinwion," Irmo said and there was no warmth in his voice. "And you should not have come with Laurendil."

"Laurendil is my vassal and he will keep silent in all that he sees and hears," Finrod’s voice was just as cold and unforgiving as Irmo’s.

"Tell us your thoughts," Námo said in a deep voice that seemed to echo something from an earlier time. Laurendil was suddenly reminded of the trek North and the Doom of Mandos uttered by the one who stood only a few feet away. The former Ranger wanted to be very, very sick just then, but he steeled himself against his body’s demands.

"Your people are systematically robbing a child of estel and I demand that it stop right here and now."

"Demand?" Irmo asked in a tone that was absolutely deadly in its quietness.

"I hold you responsible for the actions of your people, Lord Irmo. I will brook no denial in this, not even from the Valar. This will stop now or I will stop it for you."

"You’re very sure of yourself, Findaráto," Námo said with some surprise. "Whence comes such courage, child? What have you remembered?"

Laurendil felt his jaw drop at those words. What were they talking about? For the first time he saw Finrod hesitate.

"I do not know if it is a memory," he said slowly. "I only know that I’ve done this before, but I’m not sure where."

"Tol-in-Gauroth," Námo answered and Laurendil shivered and saw Finrod sway slightly. He was tempted to leave his post and go to his king’s aid but knew better than to interfere with what was going on, so he stood still and watched.

"Songs of Power," Finrod muttered.

Irmo gave his older brother in the Thought of Eru an appraising glance. "You think that’s what is happening, hánonya?"

Námo nodded, looking less grim. "There is no doubt in my mind."

"If we could get back to the subject at hand," Finrod said with a tone of voice Laurendil had only heard whenever his king had held court, allowing his subjects to approach him with their problems and concerns. Both Valar gave him unreadable looks. Finrod merely stared back with disinterest.

"Your thrall ran away today," Irmo said at last.

"Your people did their work well," Finrod retorted. "My congratulations."

A silence fell between the three in the center of the grove that seemed to Laurendil to extend beyond the Circles of Arda unto the very porticos of the Timeless Halls and all of Arda went still for the wonder of it. Then Námo turned his amaranthine gaze upon Laurendil. "Let him come, Laurendil."

Laurendil started and was suddenly aware that someone stood behind him. Turning, he saw it was Vorondil, his eyes blank and unseeing and Laurendil thought the child must be sleepwalking. He stepped aside and without acknowledging the Ranger’s presence, the younger ellon walked into the center of the grove.

Finrod frowned. "You did not have to summon him, my lords. I hold him blameless in this."

"But we do not," Irmo responded, then reached out and gently touched the space between Vorondil’s eyes with his forefinger and the ellon started blinking, coming awake. He took in his surroundings with a bemused expression and then his gaze lighted upon the two Valar and he moaned, shock running through him like a fire. Finrod took him in his embrace and whispered something Laurendil could not hear. He saw the child nod and then Finrod released him.

"And of what do you deem him guilty?" Finrod asked.

"He ran away," Irmo said simply, as if that explained everything.

"And if I have forgiven him that, can you dare do less?"

"Vorondil may have escaped justice at the hands of the High King, Findaráto," Námo said coldly, "but he has not escaped us. He violated the Sérë Valaron and we will not be gainsaid in exacting justice."

"Being my thrall for the next thirty years isn’t punishment enough, my lords?" Finrod asked with a slight smile that held no warmth. "Whatever happened to mercy and forgiveness or are those just words bandied about for the comfort of those of us who must live on sufferance of your good will?"

The two Valar exchanged glances that Laurendil could not read. Vorondil, Laurendil noticed, had gone perfectly still, his face dead white. Finrod, on the other hand, was now surrounded by a golden glow and his eyes shone with fiery wrath. Námo returned his attention to Vorondil, who was standing somewhat behind Finrod, as if behind a shield against the Valar’s wrath. Laurendil could see the child trembling.

"By rights, Vorondil," Námo said softly, though Laurendil had no trouble hearing him, "you should be in Mandos now under my care."

Vorondil raised a hand to his mouth in horror and started weeping though he never took his eyes off the Lord of Mandos. Námo continued staring at him for a moment and then suddenly he released his hold on the ellon and sat down upon a throne that was simply... there. Laurendil noticed that the silvery robes had become something that wasn’t quite black under the starlight but Námo’s whole mien darkened. Irmo remained standing, however, and then the grove became suddenly too small as fourteen more Beings appeared, two of them Maiar, both of whom flanked Laurendil. The other twelve Valar ranged around the four people in the center in a half circle, giving Laurendil a perfect view of the proceedings. He had no doubt he was seeing a Valarin court in progress. Námo spoke again.

"This should be the Máhanaxar, but we will dispense with that formality for now. Come here Vorondil." He gestured to Vorondil, who stumbled closer to the throne and then was kneeling before the Vala. Námo reached out and touched Vorondil’s forehead with a forefinger and a silvery light flared for an instant and then Vorondil was on the ground, his eyes wide open and he was screaming.

Laurendil found the two Maiar gripping him, keeping him where he was, though his first reaction was to go to Vorondil and try to help him. However, he knew there was no help he could offer the poor child. Whatever the Valar were doing to him it was beyond anyone’s ability to help. Finrod stood there unmoving, or perhaps unable to move, gazing at Vorondil writhing on the ground as horrors only he could see assaulted him. The expression on his king’s face was one he had never hoped to see again, not since the Dagor Bragollach. Somehow, Laurendil knew, Finrod was going to make the Valar pay for this night.

Námo must have recognized the look as well for he gazed serenely at Finrod. "Save your anger, Arafinwion," the Vala said above Vorondil’s screams. "This is no different than what you went through and serves the same purpose."

Laurendil saw Finrod shudder at that and then mercifully Vorondil’s screams came to a halt. At that moment, Estë came forward and knelt before the ellon and gathered him into her arms. She rocked him and crooned a wordless lullaby that even effected Laurendil, for he began to relax and the Maiar released their hold on him. Even Finrod seemed less tense than before. Estë looked up at Námo.

"His hröa cannot endure much more, brother," she said in her musical voice which always reminded Laurendil of nightingales. "Yet his fëa is strong and he recovers quickly."

"The resilience of youth," Manwë said, stepping forward. The Elder King gave Finrod a glance. "A few days’ rest should see him to rights, my son. Do not fear for the child. This was necessary for all of us, including him." He turned his attention to Námo. "Are you satisfied, Morimando?"

Námo nodded. "Yes, Calamando, I am. Judgment has been rendered and all debts paid. Let the child be returned to his bed."

With that, a third Maia appeared, one whom Laurendil and Finrod both recognized. Olórin bowed to the Elder King and Námo before giving a soft greeting to Finrod. "Do not be dismayed, child. You knew it was only a matter of time. Taking Aldundil’s oath merely postponed the inevitable. Be comforted that my lord Námo has shown as much mercy as he has."

"Mercy?" Finrod turned his gaze upon the Lord of Mandos who was still seated.

"Findaráto, this had nothing to do with punishment, you know that," Námo said with a sigh. "Vorondil should have found himself in Mandos by now where I would have been able to cleanse him of all the hatred that was eating up his soul. Aldundil’s move circumvented our plans for him. And you didn’t make it any easier when you accepted Aldundil’s oath."

"You wanted Vorondil to die?" Finrod asked disbelievingly.

It was Manwë who answered, laying a hand on Finrod’s shoulder. "No, child, not wanted. We knew he was supposed to die then."

"At my hands." It was not a question. Finrod stared at Manwë for a moment. "I was supposed to be his executioner."

"You were supposed to be Vorondil’s savior," Manwë corrected. "A role that you have adopted anyway, but not in the way we thought." Here the Elder King gave Finrod a sad smile. "Did we not tell you that we cannot safely predict which way you Children will go? We foresaw that Vorondil would come to Mandos, but it seems we misinterpreted that vision. Mandos has had to come to Vorondil instead."

"What now?"

Lord Námo nodded towards the ellon still in Estë’s arms. "Olórin will take Vorondil back to your pavilion and remain with him until he wakens. The child will be weak in both hröa and fëa after his ordeal and somewhat disoriented. Olórin will help him there. He should recover quickly enough, though I suspect he will sleep off and on for the next few days. Afterwards... well, this is as much a new experience for us as it is for him. We’ll have to see."

"So he’s been returned to innocence as well?" Finrod asked, kneeling beside Vorondil and caressing the ellon’s hair.

Manwë shook his head. "Not to the extent you and the other Reborn have been, but yes, some of his innocence has been restored, enough to allow his soul to develop properly. It really was twisted, you see, more than you realize."

Finrod continued to stroke the ellon’s hair for a few moments before he rose and gave Námo a steady gaze. "Then I forgive you," he said simply, almost without emotion.

"Hantanyel," Námo replied and Laurendil was surprised at the depth of gratitude the Lord of Mandos conveyed with that one word. He had never considered the possibility that the Valar would ever want or need forgiveness for anything, much less from any of the Eldar.

Manwë gestured to Olórin who bowed again before reaching down and taking the now sleeping ellon into his arms. Then the Maia strode towards the entrance where Laurendil was standing and, giving the elf a smile and a nod in greeting, left the grove.

Irmo glanced at Finrod, smiling. "I apologize, as well, for my people, and will be taking steps to ensure the harassment stops. I allowed it to go on for as long as it did for I wished to determine who among my people were in most need of... correction. I am curious though to know what you were planning to do if I had refused your demand."

Finrod gave the Vala a mirthless smile. "Trust me when I say, my lord, that you do not ever want to find out."

There was silence then that stretched somewhat uncomfortably before Námo broke it. The Vala stood, his throne no longer there, and held out his hands to Finrod, who, after the briefest of hesitations, took them.

"When you are ready, best beloved, we will talk." Then he was gone and so were all the rest except for the Elder King, who gazed serenely at the two elves. Manwë gestured towards Laurendil.

"Come here, child."

Laurendil complied and then Manwë was taking them both by the hand. "You are both so very precious to us in ways you will never understand, though I’m not sure I like this air of defiance in you Findaráto. You’re beginning to remind me too much of your atar."

Finrod started at that and then gave the Elder King a genuine smile. "I’ll take that as a compliment, my lord."

Manwë smiled back. "As I meant you to, child." Then he looked directly at Laurendil. "You did very well here tonight, Laurendil."

"I did nothing, my lord," the former Ranger said. "Your Maiar made sure of that."

"Oh, they weren’t here to stop you, child," Manwë rejoined. "They were here to protect you."

"Pr-protect me?" Laurendil asked with some confusion.

Manwë nodded. "This grove... it’s very dangerous to those uninvited by us. Had you followed your instinct to go to Vorondil’s aid you would have been dead before you had even reached the center."

Laurendil gave Finrod a look of horror and saw that his king was nodding. "I’ve been here before," Finrod explained. "This grove can no longer harm me."

Then it was as if the Elder King held them both in his embrace even though he never moved and Laurendil felt something warm and loving steal over him, caressing him and healing his fëa and he sighed as tension he didn’t realize existed within him melted away, leaving a sense of blissful relief. He noticed that Finrod seemed equally relaxed. Manwë smiled at them both, gave them both a kiss on their brows and released them.

"Go now, children, and rest. Have no fear for Vorondil. He will recover and have very little memory of this night, yet, I think you will see that the despair that threatened him earlier is gone. Treat him gently and all will be well with you... and with him."

Then, somehow, Laurendil found himself standing before his own pavilion and Manwen was there to greet him. Her smile suggested that sleep was the last thing on her mind and Laurendil suddenly realized that the same was true for him. He smiled back and together they entered their pavilion.

Finrod found himself standing before his own pavilion as well. Olórin was there, gently leading him inside. In moments he was fast asleep in the cot beside Vorondil’s. Olórin sat in a chair between them, smiling gently at nothing in particular.

****

Estel: Hope, trust, a temper of mind, steadily fixed in purpose, and difficult to dissuade and unlikely to fall into despair or abandon its purpose regardless of the circumstances.

Amborondanya: My most faithful one; a title Finrod has given to Laurendil [an- (intensive or superlative prefix) + voronda "faithful one" [BORÓN] + -nya (first person singular possessive pronomial suffix). Tolkien indicates that the original quality of the consonant would be preserved when an- is prefixed to words in v- derived from original b, assimilated to am- before the bilabials b, m, and p.].

Isilsar: Moonstone. A symbol of truth in self-reflection and showing what ‘is’. Enhances intuition and inspiration as well as promoting spiritual growth [isil "moon + sar "stone"].

Anarsar: Sunstone; a sparkling orange-gold stone. A symbol of self-discipline, humility and a desire for service to the greater good. A protective and healing stone [anar "sun" + slar "stone"].

Morimando: Dark-Mando; a title of Námo, used when sitting in Judgment.

Calamando: Light-Mando; a title of Manwë, used when sitting in Judgment.

Hantanyel: Thank you.

Note: Tol-in-Gauroth or "Isle of Werewolves" is where Finrod, Beren and their Companions were caught by Sauron. Finrod waged a duel with Sauron using Songs of Power, but was defeated. Later, Finrod and all the other elves were killed by Sauron’s chief werewolf, though Finrod managed to kill the werewolf before he died. Only Beren survived to complete the quest for the Silmaril. Tol-in-Gauroth was originally known as Minas Tirith and was Finrod’s watchtower on the Sirion before Sauron took it.

82: Furtherance

Vorondil ended up sleeping for nearly four days straight, waking now and then to eat or to tend to personal needs. Olórin or Finrod had to help him there for he was almost too weak at first either to hold a spoon or even to stand. Finrod did not venture far from the pavilion himself and even had his meals sent to him.

No one was permitted inside the grove, unless summoned. A Maia was always at the entrance. Only Laurendil and Manwen were permitted into the Ampano Arano — as some of the people in Lórien were beginning to call it — whenever they wished. Finrod, when Laurendil told him how others were referring to the grove, merely snorted in amusement.

In the meantime, rumors were rife as certain Lóriennildi were discovered to be absent without explanation. Lord Irmo and Lady Estë assured everyone that those missing were unharmed and would return to their duties after a suitable time of reflection. Then, the remaining elves were summoned one at a time to a certain grove. What occurred there, no one afterwards spoke of it, but everyone who went in came out white as a sheet and in some cases had to be carried out by an attendant Maia.

Vorondil woke suddenly early on the fourth morning, feeling ravenous and... clean was the only word he had to describe the way he felt, as if someone had scrubbed him from the inside out. As it was, he felt in sore need of a bath, and especially wished to wash his hair. He was surprised to find the Maia Olórin there when he awoke, calmly putting out bathing paraphernalia and rummaging through the wardrobe for a clean tunic for him to wear.

"Good morning, child," the Maia said with a smile. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Hungry," Vorondil replied without thinking.

Olórin grinned. "Why don’t you go bathe and when you return I’ll have breakfast waiting for you."

"Where’s my master?" the ellon asked as he rose from the bed. He was unaware of the appraising look the Maia gave him as he hunted for his dressing robe nor was he aware of the unself-conscious manner in which he had asked the question.

"Finrod is already at the baths. He left only a half an hour ago, so you might see him there."

Vorondil nodded as he gathered his things and with a shy smile thanked the Maia and headed towards the bathing grove. He never saw the Maia standing on guard at the entrance of the grove as he left.

****

Finrod was indeed at the baths, as was Laurendil. Vorondil hesitated at the entrance when he saw them together, not wishing to disturb them, but Finrod saw him and with a smile waved him over.

"It’s good to see you finally awake, youngster," Finrod said as Vorondil removed his robe and slipped into the pool. "I was about to lay bets with Laurendil as to whether you would awaken in time for New Year’s or not."

Vorondil blushed as Laurendil laughed. "I’m sorry, Master," he said apologetically. "I don’t know why I felt so weak all of a sudden."

"What do you remember, child?" Finrod asked gently, pulling the ellon over to him and putting a comforting arm around his shoulders.

For a moment Vorondil stared into the waters. "I...went to sleep and then... there was a grove I’d never seen before. You were there and... and Lord Námo."

"What happened?" Finrod asked encouragingly when Vorondil paused, looking suddenly ill.

The younger ellon looked up at his master and then he was wrapping his arms around Finrod’s neck and weeping. "Shh. There’s no need for tears, Vorondil," Finrod admonished him gently, patting him on the back. "All is well. Tell me what you remember."

Vorondil pulled back from Finrod and attempted to wipe his tears as he spoke. "L-lord Námo put a finger on my forehead and then...and then...." He looked up at Finrod again and his expression was blank with pain. "He... he made me see... things."

Finrod nodded. It was telling that Vorondil had no memory of the other Valar being present during his ordeal. "Judgment is like that," he said with a tinge of sadness in his tone. "Painful, but necessary. It’s over now. The pain is merely a memory and it can no longer harm you. How do you feel?"

"Clean," came the surprising answer.

Laurendil laughed. "Well, you are sitting in a pool of water after all."

Vorondil grinned but shook his head. "No. I mean inside me. I can’t explain it but I woke up feeling as if my... my fëa had been scrubbed clean of something filthy."

Finrod and Laurendil glanced at one another and their expressions were solemn. Vorondil blushed. "I... I’m sorry. I can’t explain it any better than that."

Finrod gave the ellon a warm smile. "I think you explained it very well, child. Now, why don’t you hand me that brush and I’ll scrub your back for you."

****

The three elves were walking back to Finrod and Vorondil’s pavilion with Vorondil between the two older elves, when they encountered Eärnur. The Lóriennildo gave them a respectful bow — or rather, gave Finrod his bow — then straightened, his expression a mixture of confusion and hurt.

"I thought we were friends," he said plaintively as he looked at Finrod.

Finrod gave him a sympathetic look. "We are, Eärnur, never doubt it."

"Then what, by all that’s holy, is going on?" the Teler nearly shouted, sounding angry now. "When you first came here you were just another Reborn Etyangol and now..."

"DON’T YOU CALL MY MASTER THAT!" Vorondil screamed in fury, launching himself at the surprised elf. "YOU DON’T HAVE THE RIGHT!"

"Whoa! Vorondil, stop that at once," Laurendil said as he deftly pulled the ellon off a very surprised Eärnur with a single hand, forcing the ellon back into his arms and pinning him to his chest. Vorondil struggled for another few seconds before collapsing into tears. Laurendil gave Finrod a helpless look but did not loosen his hold on the child.

Finrod ignored his thrall for a moment to make sure that Eärnur was unharmed. The Teler gave his friend a jaundiced look. "Even your thrall loves you."

"And is that a bad thing?" Finrod asked with some amusement.

"What’s happening, Findaráto?" Eärnur retorted, ignoring Finrod’s own question. "I... I was summoned before my lord and..." Now he turned white and would have collapsed himself if Finrod hadn’t caught him.

"Let’s go to my pavilion and we will talk," Finrod said quietly, giving the Teler a supporting hand. "Laurendil, bring our little warrior." Finrod’s tone was laced with ironic humor.

"Yes, aranya," Laurendil acknowledged with a chuckle then turned his attention to the still weeping Vorondil. "I’m going to release you, youngster, and you’re going to behave yourself or you will regret it. Do I make myself clear?"

Vorondil nodded meekly and Laurendil let him go. The four continued to the grove where the Maia guard gave Finrod a respectful salute. "If Lady Manwen approaches, Olóremmárië," Finrod said, "allow her entrance, otherwise, no one else."

"It will be as you say, Prince Findaráto," Olóremmárië said, her voice sounding like the wind in the trees on a warm summer’s day.

Finrod gave her an ironic look. "I suppose it would be too much to hope that you would be able to keep the Valar out as well?"

The Maia laughed gaily. "I will assume that was a jest, young prince, and not take offense."

Finrod sighed dramatically. "I was afraid that would be your answer." Olóremmárië laughed even louder as she stepped aside to allow them entrance into the grove.

Olórin was not there when they came into the pavilion, but several trays of food were and three of the elves fell upon them with alacrity. Vorondil was naturally subdued after his unexpected outburst but his appetite was by no means blunted. Eärnur, having eaten earlier, sipped on some tea, while Finrod and Laurendil refused to discuss anything more important than who would eat the last sticky bun. When they had had their fill and were settling back with their tea, Finrod gave Vorondil an appraising look.

"I may have to have Laurendil teach you the rudiments of fighting if you’re going to continue protecting my honor," Finrod finally said with a laugh when Vorondil turned several shades of red.

"D-does that mean I can have a sword?" Vorondil asked excitedly and the other three elves raised almost identical eyebrows at the eagerness they could hear in the ellon’s voice.

"Thralls don’t usually go armed, you know," Laurendil said gently, not wishing to deflate the child’s enthusiasm too harshly.

"B-but I won’t always be a thrall... will I?" The last was said with a note of uncertainty and Finrod hastened to reassure him.

"The terms of your servitude are quite explicit, Vorondil. Thirty years. After that, what you make of your life is up to you."

The younger ellon appeared to be mollified by his master’s words and Finrod turned his attention to Eärnur. "I am sorry to see you so upset, meldonya. I regret that you have suffered for the actions of others."

"I... I just want to understand," Eärnur said plaintively.

Finrod nodded. "I know and I will do my best to explain without breaking any confidences. This has been a long time coming, though. Lord Irmo has been very patient with all of you until now."

"B-but I’ve been learning Sindarin just as Lord Irmo wished. Why..."

"Eärnur," Finrod interrupted, "I think Lord Irmo has decided to impress upon all the elves in his service certain truths that many of them have tried to ignore up till now." He gave the Teler a sympathetic smile and a squeeze on the arm. "Was he very harsh with you?"

Eärnur shook his head. "No, but h-his words frightened me. I don’t know why, but they did."

"I’m sorry, child," Finrod said with a sigh. "I’m afraid that sometimes the innocent are tarred with the same brush as the guilty. This seems to be one of those times." He paused and gave his attention to Vorondil who was sitting listening to the conversation with unabashed interest.

"And now I have to come up with two suitable punishments for your actions, Vorondil," he said with some exasperation.

Vorondil choked on his tea. "T-two punishments, Master?"

Finrod nodded, looking somewhat grim now. "You did run away after all. Whatever the reason behind your actions, you did not have my permission to leave Lórien. And your unprovoked attack on Eärnur... I’m not sure what I’m going to do with you, child. You’re becoming more trouble than you’re worth."

Vorondil went quite pale at that and then he was on his knees before Finrod stammering an apology. "W-will it hurt much?" he whispered at the last, shaking like a leaf in an autumn wind at the thought of experiencing any kind of pain. He wondered briefly if a flogging was as bad as it sounded.

"Only if you think clothes folding a painful chore," Finrod said with a quirk of his lips.

"Huh?" Vorondil was unsure if he had heard correctly.

"Do get up off the ground, child," Finrod admonished him gently. "You’re getting your knees dirty. That’s better," he said when Vorondil complied, looking sheepish. "Since you’re so fond of Eärnur here, I think you will profit by spending some time with him." Both Eärnur and Vorondil looked bewildered at this; Laurendil merely snorted. Finrod ignored him. "So, for attacking Eärnur, you will spend the next month following him on his rounds and learning everything he has to teach you about being a proper apprentice. I think we can find a tabard for you somewhere, can we not, Eärnur?"

Eärnur raised an eyebrow at Finrod’s words but nodded nonetheless. Vorondil just sat there with his mouth hanging open in surprise. Laurendil gave him a knowing smirk and a wink.

"Good," Finrod continued. "And for running away, you get to fold his clothes for the next month as well."

For a long moment only silence reigned inside the pavilion as Vorondil attempted to understand what his master had just told him. Finally, he gave Finrod an uncertain smile. "D-does this mean I’ve been... promoted?"

Finrod gave the ellon a deep smile. "I told you I knew how to be ruthless, didn’t I?"

Laurendil burst out laughing.

****

Sometime later, Finrod was sitting with Melian in her grove telling her of the recent events. She said nothing as he spoke but smiled gently throughout. When he was finished with his narrative he paused and gave her a quizzical look.

"Was I wrong to do what I did?"

Melian shook her head. "Nay, Nephew. You were very right to confront my Lord Irmo and I am glad that poor child has someone like you as his defender."

Finrod snorted. "I don’t think either Lord Irmo or Lord Námo appreciated my efforts on Vorondil’s behalf that night."

"Are you so sure of that, my son?" came the amused voice of the Lord of Mandos.

Finrod looked up to see Námo striding towards them and stood to give him his obeisance. Námo waved him back to his seat.

"Not from where I was standing, my lord," Finrod said quietly, not quite meeting the Vala’s eyes.

Námo gave Finrod an appraising look and put a hand under the ellon’s chin, making him look up. "We were very proud of you the other night. It took you longer than we expected for you to see Vorondil’s plight, but when you did... I see why my Fallen Brother’s minions feared you."

Finrod shivered with something akin to delight at Námo’s words. Námo nodded. "As my brother said, you are very dangerous. You are also in a great deal of trouble."

Now Finrod shivered with something akin to fear, though his expression never changed. "So, what’s my punishment to be then, Master?"

Námo stared at the elf for a long moment, before smiling. "How would you like to be promoted?"

Melian burst out laughing.

****

Ampano Arano: The King’s Grove, literally, "the King’s wooden hall".

Olóremmárië: The name means "Dream-snarer" [contracted from Oloriremmárië: olos (olori- before a suffix) "dream" + remma "snare" with agental suffix -r + feminine ending -ië]; a reference to the Maia’s normal duties of warding the Path of Dreams and preventing evil from entering upon it.

83: On the Shore of an Endless Sea

Ingwion arrived at Nienna’s house with some trepidation. He was also in a sour mood. He resented the highhandedness of the Valar in ordering him around. He was the haryon of the Vanyar, a respected member of his atar’s court and here he was being escorted by several Maiar to the back of the beyond, a prisoner to the Valar’s caprices.

Fine, he had been upset, but under the circumstances who could blame him? And he had apologized... sort of. What more did they want? Obviously a lot more, he thought with a sigh as he dismounted to greet Lady Nienna with as much dignity as he could muster, though in truth he would prefer to have dispensed with the pleasantries and just get on with his punishment.

Nienna smiled at him knowingly. "This is not a punishment, Ingwion."

"You could have fooled me," he muttered darkly, then blushed, knowing he was being rude but not able to help himself.

Nienna only smiled more deeply and motioned him to enter her house. ‘House’ was perhaps a misnomer, Ingwion decided. ‘Manse’ might be a better word. It was much larger than he had imagined. The entrance was an arcade that led into a cloister with an upper gallery reached by a wrought-iron spiral staircase in one corner. The cloister was quite large. A fountain in which the statue of a kneeling woman wept graced the center. Flowers — blue irises and purple sage intermixed with white clematis and bindweed, though there were others he did not recognize — surrounded it and a stone path led to the center from the middle of each wing of the house. Tall tasari in the four corners of the garden provided shade and solace. Stone benches were scattered about, though none were presently occupied.

Nienna moved left along the covered walk to the stairs and led the way up to the gallery, then down one side of the house to a room that faced west. "I think you will like this room, Ingwion," she said with a smile. "There is an excellent view of the ocean."

The room was spartan but elegantly appointed with a large canopied bed and an oak-carved wardrobe taking up the bulk of the space. Nienna pointed out where the privy and bathing room were on this floor and bade him to take his time unpacking.

"When you are ready, come down and we will talk. You will find me in the second room to your left as you come down the stairs."

With that the Valië left him. For a long moment, Ingwion merely stared at the room that was apparently to be his cell for the duration of his stay. As cells went, it could be worse. He strode over to the embrasure and sat on the cushioned ledge to look out, gazing over the sea-cliffs to the ocean beyond. He sat there for the longest time before finally turning away with a sigh. He stood up and went over to where he had dropped his saddlebags, beginning the ordeal of unpacking.

****

He found the room where Nienna awaited him readily enough. It was a workshop. That much he could figure out. Beyond that, he was at a loss to know what sort of workshop. Nienna was standing next to a dark-haired elleth dressed in a simple gown of worsted wool dyed a forest green, looking at something on a long table. The Valië was shaking her head.

"Nay, Niélë, I do not like this design. I think you can do better, dear. Why don’t you rest for now and come back to this later when you are feeling more refreshed."

The elleth stammered an apology, looking both tired and mortified, but Nienna put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Hush now, child. For any lesser project your design would be ideal, but I wish for something different and I know you have the skill and the imagination to effect such a design for me. Go now and rest and do not let your fëa be forlorn or discouraged. You are doing very well. I am very proud of you." She kissed the elleth on the forehead and Niélë gave the Valië a short curtsey and turned away. Ingwion could see she’d been crying, but there was now a look of calm acceptance in her expression. She saw Ingwion standing at the doorway and gave a small gasp, then made her way past him without a word, reddening in embarrassment.

Nienna watched with amusement. "Come in, Ingwion. Don’t mind Niélë. She is very clever about some things but not about others. She does not handle social proprieties very well. Come sit and we will talk." She gestured to a chair that was at one end of the long table. Nienna sat in another chair across from him.

Ingwion complied, though with some reluctance. He was still feeling resentful and wanted to hate Nienna for being his gaoler, but at the same time, his innate respect for the Valar made it difficult to maintain such a stance. Nienna gave him a shrewd look.

"If you wish for me to be your gaoler, Ingwion," she said without preamble, "then that is what I will be... for now. I hope, though, that in time you will see me as a friend."

"Why am I here, Lady?" he asked with a weary sigh.

"You are here because we wish it," Nienna said somewhat coldly and Ingwion gave her a surprised and wary look. He had always thought the Valiër to be... softer than their male counterparts, but he was beginning to dimly realize that that was a misconception, one that he was sure he would regret ever having.

"But why? Why?" he demanded, standing up abruptly, and the pleading he heard in his voice appalled him. One would think he was a ten-year-old whining after a favorite treat that had been denied him by his elders. He could feel the tears threatening to come and ruthlessly held them back, though he did not know for how long he could do so.

"Sit down, Ingwion," Nienna said quietly, the steel of command in her voice too difficult to ignore. Ingwion sat and then the tears came in earnest. He hid his face in the crook of an arm as he wept, silently cursing himself for his weakness even as the tears continued to flow unabated despite his best efforts to stop. Nienna merely sat there, patiently waiting for the storm of emotion to pass. Eventually the tears slowed and Ingwion gave a gulping sigh as he fell into a state of uncaring, floating serenely, waiting for what would come next, unaware that he was even waiting.

He felt a hand on his back, rubbing it gently and the sense of serenity deepened. He might even have slept for a time, for suddenly his eyes focused and he was back in the workshop. He raised his head, his expression bleak, for he had thought himself back in his rooms in Vanyamar, but that had simply been a foolish dream. He was here with Nienna, a prisoner of the Valar as surely as his uncle was a prisoner of the High King.

"You are not a prisoner, Ingwion," Nienna said softly as she continued to rub his back, bending over him to whisper in his ear. "Though you are not permitted to leave the vicinity of my house without escort, you are free within its bounds to do as you please, to come and to go as you will."

Nienna sat down again and looked kindly at the still bewildered elf. "Child, this is an opportunity for you to grow and to learn. Use this time wisely."

Ingwion remained unconvinced, but found that he no longer had the strength or the will to argue. He merely nodded and sat there mutely, waiting. Weren’t prisoners supposed to wait to be told what to do? Prisoners and thralls. He wondered suddenly how that poor child, Vorondil, was faring under his cousin’s hands. Nienna shook her head and sighed.

"Why don’t you spend the rest of the time before dinner exploring, acquainting yourself with the layout of the house? None will hinder you. If you wish to explore outside you only need ask and one of my people will escort you. There’s a path to your left as you go out that will take you down to the seashore."

Ingwion sat staring at Nienna, not sure what was expected of him. Nienna smiled. "Go, child. I will see you at the dinner hour."

Ingwion stood then and giving the Valië a bow left the workshop. Standing in the cloister, he was undecided what he should do next. Exploring the house did not appeal to him and he had the sudden urge to be outside. He strode to the arcade entrance only to find the door closed and locked and he collapsed against it, full of misery and confusion, unsure what was happening to him.

"Would you like to go outside, child?"

Ingwion looked up to find himself facing a Maia smiling down at him with compassion. He wore an ankle-length white tunic with a dark grey surcoat upon which was embroidered a silver fountain. Ingwion noticed that it was a rendering of the same fountain that graced the cloister garden. He nodded mutely. The Maia put out his hand and helped Ingwion to rise.

"My name is Tiutalion of the People of Nienna," he said gently, taking a key from a chain around his neck and unlocking the door, opening it and motioning the ellon to pass through. The Maia followed and closed the door, then motioned to the left where a path began. "The sea is that way. Would you like to go down to the shore?"

Ingwion nodded again, not willing to speak yet. He felt drained of emotion for some reason and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he should feel concerned about this. Tiutalion walked beside him, warning him of the steepness of the path. A tangy breeze ruffled his hair as he took the path downward and he could hear the sound of breakers, though he could not actually see the beach, for the path was a series of steps carved from volcanic rock that towered above him on either side. The steps did not go straight down, though, but wound slightly so that the beach was invisible until one reached the very end of the defile. Tiutalion walked behind him and every time Ingwion looked back he saw the Maia nod encouragingly, his smile gentle and his eyes compassionate. At the foot of the stairs Ingwion found himself on a black sand beach, which was interesting in itself, never having seen one before. The cliff swept away to his left, ending in the sea. The beach stretched before him several hundred paces to a rockfall on the other end. Large black rocks they were, strewn about as if tossed carelessly by some giant child at play.

Tiutalion joined him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "The beach is yours, child, and you may do as you wish, but when I call for you, you must come." Then Ingwion was alone, which, on one level, frightened him and he knew not why. For the longest time he stood there staring down the strand. The sea looked... sullen was the best word he could think of and it perfectly fitted his mood. The grey waves endlessly ate away at the land in a remorseless, almost joyless, dance, a slow dirge against time and tide. Whenever the sun appeared from behind clouds, the sand would glitter darkly from the volcanic glass and the waters would turn bluer, but the light was fitful and pale and there was no warmth in it. Seagulls cried above him but there were no other signs of life.

Then, without conscious thought, he was running down the beach. The sand sucked at his boots and his progress was slowed by waves seeking to entrap him for he ran where the sand was wet and the surf crashed upon the shore. Soon, though, he reached the rockfall and began climbing it, wanting only to escape, to see what lay beyond. His breath was ragged now with tears as he continued climbing the basaltic rock, heedless of the sharpness of its edges so that his tunic became torn and his hands were bloodied. He was nearly to the top when two things happened.

Suddenly, above him, stood a Maia with a sword of light blocking his path, looking upon him with grim dispassion. At the same time he felt someone else grab him from behind, pulling him roughly from the rocks. He screamed, more in anger than in terror, and thrashed about, seeking escape, but the grip was adamant, though there was a gentleness to it as if whoever held him sought not to do him any further injury. Ingwion found himself back on the beach, sitting with his back against the rocks that he had been climbing in his bid for freedom.

"No, child! Be still!" came the command and such was the force of it that Ingwion had no choice but to obey.

Then Tiutalion was kneeling before him holding his rock-scraped hands and tsking gently, reminding Ingwion of his own atar clucking over his childish bruises when he was an elfling. He started crying again, a feeling of hopelessness stealing across him, and Tiutalion gathered him into his embrace and rocked him.

"Hush now, child," he crooned. "You must not carry on so. It’s not the end of the world... well, actually it is, come to think about it, but only in the geographical sense."

Ingwion pulled back from the embrace to stare at the Maia in confusion, his tears momentarily forgotten, though his misery was not abated. Tiutalion smiled at him. "Just a little joke, child."

"V-very little," Ingwion said, then allowed himself to be gathered into Tiutalion’s embrace again.

For a long while there was no sound but the endless shushing of the surf pounding the glassy shore and the quieter sounds of Ingwion sniffling. Then Tiutalion began speaking, his voice soft and compassionate.

"Ingwion, this place is a prison only if you choose to make it so. Prisons, whether of the hröa or of the fëa, are usually of our own making. No one here will force you to believe otherwise, but we will abide by your rules."

"W-what?" Ingwion asked in confusion, not sure he understood what the Maia had said.

"Your rules, child. As long as you think this place is naught but a prison, and you a prisoner of the Valar, we will treat you as such."

"What else am I, if not a prisoner? I’m not here of my own free will."

"Neither was Findaráto when summoned to Lórien, nor Glorfindel when sent to your own city. Neither wished to be where they were, yet each saw, not a prison, but an opportunity."

"W-what opportunity?" the prince asked bitterly.

"That is a question only you may answer, child. We will not enforce one upon you."

"I-I said I was sorry... what more do you want?" he cried with deep despair.

"Oh, child, you were forgiven before you even stepped across Lord Manwë’s threshold with Glorfindel’s knife in your hand ready to accuse all and sundry of foul deeds against your beloved brother," Tiutalion said with a light laugh. "This has nothing to do with punishing you for your... insolence I believe Lord Oromë called it. This has everything to do with your need to come to terms with what you’ve done."

"What have I done?" Ingwion was now totally confused. This was not how he imagined this conversation would go.

"Defied the Authority of the Valar, of course."

"But I didn’t!" Ingwion protested, breaking away from Tiutalion’s embrace to stare at him in shock and dismay. "I would never..."

Tiutalion placed a finger on the ellon’s lips to still him. "But you did, child, though it may not seem so to you. You stormed into the Elder King’s presence demanding answers and you trusted him not nor the words which he spoke to you. In your heart you were ready to defy Lord Manwë’s edicts."

Ingwion shuddered then, remembering the roil of emotions that had stormed across his fëa as he walked up the Landamallë with Glorfindel’s knife in his hands, knowing that the Maia’s words were true. He would have defied Eru himself for his brother’s sake and wondered if the Etyangoldi had felt the same way as they fled Aman under the Valar’s wrath.

"I-if I’ve been forgiven then why..."

"The Valar have forgiven you, Ingwion, but you have yet to forgive yourself."

Ingwion scrambled to his feet to face Lord Námo, who stood there in grim majesty, dressed in a somber grey ankle-length wool tunic with black silk thread embroidery. Over the tunic was a black linen surcoat belted in front but with the back left free. He wore a diadem on his head of wrought mithril in the shape of a cross with equidistant arms. Embedded in the center of the cross was a large tumbled white topaz. Amber was set in the four arms. Tiutalion rose more slowly and gave his lord a respectful bow. Ingwion merely stood there, waiting. Námo sighed and gazed out into the endless sea for a moment.

"How many times do you waken in the night in a cold sweat after dreaming of your confrontation with us in my brother’s throne room?" the Lord of Mandos asked suddenly.

Ingwion started. "How did..."

He blushed when Námo looked at him, raising an amused eyebrow. "Sorry."

Námo nodded. "As I thought. Do you not see, best beloved? You replay that scene over and over again in your mind and you find no solution to what you know was a defiance of our Authority, though admittedly you did not utter unspeakable oaths or run off to Endórë. Yet, in your heart you were already beyond our Authority and that is something with which you have not come to terms, for you have always been obedient to our will in all things."

"S-so what do I do now?" Ingwion asked, sounding lost. He had always been obedient — to his atar, to the Valar, to Eru — and he had been ready to throw all that away for one Reborn Noldo who had stolen his heart when he wasn’t looking. He shivered, and not because of the slight cool breeze that now blew off the waters.

Námo smiled gently at the downcast ellon. "Go swim."

Ingwion looked up in surprise. "Huh?"

"And look," the Vala pointed out into the ocean. "My brother has sent you playmates."

Ingwion followed Námo’s finger and saw two dolphins dancing in the deeper waters past the breakers. He glanced at the Vala and Maia standing next to him and saw the amused expressions on their faces. Tiutalion nodded.

"I think you should do as my lord suggests, child," the Maia said in a slightly chiding voice that nevertheless was full of encouragement and love. "But when I call for you, you must come."

Still in a daze, Ingwion stripped off his clothes and then went hesitantly into the ocean, which proved surprisingly warm, under the watchful eyes of two Maiar and a Vala. He swam out towards where the dolphins were frolicking. They greeted him joyfully and one of them nudged him so he knew that he was to hang onto the dorsal fin. Suddenly the dolphin leaped into the air carrying the Vanyarin prince with him. He gave an involuntary shriek that was a mixture of shock and delight, remembering at the last moment to take a deep breath before they dove into the water.

As he continued swimming and playing with the dolphins he felt something within him unfold itself and he began to weep. At that point the dolphins swam gently in slow circles, chirping softly to the star-child clinging to them whom their lord had entrusted into their keeping. When the storm of tears came to an end Ingwion felt empty, but it was an emptiness full of promise, not of despair, and for the first time since leaving Vanyamar he felt hopeful. The dolphins, sensing a change of mood, clicked and whistled in delight and then they were frolicking once again with the star-child who now laughed with a joy he thought had been forever lost.

How long he and the dolphins played, he never knew, but at last he heard Tiutalion call to him and without hesitation, though he truly wished to remain with his new friends, he began swimming back to shore. It took longer than he anticipated, for, in their play, he and the dolphins had gone further away from the shore. He stumbled a few times before reaching the beach as he fought the undertow and then a large towel was being wrapped around him. Soon he was dried off and dressed. Both Tiutalion and Lord Námo were there, though the sword-bearing Maia was gone, or at least, no longer visible. Ingwion suspected that if he tried climbing the rocks again the Maia would return.

"Did you enjoy your swim, best beloved?" Námo asked with a smile.

Ingwion nodded and smiled in return, the first genuine smile he had shown to anyone since leaving Vanyamar.

"You did well in obeying me, child," Tiutalion said warmly as he kissed the ellon on the brow. Ingwion felt inexplicably happy at the Maia’s words.

Then Námo was gesturing back down the beach to the rock stairs. "Now, why don’t we go back up to the house? I understand my sister has ordered all your favorite foods for dinner tonight. We wouldn’t want to miss that, now would we?" He gave them a sly grin.

Ingwion stared at the Vala in surprise. "All?"

Námo nodded, still grinning.

"B-but oatmeal is for breakfast!" the ellon protested disbelievingly.

Námo and Tiutalion began laughing. In spite of himself, Ingwion found himself joining in.

****

Haryon: Prince and heir to a throne.

Tasari: Plural of tasarë: weeping willow.

Tiutalion: Son of Consolation. This is the Quenya version of the real-world name, Barnabas, which is one of my favorite names.

White Topaz: Symbol of truth and forgiveness.

Amber: Symbol of the Presence of Eru Ilúvatar.

84: Obedience is a Verb

Ingwion was fascinated by the beach. In the days that followed his abortive escape attempt, he continued to visit it. He thought he might be denied the privilege because of what he had done, but surprisingly (to him) Nienna had made no objections, merely warning him to be wary of the undertow if he went swimming and to keep his eye on the sea during low tide.

"The sea returns very quickly, so do not venture too far from the shore," she admonished him the next morning after the "Feast of Every Dish Known to Elfkind" as Niélë, the only other elf in residence, had called it. It turned out that EVERYTHING was a favorite dish of Ingwion, much to everyone’s amusement (except for Niélë) and Ingwion’s delight.

"Can I help it if I like food?" he had said with a smirk, not even bothering to apologize. Námo had laughed and Nienna had merely passed him a plate of mushroom tarts, smiling all the while.

Ingwion returned to the beach with Tiutalion once again his escort. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he stopped the ellon from running onto the beach immediately.

"Heed Lady Nienna’s words, child," the Maia said gently but with authority. "The sea is treacherous, especially for one like yourself who is unused to its ways. Remember, when I call for you, you must come."

Ingwion nodded and then Tiutalion gave him a smile and a nod and he was off. At first he did nothing more than run barefoot across the wet black sand with the waves lapping his feet, turning back at the rockfall to run in the opposite direction. He reveled in the salt smell in the air and the feel of the ocean breeze on his face. The day was bright with sun glaring off the whitecaps that crashed onto the beach with a resounding roar, for a storm brewed somewhere out in the middle of the ocean, far from landfall.

After a while he stopped and stared out to sea, wondering if he dared take a swim. The sun was hot now and he was eager to enter the waters beyond the breakers but something, some niggling part of his mind, stayed him and he was content to strip and merely sit in the surf and let it roll over him until he was cooled before drying himself off and donning his clothes again. When Tiutalion called for him he came without any real reluctance, feeling suddenly hungry. The Maia greeted him with a smile and praised him for his obedience, which pleased Ingwion immensely, though he was not sure why.

The next time he went to the beach was at low tide and he marveled at how far out the water now was. Heeding Nienna’s warnings, he did not go any further out than the first sandbar, and that was far enough to make him feel somewhat nervous. From that vantage point, though, he could see around the cliffs at one end of the beach and the rockfall at the other end to where other beaches stretched along the coast. They looked inviting and though he no longer felt the need to escape, Ingwion sensed that those beaches were forbidden to him and so did not venture to pass either cliff or rockfall in his explorations.

And indeed, there was much to explore even in the small area allotted to him and he spent a happy hour or two finding seashells and admiring their beauty or coming across small pools where crabs dwelt. He even dug for clams but had no luck. So engrossed was he with exploring the sandbar that he quite forgot about Nienna’s warning until a seemingly errant wave swept over him. He looked up in sputtering shock but the water was still far out and looked no closer. He couldn’t understand where the wave had come from, and then another one hit him from out of nowhere.

Suddenly, with a frisson of something akin to fear, he knew and without hesitation began running towards the beach, which now seemed further away than he originally thought. The wet sand sucked at his feet, seeming to want to trap him but soon he reached the dry sand and collapsed in a boneless heap, gasping for breath. He watched with rising horror as the ocean came rushing toward him, running faster than any horse he knew. In seconds the sandbar he had been on was swallowed up and then breakers were crashing onto the beach. The sea had once again claimed its own.

"I see Lord Ulmo was looking out for you, child."

Ingwion looked up with a start to see Tiutalion standing next to him, a thin smile on his face, and Ingwion blushed at the mild reprimand he detected in the Maia’s words.

"I’m sorry," he said softly. "I’ll remember next time."

Tiutalion only nodded. "Time to come in, child." Ingwion stood up and meekly followed the Maia back to the house.

****

Every time he came to the beach Ingwion looked for his dolphin friends. He somehow knew that he would not be welcomed in the deeper waters without them, so he had to be content with going no further out than knee-deep and sitting in the surf, but how he longed to swim in the deeper waters with his friends. Yet, they came not and Ingwion soon despaired of ever seeing them again.

It was on the fifth day since coming to Nienna’s that he suffered a crisis that threatened to destroy the peace he was beginning to feel and the trust he was finally earning. The day before, the storm that had begun out in the middle of the ocean had finally reached them and Ingwion was forced to remain indoors, fretting with impatience. So it was with some relief that he awoke the next morning to calm seas and quickly made his way to the beach once Nienna gave her permission.

He had been on the beach for some time and it was now nearly noon. As usual, he had looked for the dolphins and, when he did not see them, he settled himself against the rockfall, idly watching the play of water swishing calmly around the base of the rocks. Then, a high squeaking noise filled the air and two dolphins jumped through the waters, beckoning him to join them.

Ingwion stood up with a glad cry and began stripping off his clothes as quickly as he could, running into the surf towards his friends. At that precise moment he heard Tiutalion calling for him and the shock of it drove him to his knees. He knelt there in dismay for several seconds, heedless of the waves washing over him and then with a sense of defeat he forced himself to stand and return to the beach, retrieving his clothes but not bothering to don them. He trudged back down the beach to the stairs, cringing at the mournful sounds of the dolphins who had come to play with the star-child and refused to look in their direction. Ingwion made his way slowly up the stairs, stopping at the top where Tiutalion awaited him. The Maia gave him a sympathetic look.

"You did well to obey me, child," he said as usual. "I know how difficult it was for you this time."

The words gave Ingwion no comfort and he almost hated Tiutalion at that moment. Without acknowledging the Maia’s presence he went into the house, made his way to his room, and refused to come out for the rest of the day, not even for dinner.

For the next two days Ingwion remained within the house, mostly in his room but eventually need drove him to seek the kitchens and find something to eat, though he found no joy in it and he still refused to properly dine with Nienna and Niélë as had been his custom. Of Tiutalion there was no sign, nor did he ask after him. Nienna watched him with growing concern but said nothing. Niélë, as was typical of the elleth, barely registered the fact that Ingwion was no longer present at the dinner table. She was still rather shy around the haryon and was relieved that she didn’t have to dredge up any kind of courtesy that might be expected of her during dinner.

On the third day Ingwion’s fascination with the beach proved greater than his anger at Nienna and Tiutalion and, swallowing his pride, he humbly asked permission to go there. Nienna nodded and again Tiutalion came and escorted him to the beach. But now something of the delight he had always felt upon feeling the volcanic sands between his toes was lost to him and he found no real joy in being there. Neither did he wish to return to the house and so he sat disconsolately upon a large bleached piece of driftwood, idly watching the waves roll in.

Then, the dolphins appeared and his heart leapt, but he schooled himself and remained seated, refusing the bait (as he saw it). Tiutalion suddenly appeared next to him, looking puzzled.

"Your friends are calling for you, Ingwion," the Maia said. "Why do you not go to them?"

Ingwion jumped up, his face suffused with anger. "Why? So you can reel me back in at the last minute like before?" he shouted. "Is that how you entertain yourself, tormenting me by letting my friends come but only pretending that you will allow me to go to them?" He stormed past the Maia towards the stairs. He was halfway up them when he was stopped by Nienna standing there.

"Go back to the beach child," she said gently but with authority. "You do not have my leave to come up."

That was the final straw for the elf. "MAKE ME!" he screamed, fury in every fiber of his being at what he saw as capriciousness and tyranny on the part of the Powers.

It was, of course, the wrong thing to say. Suddenly he was being bodily lifted up into Tiutalion’s arms and finding himself being taken back down to the beach. He was screaming now, and weeping and he cursed the Maia, Nienna and all the Valar roundly, even using one or two phrases in Sindarin that he had picked up from Glorfindel. Then he felt himself being placed in another’s arms. He was dimly aware of being carried into the ocean, the sudden wet coldness of the water shocking him enough to stop his thrashing and screaming, though he continued to weep, clinging now to the one holding him. He felt the dolphins swimming about him without their presence actually impinging upon his consciousness. They crooned to him in their whistling language, their sleek bodies caressing him, until he was lying silently in the arms of whoever held him. It was only then that he felt the beard under his questing fingers and knew that he must be in Lord Ulmo’s embrace.

"Feeling better, child?" the Lord of Waters asked gently.

Ingwion declined to answer, not really in the mood to be sociable. His anger was still there and he wasn’t about to let it go. They treated him with contempt, speaking to him as if he were an elfling or a stupid thrall, like poor Vorondil. They had no right. Was he not, after all, the haryon to the High Kingship? He deserved better from them. They wanted obedience. Well, they were not going to get it from him anymore.

Ulmo chuckled then and that just drove Ingwion towards fury again, but it was a draining emotion and he could not keep it up and he began weeping all the harder, pounding his fist into Ulmo’s shoulders in what even he knew was a futile gesture of defiance. Ulmo held him through his tantrum, allowing the sea to do its work of offering succor to the ellon in his arms with the gentle lapping of the waves rocking his hröa to stillness.

Finally, Ingwion’s weeping ceased and Ulmo deemed it time to return to shore, where, with Tiutalion’s help, he removed the ellon’s clothes and wrapped him in an overlarge towel. Ingwion welcomed the loss of his clothes, for their heavy wetness had clung to him uncomfortably and chafed him. Then he was being placed on a blanket and the warmth of the sun stole into him, caressing him, and he fell asleep for a time.

When he woke he lay there, content not to move, luxuriating in the feeling of the sun kissing his face and listening to the slurp-shush of the ocean hitting the beach. His eyes were closed against the brightness of the sun and he sighed with relief when something blocked the light and he was in cool shade.

"Why don’t you open your eyes now, Ingwion?" came Ulmo’s voice rumbling somewhat like the ocean that was his domain. "We need to talk."

Ingwion was reluctant to comply, remembering his half-promise to himself not to be obedient any longer, but then he felt someone lift him into a sitting position and his eyes opened of their own accord at the sudden movement of his body.

"Ah, that’s better," Ulmo said with an amused tone as he adjusted his hold on the elf so Ingwion was now facing him. "You are a very stubborn elfling and I think you’ve been taking lessons from our favorite balrog-slayer, hmmm?" This last was said with feigned annoyance though Ingwion did not smile. Ulmo sighed and shook his head.

"He’s very willful."

Ingwion shivered at that and slowly turned his head to see Lord Námo standing there, looking less than pleased. The Vala was dressed in grey tones similar to the shades favored by his sister and wore no jewelry save for the gems in his braided hair. Embroidered upon the overtunic was the same fountain that graced the cloister. It seemed to Ingwion that Námo was almost acting as one of Nienna’s servants, the way the Vala was dressed, but that didn’t seem possible and he dismissed the idea out of hand.

"Very willful indeed," the Lord of Mandos reiterated, then he stared hard at the elf and Ingwion found he could no longer look away but was forced to gaze into Námo’s eyes. What he saw there made him quail and he felt himself cringe against Ulmo who spoke to him in a very gentle tone that just seemed to make the whole experience worse.

"Obedience has nothing to do with doing what you are told, child," the Vala said, gently running his hand through Ingwion’s hair, attempting to soothe him. "That is only the surface meaning of the word. It has everything to do with paying attention, of bending one’s ear, not one’s will, to those in Authority, to listen with one’s entire being to what is being said. You are not listening, Ingwion, and that is where your sorrows lie."

Námo moved then, kneeling before the elf, unmindful of the sand, and his expression was less severe, though no less daunting, and Ingwion cringed even further into Ulmo’s embrace. "Do you know why Lord Manwë initially refused you entrance into his presence the day you found Glorfindel missing?"

"Y-you asked me that before, at the trial," Ingwion whispered, uncertain as to where Lord Námo was going with his question.

"Yes," Námo nodded, "though you never did actually answer the question, so I am asking you again, Ingwion. Do you know why Lord Manwë initially refused you?"

"Be-because I was angry," he answered.

Námo shook his head. "No, child, because you were not listening, or rather, you were not willing to listen. You had already decided that we were to blame for Glorfindel’s disappearance and anything we said to the contrary would be dismissed by you."

Ingwion wanted to protest the Vala’s words, but in his heart he knew them to be true and looked down in chagrin. Then Námo spoke again, more softly. "Do you know why the Elder King decided to see you anyway?"

Now Ingwion shook his head, for he truly did not know, having only assumed that his threat (pathetically puerile when he came to think about it) had been enough.

"For the same reason."

Ingwion looked up in genuine confusion and saw Námo nodding.

"You were not listening and in your heart you had turned from us even as Fëanáro had, though not necessarily for the same reasons." Ingwion went white at the thought that the Valar saw him as another Fëanáro and felt his stomach begin to heave. Námo reached out and placed a hand on Ingwion’s forehead and the sick feeling receded.

"Fear not, child," the Lord of Mandos said in a kinder tone than he had been using. "We are not here to condemn but to instruct. Refusing to listen to us is not a crime so much as it is a case of bad judgment. In Fëanáro’s case, he went beyond mere disobedience, mere not-listening if you will, to blatant rebellion, not just against us but against Eru. Not listening is the first step down a steep slope that leads to sorrows unimagined."

"We want to make sure you do not experience such, child," Ulmo interjected. "Do you know why Tiutalion called you back from joining the dolphins the other day?"

Ingwion was tempted to say what he had told the Maia but refrained, contenting himself with a shake of his head. "Tell me, lord," he whispered dejectedly, sure that the reason would be as he suspected anyway however nicely the Vala put it. He did not see the look that passed between the two Valar at his thoughts.

"Well, it wasn’t because he likes to torment ellyn," Ulmo said sardonically and Ingwion cringed somewhat at the tone. Ulmo sighed and decided on a different tack. "Stand up." The two Valar rose and Ulmo gave Ingwion a hand. The elf clutched the towel still covering his nakedness and followed the Valar to the edge of the rockfall where Ulmo bade the ellon to climb to the top. The Valar followed him. Once at the top the Lord of Waters pointed to a spot halfway between the beach and where the dolphins generally appeared.

"The day the dolphins came," Ulmo said, "you could not see but there was a group of sea creatures floating in the surf between you and the dolphins. These creatures are very deadly and nearly invisible. The Teleri call them falmatirnor, for they hide in the waves and wait for their prey. Had you not listened to Tiutalion you would have swum right into them and the sting of their tentacles would have paralyzed you instantly and you would have drowned." He gave the ellon a brief glance to make sure his words were having the correct effect. "They came with the storm, you see."

Ingwion turned to the Vala. "Why didn’t Tiutalion tell me?"

"Why didn’t you ask?" Námo retorted. "Had you asked why Tiutalion had called you in when he did, instead of assuming the worst, you would have been told, but you weren’t listening, Ingwion."

Ingwion stared out to sea with chagrin. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing about himself. He had always been obedient and now the Valar were accusing him of disobedience. None of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for Glorfindel. His love for the golden-haired Noldo had driven him to this and he wondered why it had been so easy.

Námo shook his head. "Do not blame Glorfindel for this Ingwion, he is not the one at fault." The Vala’s tone was cold and Ingwion felt the blood rush from his head and he swayed. Ulmo took hold of him and then guided him back down to the beach. When they reached the sands Námo spoke again, in less forbidding tones.

"You are an estimable elf, child, a credit to your people, but you are not perfect. This flaw lies within you. Glorfindel is merely a convenient excuse on your part. Face the truth about yourself. Learn to listen more attentively and you will be obedient to us, if that is what you truly wish." He gave the elf a knowing look. "How did you feel whenever Tiutalion offered you praise for your obedience?"

Ingwion responded somewhat reluctantly. "His words made me feel...I don’t know... happy, but I don’t know why."

The Lord of Mandos nodded. "There is a certain delight in actively practicing obedience, Ingwion, in mindfully paying attention to what is being told you by those in Authority over you and following through from there. It is no less so for us Valar who obey the words of Eru Ilúvatar. Melkor refused to listen, as did Fëanáro. Do not follow them, child. It will bring nothing but sorrow to all."

Ingwion paled at those words but held firm and nodded. It had never occurred to him to think of the Valar, whom he always thought of as The Authorities, as having to practice obedience, no less than he. With this revelation, Ingwion began to see these Beings in a wholly different, more mature light.

Námo nodded, apparently pleased that he had finally gotten through to this Child and smiled briefly, giving the ellon a light kiss on the forehead. He gave Ulmo a glance, quirked an enquiring eyebrow at his brother Vala, and faded from sight. Ulmo gave Ingwion a smile of his own, his eyes twinkling with gentle humor.

"Well, my boy, you might as well take advantage of your state of undress and go swim with the dolphins." He pointed out to sea and Ingwion was glad to see his dolphin friends playing just beyond the breakers. "Just remember to come in when Tiutalion calls for you," the Vala reminded him and Ingwion nodded, giving the Lord of Waters a shy smile, then threw off the towel as he ran into the surf. It did not take him long to reach the dolphins and begin playing with his friends. He never noticed when Ulmo disappeared.

Some time later, when Tiutalion called for him, he came immediately and when the Maia praised him for his quick return Ingwion gave him a genuine smile. "Thank you," he said and then impulsively hugged Tiutalion, quite forgetting that he hadn’t dried off yet. Tiutalion didn’t seem to mind and hugged the ellon back.

****

Falmatirnor: literally, "wave-watchers"; a name given to what we would call jellyfish, especially the Portuguese Man-o’-war. In many real-world languages "jellyfish" is rendered by some form of the Greek word medusa, from Medousa, lit. "guardian", fem. present participle of the verb medein "to protect, rule over". The tentacles of the jellyfish are reminiscent of the gorgon’s snake-head.

Linguistic note: Obedience: literally means "the act of paying attention to, giving an ear to, listening to", ultimately from Latin oboedire: ob- "towards"+ audire "hear, listen". The original meaning of the Indo-European root word au- , is "to perceive [a thing or a person]".

85: The Joy of Serving

When Ingwion entered Nienna’s house, he was surprised to find Lord Námo there. The Lord of Mandos was in the cloister tending the garden. Ingwion noticed he was still dressed in the grey tunic with the emblem of the fountain embroidered on it. The sight of this particular Vala on his knees pulling weeds was so incongruous that Ingwion just stood there in shock. The sense of shock increased when Nienna came from her workshop to see what her brother was doing and began criticizing him.

"Hmm. I don’t know why I let you do this, brother. You’re as hopeless as Glorfindel in the garden. You’ve just pulled up the nieninqui."

Námo looked at his sister with a combination of humor and dismay. "Is that what these are? I thought they were weeds." His voice sounded suspiciously like Glorfindel’s to Ingwion’s ear and that was even more shocking.

Nienna laughed at that and playfully swatted Námo on the head. "Just for that, it’s kitchen duty for you tonight."

"Yes, Lady," the Lord of Mandos said, speaking in his own voice, his eyes twinkling with merriment, but Ingwion had the most uncomfortable feeling that Námo had spoken those words with all sincerity.

"And put the nieninqui back where you found them," was Nienna’s parting shot, as she returned to her workshop to oversee Niélë’s project (Ingwion still hadn’t figured out what it was).

"Yes, Lady," Námo said with a fond smile for his sister and returned to replanting the nieninqui. Without looking up he said, "Close your mouth Ingwion and come over here and give me a hand."

The ellon gave a start and then realized that Tiutalion was no longer with him. He was alone with the Lord of Mandos, who was still kneeling in the dirt and replacing the flowers he had dug up. Ingwion walked into the garden and reluctantly knelt beside Námo who pointed to one of the plants lying on the ground.

"Put it here, will you?" the Vala requested.

Ingwion complied, feeling stunned. This was the last thing he thought he would be doing, helping the Lord of Mandos in Lady Nienna’s garden. "Lord, why are you here?" he asked, his tone one of complete confusion.

Námo gave the ellon an odd smile and said. "I lost a bet with my sister."

Ingwion could feel his universe tipping precariously sideways. "A... a bet?"

Námo nodded with equanimity as he continued replacing the nieninqui.

"Er... do you... lose often?" Ingwion asked in a slightly strangled voice.

The Vala laughed. "Almost never, but when I do...."

Just then one of the Maiar came along the covered walk from the kitchen and approached them, smiling at the sight of Námo and Ingwion together. Námo noticed the Maia’s amused look and smiled. "Yes, Aiwendilmë, is there something you wish to tell me?"

"Only to remind you, Námo, that when you’re peeling the potatoes, not to make them into ... er... inappropriate shapes."

"I will be the soul of propriety," Námo said virtuously.

Aiwendilmë merely laughed as she continued along the covered walk. "That’s what you said the last time."

The Lord of Mandos gave Ingwion a smirk and winked. Ingwion just stared at him. "You... you’ve done this before?"

"Hmm, yes," the Vala said with a distracted air as he made sure all the nieninqui were properly replanted.

"But... but.. it’s so menial... and you’re... I mean..."

Námo gave the ellon a grave look. "Child, nothing done with love is ever menial." He stood up and brushed the dirt from his hands and tunic. "Now come. Those potatoes won’t peel themselves, you know."

Ingwion had to almost run to catch up with the Vala’s longer strides. "What did she mean... er.. about inappropriate shapes, Lord?"

Námo gave the elf a rueful look as they walked along one side of the covered walk towards the kitchens that looked east and south. "The last time I peeled the potatoes I got a little... bored."

Ingwion stopped and found himself sniggering at the sudden image those words evoked and then he was laughing. "You didn’t?" he asked in shocked surprise.

Námo put a finger to Ingwion’s lips. His expression went dark but his eyes were still bright with merriment. "If you tell anyone outside this house, I will personally acquaint you with the Doom of Mandos."

Ingwion gulped, but before he could respond to Námo’s threat, Tiutalion came across the garden towards where they were standing. He held a pile of table linens in his arms. "Ah, Námo, you’re on your way to the kitchen, aren’t you?"

Námo nodded. "Yes, we are."

"Good," Tiutalion said as he proffered the pile of linens to the Vala. "Would you put these in the linen cupboard on your way there?"

Námo accepted the linens. "Of course, Tiutalion. That’s the cupboard to the left, isn’t it?"

"Yes, thank you," the Maia started to turn away, then stopped. "Oh, and Námo, see that Ingwion’s hands are clean before he starts peeling the potatoes."

"Why am I peeling potatoes?" Ingwion asked, feeling a bit put-upon. "I’m not the one who lost the bet. Couldn’t I just... watch?"

Námo and Tiutalion shared a look that the ellon could not interpret. Námo regarded Ingwion in such a way that the elf felt as if he hadn’t any clothes on. "Child, you’re not listening."

Now Ingwion paled at that and when Námo placed the linens in his arms, he did not object. Námo pointed down the walk. "The cupboard on the left. I’ll meet you in the kitchen."

Ingwion nodded and made his way to the cupboard without another word, embarrassment written all over him. He put the linens away and then continued to the kitchen where Námo was waiting for him, peeler in hand. He pointed to a sink that was against one wall and Ingwion went and washed his hands, drying them on a scrap of cloth before joining Námo at the table where a pile of potatoes awaited them. Námo handed him the peeler.

"Ever use one of these before?" the Vala asked in a conversational tone as he picked up a second peeler. Ingwion shook his head. Námo nodded as he took a potato and began to expertly peel it. "It’s really not too hard. Hold the potato like this and peel in this direction." He demonstrated and then encouraged Ingwion to give it a try.

The elf was clumsy at first, but soon he was peeling the potatoes almost as fast as Námo. They sat there in silence, Ingwion too shocked by everything to venture a conversation. Námo, for his part, ignored the ellon and concentrated on his task. As they sat there peeling away, the head cook approached them.

"Ah, Námo, I see you have a helper this time. Not teaching him any bad habits are we?"

The cook laughed and Námo joined in. "He has enough bad habits as it is, Marilliën, without my teaching him mine."

Marilliën nodded. "You’ll be serving as well?"

Námo smiled. "That’s the bargain. I think Ingwion would like to help as well, wouldn’t you?" The Vala gave the ellon an enquiring look.

Ingwion could only nod, looking nonplused, afraid to actually say anything. The cook smiled at him and told them to carry on. "I’ll see if I can find appropriate livery for you, Ingwion," she said as she continued on to another part of the kitchen.

For a while Ingwion and Námo sat in silence until the ellon found the courage to make an observation. "They don’t give you your proper title, Lord," he said quietly, almost hesitantly, as if he might be treading on dangerous ground with his words.

Námo gave Ingwion a brief smile. "All part of the game, child. The Maiar are joyfully obeying my sister’s orders not to treat me as anything but the newest member of the staff."

Ingwion wrinkled his brow in concentration even as he picked up another potato and began peeling it without conscious thought. "So... you’re just pretending to be one of Lady Nienna’s servants?"

Námo shook his head. "No, child. This is no pretense and I’ll tell you something else." He bent his head closer to Ingwion and whispered, "Sometimes I let myself lose a bet just so I can have the pleasure of submitting myself to one of my fellow Valar in this manner."

Ingwion just stared at him in shock. Pleasure? In peeling potatoes!?

"And washing dishes, cleaning out horse stalls, working the bellows in the smithy, pulling weeds, and a host of other so-called menial tasks."

"But... but why?"

"Because I love them, child, and this is one way that I show them the depth of my love: by joyfully serving them." Námo pointed his peeler at the potato in Ingwion’s hand. "You missed a spot."

****

It turned out that Nienna had guests for dinner. One of them was Olwë of Alqualondë come to view Niélë’s progress on her project. What exactly the project was, Ingwion could never figure out, nor did anyone bother to enlighten him. It was frustrating, to say the least, but obviously it was something to which he was not to be privy, at least for the moment, so he tried his best to ignore the conversation at the table as he was serving.

The other guest was none other than Lord Aulë, who apparently would oversee the next phase of the mysterious project.

When it came time to serve, Marilliën brought Ingwion a tabard, dark grey with the fountain embroidered on it. It felt strange to be wearing it at first, and Ingwion was a bit self-conscious as he entered the dining room behind Námo, bearing a tray. He was afraid Niélë might laugh, and certainly Olwë would find it amusing.

He needn’t have worried. Niélë never looked up from her plate, shy before King and Valar; Olwë never blinked an eye, not even at Námo passing out bread, but continued his conversation with Lord Aulë and Lady Nienna as if he were used to seeing one of the Aratar serving him dinner every day of the week.

It was a new experience for the ellon, though he remembered doing something similar as a page in his atar’s court when he was an elfling, but that had been so long ago, he had quite forgotten about it. He vaguely recalled how proud he had felt to have successfully served his beloved atar and king and the joy he had experienced. Perhaps if he kept that in mind, he told himself, then the evening would pass more pleasantly for him. His nervousness and general embarrassment, though, proved his undoing.

It was his duty to serve the soup. As he started to set the tray of bowls on the table he inadvertently caught Lord Aulë’s eye and sudden shyness took him and without realizing it he tried to bow to the Vala at the same time as he was putting down the tray and watched in horror as the steaming bowls slid gracefully off the tray right into Lord Aulë’s lap.

The Vala never moved. Nienna rolled her eyes. Niélë finally looked up from her plate long enough to take in what was happening before looking down again, but this time Ingwion had the feeling she was trying not to laugh. Olwë stared at Ingwion as if the ellon had suddenly sprouted a second head and Námo stood there laughing.

Ingwion let the now empty tray drop from nerveless fingers, the blood rushing from his head, and, feeling very sick, he fled the room, heedless in his shock as to his direction. He half expected someone to call him back but no one did and so he ran.

Aulë still hadn’t moved, but stared at the wet, steaming mess in his lap for another minute before looking up and giving Nienna a wry grin. "And I was so looking forward to the soup, too."

Now Námo slid to the floor in helpless laughter and Niélë held her napkin to her mouth as she suffered a coughing fit trying not to laugh before her betters. Nienna merely sighed and Olwë finally came out of his shock to make his own wry observation.

"Just as well," he said with a dry tone. "I never cared for mushrooms anyway."

"Oh for the love of Eru," Nienna protested with some exasperation. "Námo, get off the floor and make sure Ingwion is all right. Niélë, dear, stop trying to stuff that napkin down your throat and go find something to clean this mess up. And you two," here she glared at Aulë and Olwë, "I’ll deal with you two later. Now someone pass me the salt."

****

Ingwion ran through the cloister, mortified to the bone. How could he have done such a thing? Ever since coming here he had lost all confidence in himself. His atar would be sorely disappointed in him. He was rounding a corner when he ran into someone who grabbed him just in time to stop him from crashing to the ground. It was Tiutalion.

"Whoa there, youngster. Where are you going in such a rush?" the Maia asked as he took hold of the ellon’s shoulders to steady him.

"Let me go, let me go!" Ingwion struggled in Tiutalion’s hold but to no avail.

"Oh, good," Námo said as he came upon them. "You’ve saved me the trouble of looking for him. Here, let me have him, Tiutalion." The Maia handed the still struggling ellon over to Námo with some relief. The Vala placed a gentle hand on Ingwion’s head. "Hush, child, be still."

Ingwion ceased struggling, giving a sigh as he sagged bonelessly against Námo. Tiutalion looked on with a grin. "I take it dinner didn’t go as planned?"

"Not really," Námo said, returning the Maia’s grin. Then he turned his attention to Ingwion. "Let’s go back to the dining room. You left poor Niélë to clean up your mess."

Ingwion stifled a sob, shaking his head. "Hush now," Námo said. "No one thinks the less of you, least of all Lord Aulë." He released the ellon from his hold and made the elf face him. "Come along now. We still have three more courses to serve."

Ingwion looked at Námo in horror. How could he possibly.... He wasn’t even aware of being sick until he felt a cool cloth on his neck. Someone had conveniently placed a basin under him as he heaved, taking it away when the last of the spasms came to an end. Then a goblet was pushed under his nose.

"Drink this, Ingwion," Námo commanded softly and the ellon complied. The clear cool water brought him all the way back to himself and he was able to focus on his surroundings once again.

"I... I’m sorry..." he stuttered, still feeling weak. Námo helped him to stand, keeping a solicitous hand on his elbow.

"No need to apologize, child," the Vala said kindly. "I think the day’s events are finally catching up with you." He started back down the walk towards the dining room. Ingwion had no choice but to come with him. "I think we’ll keep you away from liquids for now and have you keep the table supplied with bread and cheese and such."

They entered the dining room where all seemed normal. Ingwion refused to look at anyone.

"I see you didn’t have to go too far, brother," Nienna said.

"Ingwion... er... ran into Tiutalion."

"Ah, such a helpful Maia," Nienna said in a rather dry tone. "I’ll have to think of a suitable reward. Now, why don’t we carry on? My guests haven’t come all this way just to sit at an empty table."

Námo gave Nienna the most respectful bow Ingwion had ever seen anyone give. "Yes, Lady. I’ve decided Ingwion will be in charge of the bread and cheese boards, if that meets with your approval."

"Please," Nienna said with a relieved nod. "I think we’ve all had enough excitement for the nonce.... Niélë, if you don’t wipe that smirk off your face I will teach you the true meaning of the word contrition from the inside out."

Nienna’s tone had turned so cold that Ingwion looked up from the shock of it to see Niélë turning dead white. Nienna gave the elleth a hard stare and, satisfied that she had gotten through, nodded and turned back to Námo. "You may serve the next course, brother."

Námo bowed again. "Of course, Lady. Come Ingwion, you can bring in the potatoes."

The rest of the evening passed in a fog for Ingwion as he continued helping Námo serve the table. He was given little opportunity to brood but he refused to look at anyone directly. Sometime between serving the pheasant and the salmon, Olwë stopped Ingwion from returning to the kitchen by pushing his chair back and taking hold of the ellon’s arm.

"Now you listen to me, elfling," the King of the Teleri said without preamble. "You act as if nothing like this has ever happened to you."

"It hasn’t," Ingwion muttered, still refusing to look anyone in the eye.

Olwë raised an eyebrow. "Well in that case, I’d say it’s long overdue."

Ingwion looked at the Telerin king in surprise. "What do you mean, sir?"

Olwë smiled. "Next time you see my grandson, you ask Findaráto to tell you about the time he was serving me at table and managed — the Valar only know how — to trip over his own feet, drop an entire tray of roast hens and then pull the tablecloth down over his head, along with everything else on the table. And he wasn’t an awkward elfling at the time, either. He was several yéni old by then."

"Wh-why was he serving at table?" Ingwion did not recall ever hearing this story about his cousin.

"His atar had banished him to Alqualondë for a season after he’d committed some minor infraction and acting as a page in my court was his punishment." Olwë smiled. "The other pages were absolutely merciless towards him. I think he cried for a week, but it taught him humility, if nothing else."

"And is that what this is all about, teaching me humility?" Ingwion asked in dismay, remembering the events that had occurred earlier in the day on the beach.

Olwë gave the ellon a surprised look, releasing his hold on Ingwion’s arm. "That’s for you to decide, youngster. I think that the only lesson this evening should teach you is not to bow while holding a tray full of soup."

Ingwion blushed at the implied reprimand, then bowed to Olwë before returning to the kitchen to get the next dish to be served. When the interminable dinner was finally over, Nienna led her guests and Niélë to the workshop while Námo and Ingwion cleared the table and then helped with the washing up. Neither spoke the whole time except for Námo’s quiet instructions to the elf.

When the last dish had been washed, dried and put away, Námo took Ingwion by the shoulders and forced the ellon to look at him. "You’ve been sulking all evening, child," Námo said gently. "I don’t like my people sulking. If you are to be my apprentice..."

"YOUR WHAT!?"

"Calm down, Ingwion," Námo commanded with a hint of annoyance and Ingwion stood there, shock written all over him. "Yes, my apprentice. What do you think all this has been about, anyway?"

"But... but... I don’t want to be your apprentice!" Ingwion went white and put a hand on his mouth as soon as he spoke the words, wishing he could call them back. He stared at the Vala in horror, waiting for something terrible to happen. It did, but not the way he expected: Námo grinned.

He felt himself trembling uncontrollably at the sight of the Lord of Mandos smiling. "Child, what you want does not enter into it. What you need does."

"Wh-what do I need?" Ingwion asked in a small voice.

Námo reached over and kissed the ellon gently on the forehead. "For the moment... you need to feel secure. Nienna will see to that for the nonce. Beyond that..." Námo shook his head and gave the ellon a rueful smile. "It’s been a long day, child. I think you should go to sleep. Tomorrow will give you a different perspective on things." He reached over and gave Ingwion another kiss on the forehead.

Suddenly, the elf felt incredibly tired and stifled a yawn. Námo hid a grin. "Go to bed, child. When you are ready to listen, I will be here to speak to you. Until then, good night."

Ingwion could never afterwards remember how he got to his bedroom but within minutes he was undressed and snuggling into his bed. The idea of being Lord Námo’s apprentice... and what would he be doing, anyway? Ushering the dead into Mandos?

He had trouble coming up with any suitable answers and before long he had drifted onto the Path of Dreams where he spent the night welcoming the fëar of dead elves while Lord Námo stood by beaming and saying, "He’s my apprentice, he’s my apprentice," over and over again. By the time Ingwion struggled awake the next morning he was ready to kill the damn Vala and send him to his own Halls.

****

Nieninqui: Plural of nieninquë: snowdrop; the Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin niphredil.

Aratar: The Supreme; a translation of the foreign word Máhani adopted and adapted from Valarin. Refers to the eight most powerful Valar, of which Námo is one. The others are: Manwë, Varda, Aulë, Yavanna, Ulmo, Oromë and Nienna.

Yéni: Plural of yén, an elvish century of 144 solar years.

Linguistic note: The word contrition comes from the Latin contritus, past participle of conterere, to crush, to wear down: com- + terere, to grind together.

86: Losing a Bet, Gaining an Apprentice

Lord Námo was not there when Ingwion made his way down for breakfast, for which he was grateful, not wanting to face the Vala after such a disturbing dream. Lord Aulë and King Olwë were also gone, taking Niélë with them. As usual, Ingwion spent the morning on the beach, but by noon another storm had arrived and he was forced indoors. Tiutalion warned him that with the coming of winter the storms would become more frequent and stay longer, and this particular one lasted several days.

During that time Ingwion thought over Lord Námo’s words. He was still unsure what the Vala had meant about being his apprentice. What exactly did one do as an apprentice to the Lord of Mandos? There was no real answer to that, so he eventually put it aside. Still, the idea would not let him go and he spent much of his time sitting on a bench in the cloister, idly watching the rain soaking the garden, and thinking.

His eyes often strayed to the spot where he had found Lord Námo supposedly weeding, remembering their conversation. Nothing done with love is ever menial. These words echoed through his mind and fëa throughout the day, and invaded his dreams at night.

By the third day he was tired of doing nothing and he sought out Lady Nienna who greeted him with a warm smile when he found her at her loom. "What can I do for you, child?" Nienna asked as she looked up from her weaving.

Now that it came down to it, Ingwion was suddenly unsure. He swallowed nervously and bowed to the Valië. "Is... is there aught that I can do, Lady?"

"What were you thinking, Ingwion?"

Now the ellon looked down, suddenly shy, "Wh-whatever you wish, Lady. Perhaps I could... weed the garden." It was the only thing he could think of at that moment.

"The garden, is it?" Lady Nienna’s voice was full of amusement. "And do you know anything about gardening?"

Ingwion looked up, the glint of mischief in his eyes. "At least I can tell the difference between nieninqui and weeds... unlike some people I know."

Nienna laughed outright at that and Ingwion had the strangest sensation of someone swatting the back of his head, although no one was behind him.

"Oromë was right, you are very insolent."

Ingwion blushed and tried to stammer an apology, but Nienna waved her hand in dismissal. "Child, you little realize how refreshing your attitude is compared to your fellow elves. Too many of your people practice deference towards us instead of honest respect, so we rejoice when we see it."

Ingwion stared at the Valië uncertainly. "I... I don’t understand, Lady."

Nienna gave the ellon a brief, almost sad, smile. "Too many of the Eldar yield to us in all things. They capitulate at every point, and abdicate their right to form their own opinions. They take what we consider to be mere suggestions on our part as law. When someone like yourself comes along, someone who stands up to us, even insults us, we rejoice, for you are showing us proper respect. You are taking ownership for your own opinions and ideas, questioning us as to our motives and intentions when we say a thing. In doing that, child, you allow us the freedom to act in authority over you."

"That doesn’t make sense, Lady," Ingwion said in confusion. "How can insulting you give you the right to have authority over me?"

"Not a right, Ingwion," Nienna said carefully. "A freedom. There’s a difference. When someone defers to us always, we cannot exercise true authority over them, we cannot create a mutual exchange of power that allows us to govern Arda in compliance to Eru’s will. All we can do is issue orders. That is not the purpose for which we were created."

Ingwion still looked unconvinced. "Think of it this way, child," Nienna finally said. "Your atar is the High King of all the Elves, but neither Arafinwë nor Olwë, both of whom are kings in their own right, have ever allowed Ingwë to lord it over them. I know for a fact that they have both respectfully told your atar off on more than one occasion, and rightly so."

Ingwion suddenly realized what the Valië was saying. High King of All the Elves his atar might be, but the other kings were not averse to calling his atar on the carpet over a matter if the situation warranted. He remembered one argument where Arafinwë had called Ingwë a ‘blithering idiot’. Ingwion had been shocked when his atar had laughed and agreed with him.

Nienna continued. "When any of you treat us, not as your masters, but as your peers, when you look us in the eye and tell us off, we rejoice, for it means we can properly fulfill our roles as Guardians. Trust me when I tell you that we do not enjoy issuing orders for you to follow blindly. We would much rather treat you —and be treated by you — if not as equals, at least as fellow creatures under the lordship of Eru."

The elf still wasn’t sure he fully grasped what the Valië was saying but nodded anyway, deciding to think about it later. Nienna nodded, guessing where the ellon’s thoughts were. "Well, regardless, you’re looking for something to do," she said briskly, returning them to the original topic. "The garden’s a bit wet, so we will ignore that for now." Nienna thought for a moment. "Perhaps you would like to sweep the cloister walk. There’s a besom in the storage cupboard. Tiutalion can show you where it is and show you where to put the rubbish."

"Sweep the cloister walk," Ingwion repeated somewhat doubtfully. "All of it."

Nienna arched an eyebrow. "That’s the general idea."

Ingwion nodded, paling a little at the implied reprimand in the Valië’s tone and bowed, leaving to find Tiutalion, who happened to be standing just outside the room with a besom in hand. The Maia said not a word but pointed to a place where Ingwion could put any rubbish, mostly dead leaves, and left him to it. For a moment Ingwion stared at the broom, then sighed and began to sweep the walk.

It took him some time to cover the entire walk and he was somewhat awkward with the broom at first, but after awhile he managed to find a rhythm in his movements that seemed to act as counterpoint to the drip-drip of the rain. He found it immensely soothing and he lost all sense of time, so he was surprised when Tiutalion called to him.

"You’ve done very well, Ingwion," the Maia said, coming up the walk. "Why don’t you stop? It’s almost time for lunch."

"Lunch?" Ingwion asked in surprise, for truly it hadn’t felt that long since he started sweeping.

After lunch, Tiutalion came to him and asked him if he was up to doing something else. Ingwion shrugged, not really caring since he had no other plans. The Maia led him to a room on the upper floor. It was a library. Ingwion stood in the door mesmerized, for he had no idea the room even existed. It was obvious that the room was little used, for dust lay heavy on the few pieces of furniture and covered the shelves. Also, a cursory glance showed that many of the books were jammed onto the shelves in a somewhat haphazard manner. Tiutalion gave the ellon a smile.

"Lady Nienna has been meaning to restore this room. Perhaps you would like to help."

Ingwion nodded and Tiutalion pointed to a bucket and some rags. "Don’t try to do it all at once. Take your time. There’s no rush. If you need anything else let me know." With that the Maia left and Ingwion picked up a rag and began to attack the dust with more enthusiasm than sense and was soon sneezing himself silly. After that, he concentrated on one small area at a time, starting from the door and working his way into the room. As with the sweeping he soon lost himself to the rhythm of the task and was surprised when Tiutalion came in and ordered him to stop and get cleaned up for dinner.

Sitting at table with Lady Nienna, Ingwion described his day with much enthusiasm, though he kept yawning throughout his narrative. Nienna hid a smile.

"You’ve done very well on your first day," she said. "If you wish you may continue working in the library and I might find you some other tasks as well, but do not spend all your time there, child. The storm will pass over tonight and tomorrow should dawn fair. Take some time to relax. It’s too cold for swimming but the beach is still accessible."

"Yes, Lady," Ingwion said and then excused himself, for he could not stop yawning and decided to make it an early night. Nienna let him go with a satisfied smile.

"How long do you think his enthusiasm will last, sister mine?"

Nienna looked up at her brother sitting in the chair Ingwion had just vacated. She shrugged and handed him a cup of tea. "We’ll have to see, but I don’t think it will last past a week, myself."

"Would you like to place a wager on that?" Námo asked slyly.

Nienna laughed. "Only if you intend on losing again. Tiutalion misses giving you orders."

Námo smirked but didn’t say anything as he sipped his tea.

****

Besides working in the library, Ingwion found that other tasks were assigned to him arbitrarily (or so it seemed). The next morning after breakfast he was all set to tackle the library again when Aiwendilmë approached him and told him that Lady Nienna wished for him to help in the kitchen. He little liked it but realized he had no choice in the matter so he went and found himself spending half the morning elbow deep in dough and the other half elbow deep in suds. By the time lunch came around he was exhausted and had no desire to work in the library. Nienna took one look at him and told him in no uncertain terms to spend the rest of the afternoon on the beach.

That suited him just fine at first but it really was getting too cold to stay there long, so after about an hour he returned to the house and went to his room and read quietly until dinner.

The next few days he did spend in the library and it was beginning to take shape, but periodically he was called away from his task to do something else, something that was even more menial than removing the dust from books and getting on his hands and knees to wash the grime from the flagged floor. He tried not to mind, but he enjoyed his time working in the library and began to resent the time taken away for other seemingly pointless tasks.

Then, one morning he woke to find all his clothes missing and hanging in the wardrobe was a light grey ankle-length tunic and a dark grey surcoat with Nienna’s emblem of the fountain embroidered on it. He stared at the outfit in consternation for the longest time, fearful of what it meant. Eventually, though, he put it on since the only other alternative was to walk around in his nightshirt. He was standing in front of the mirror gazing at his image and suddenly he was crying for no particular reason that he could fathom.

The weeping did not last long and he wiped his eyes and left the room, unsure how he was supposed to feel now. He was almost grateful that Lady Nienna did not make any comments about his change in garb.

"The library is coming along well," Nienna said to him as he helped himself to some breakfast from the sideboard. "I think, however, I would like you to spend today in the kitchen. Marilliën will let you know what needs doing."

"Yes, Lady," he said quietly as he sat down to eat, though in truth he had no appetite. He was beginning to regret ever having made the offer to help out in the first place and any joy he had initially felt about doing a task had long evaporated. Nienna gave him a shrewd look, which he did not see, but did not comment, merely wishing the ellon a good morning as she left the dining room.

When he reached the kitchen, Marilliën handed him a scrub brush and a pail of soapy water. "Floor needs a good scrubbing as well as the tables."

Ingwion nodded and got to work. It was backbreaking and tedious and the pail of water seemed to get heavier every time he emptied it out and replaced it with clean water. He was hot and sweaty before he was half done and took a moment to catch his breath. It was while he was kneeling there that he inadvertently caught a distorted image of himself in the reflection of a gleaming pot. His hair was disheveled and his clothes were soaked. He did not recognize himself as haryon in the grey tunic and surcoat. He wondered briefly what his atar would say if he could see him kneeling on the kitchen floor with a scrub brush in his hand, surrounded by a puddle of suds.

Suddenly, it was as if he were seeing himself as he truly was and hated himself for it. His attempts to imitate Lord Námo’s acts of selfless love were nothing but a pretense on his part, he realized. He stared down at his chapped hands and broken fingernails, hands that until recently had been smooth and well manicured, and tears of shame flowed down his face. He wasn’t a prince anymore but neither was he a credible servant. The surcoat he wore was a lie and there was no sincerity in him.

"Now you’re being too hard on yourself, child."

Ingwion looked up to see Lord Námo standing there, a look of concern on the Vala’s face. The elf noticed that the Lord of Mandos was still wearing Nienna’s surcoat and wondered if he was even now acting as one of Nienna’s servants. That thought just made his own situation seem worse. The ellon shook his head in dismay.

"I don’t w-want to be your ap-apprentice," he stammered through his tears. "I don’t... I don’t." He started rocking himself and covered his face with his hands.

Námo sighed and, ignoring the fact that the floor was wet, knelt before the weeping ellon and gathered him into his embrace. He called softly for Marilliën, who appeared, looking concerned.

"I think we should have some privacy, Marilliën," Námo said quietly. "Tiutalion should stay, though."

The Maia bowed. "It will be as you say, Lord." Then she faded away and soon Vala and Elda were alone, Ingwion still weeping, though his tears had begun to slow. Tiutalion appeared and brushed a gentle hand over the ellon’s head in an attempt to comfort him and gave Námo a wry look.

"I’m surprised it took him this long to break down," he said quietly. "I have a feeling My Lady forced the issue a bit." He nodded at the tunic and surcoat Ingwion was wearing.

Námo gave the Maia a brief smile. "My sister generally knows what she’s doing," he conceded, then turned his attention to the elf and sighed again. "Ingwion, it’s much too late for tears. Come. There’s nothing to fear here. Let’s get up off this floor. Tiutalion will make us some tea and we will talk."

Tiutalion helped Ingwion up and gave him a brief hug. Námo gracefully rose from his crouch, his tunic now dry. He led the ellon to a trestle table and made him sit while Tiutalion bustled about putting together the tea. Námo then took a bowl of warm water and placed it in front of the elf.

"Wash your face, my prince," he commanded quietly. Ingwion cringed slightly at the title but otherwise said nothing as he complied with the Vala’s orders, taking the towel Lord Námo proffered to dry himself with. The ellon was dimly aware that he no longer felt wet but it didn’t quite register that his tunic was now dry as well.

Tiutalion was soon back at the table with the tea. Námo sat down across from Ingwion and made him drink a cup, then poured him another before speaking. Ingwion never looked up, but sat there in dejected silence. Tiutalion stayed in the background.

"You’ve been trying too hard at something you’re not very good at... yet," Námo said without preamble.

"Wh-what am I not good at?" Ingwion whispered.

"Humility."

Ingwion looked up. Námo gave him a wry smile. "Arrogance comes easily to the Eldar; humility is something that has to be practiced."

"I’m not arrogant!" Ingwion insisted.

Tiutalion gave an involuntary snort. Námo raised an eyebrow. "You’re not?" he said disbelievingly. "You were fairly arrogant to Glorfindel when he first arrived in Vanyamar, and if your little stunt in throwing the knife at Lord Manwë’s feet wasn’t arrogant, what was it?"

Ingwion had the grace to blush. Námo nodded. "When you take oath to me..."

Ingwion stood up so suddenly in alarm he knocked his bench over. "I’ll never take oath to you! Never!"

Then he pulled the surcoat over his head and let it drop to the ground and stalked away, suddenly tired of the Valar and their manipulations and schemes and overbearing manner. He was through with it and them. Obedience... respect... humility. Words, that’s all they were and he was tired of having his inadequacies thrown in his face by beings who could apparently do no wrong and never made a mistake... and they had the gall to tell him which way was up!

He never made it to the door.

"Ingwion, come back here." Lord Námo didn’t raise his voice, but then he didn’t have to. The cold menace in his tone was enough to freeze the ellon’s blood and stop him dead in his tracks. He did not turn around, though, but struggled against the Vala’s bidding. "Now." That last command could not be safely ignored and with a stifled sob and a low-muttered curse, he complied and returned to stand in front of the Vala, defiance written all over him. Námo’s face darkened and the temperature in the room dropped even more so that Ingwion stood there shivering slightly. For a long moment silence reigned between Vala and Elda as a battle of wills ensued, but eventually Ingwion was forced to capitulate and found himself kneeling before the Lord of Mandos weeping again.

"I d-don’t want to b-be your apprentice, I don’t, I don’t," he insisted through his tears. He felt Lord Námo’s hand on his head, stroking his hair gently and, in spite of himself, he felt calmer almost immediately.

"Would it help to know that I don’t want you to be my apprentice either," Námo said quietly.

That brought Ingwion up short and he looked up at the Vala in surprise. "Y-you don’t?"

Námo gave the ellon a wintery smile. "No, I don’t, but I will take you as my apprentice nonetheless, though Eru knows we both will probably regret it before too long." This last was said with a long-suffering sigh and Ingwion wondered at that.

"Th-then why..."

Now Námo’s smile became more genuine, though somewhat rueful. "I lost a bet with Lord Manwë."

Ingwion was on his feet, staring at Námo in shock. "You... you lost a bet... over me?"

The Lord of Mandos looked at the ellon standing there gulping like a beached fish and amusement returned to his eyes once more. "Yes, Ingwion, over you. Would you care to hear about it?" At the ellon’s nod, Námo gestured at the surcoat still lying on the floor. "Then put that back on and sit down." Ingwion complied, though with obvious reluctance and distaste as he pulled the surcoat back over his head. Námo poured more tea and for a moment neither spoke. Finally, Námo broke the silence.

"It was the day you came storming through Valmar like my brother Tulkas in a temper. Lord Manwë was sure that you would accuse us of complicity in Glorfindel’s disappearance. I had more faith in you and said that you would not be so... stupid." Ingwion went first white with mortification and then red with embarrassment. Námo smiled knowingly. "Lord Manwë placed a wager and I accepted." He gave Ingwion a deprecating shrug. "I lost."

"On purpose?" Ingwion ventured somewhat fearfully.

Now Námo actually chuckled. "No, child. This is one of the rare times when I truly lost the bet."

Ingwion looked down at his teacup, not sure how to respond to that. The idea that the Valar placed bets on how he and others acted was unnerving and he began to resent being the object of one of their games.

"Not a game, child," Námo said. "We never know for sure which way you Children will go. Placing bets on the outcome of a given situation is just our way of enjoying the process of learning about you. You are an endless source of fascination for us, Ingwion, and believe it or not, we actually enjoy being proved wrong by you on occasion. It keeps us from exhibiting too much false pride in our own dealings with you."

"So... what was the wager?"

"If I lost, I was to take you as my apprentice and train you."

"Train me to do what exactly?" Ingwion asked with some exasperation, wishing the Vala would get to the point.

"To act as our personal emissary to the elves of Tol Eressëa."

"Your what to who?" Ingwion stared at Námo in shock, not quite believing what he was hearing. "Why would you need me as an emissary? Isn’t that what the Maiar are for?"

"You are aware of the situation on Tol Eressëa." It was not a question but Ingwion nodded, for he had been privy to Arafinwë’s discussions with his atar about the state of affairs on the island. "The Tol Eressëans are lacking in true leadership while certain people remain in my keeping. Your atar, Arafinwë and Olwë are making plans to address that situation. We have decided to make our own plans as well."

Ingwion’s gaze became distant as he recalled certain conversations in his atar’s council chambers. He returned to the present to look at the Vala in confusion. "You want me to... govern Tol Eressëa for you?"

Námo shook his head. "No... we have someone else in mind for that role. Yours will be different... and probably more thankless." Here, he gave the ellon a warmer smile and there was genuine humor in his eyes. "Interested?"

For some several minutes Ingwion just sat there trying to assimilate everything he’d been told. It was a lot to take in, but it was intriguing nonetheless. He glanced up at Námo and gave the Vala a shrewd look. "What was the wager had I not been so... stupid?"

The Lord of Mandos leaned over and held Ingwion’s face between his hands. "It doesn’t matter, child," he said with all gentleness, "since it didn’t happen." Then he kissed him on the brow and released him, giving Ingwion a wry look. "Now, I understand you should be scrubbing the kitchen floor."

Ingwion nodded with a grimace.

"Care for some help?"

The Vanyarin prince gave the Vala a slow smile and nodded.

****

When Nienna wandered into the kitchen some time later she smiled to see her brother kneeling beside the Child as the two of them scrubbed the floor together. Tiutalion sat on one of the tables with a cup of tea in his hands, overlooking their work and pointing out all the spots that they had missed, while Námo and Ingwion traded insults with him.

****

Linguistic notes:

1. The words deference and respect seem to mean the same thing, but deference has the sense of "yielding to another, bowing (literally) to another’s will in all things", while respect literally means "to look back at", i.e. to look someone in the eye. Nienna makes this distinction clear in her talk with Ingwion.

2. The English word authority ultimately is derived from the Latin auctor: "creator, author". Thus, when true authority is administered it creates a bond of mutuality between the parties that allows one to administer power in freedom from servility on the part of the other.

3. While humility is derived from the Latin humilis "lowly", literally "on the ground" from humus "earth", the connotation Lord Námo gives to the word means "lacking in false pride".

87: The Servant-Prince’s Oath

Lunch was delayed by Ingwion’s breakdown, but no one minded. Afterwards, Lord Námo encouraged the ellon to go down to the beach for a while and get some fresh air.

"The winter storms will only worsen," the Vala said, "and soon you will not want to go out at all. Best to enjoy it while you can."

This time, much to Ingwion’s surprise, Tiutalion did not escort him, nor remind him, as he had always done in the past, that he must come when called. "I have better things to do than play nanny to you," the Maia said with a smile. "You can find your own way to the beach. Stay as long as you like, but if you miss dinner it’ll be your own fault."

Ingwion went, practically skipping down the steep stairs at the sudden freedom he’d been given. It was high tide when he went down and the pounding of the surf was all that could be heard. Ingwion idly began building a sandcastle, not really paying attention to anything in particular. Then, something made him look up and staring out into the ocean he espied a thing that literally took his breath away.

For a moment he stood there stunned, not sure what he was seeing, and then he was running to the rockfall and climbing as quickly as he could, quite forgetting in his excitement that it was forbidden to him. Yet, no sword-bearing Maia appeared and soon he was at the top. He did not, however, cast his eyes on the beach beyond, but looked back out to sea.

At first he thought he had lost sight of what he had seen earlier and sadness took him, but then a waterspout appeared, a large creature broke the surface, its huge tail coming up and slapping the surface of the sea with a resounding splash. Ingwion was mesmerized, wondering what sort of creature it was.

"They call themselves the Eärnyellor."

Ingwion turned suddenly at the voice behind him. Ulmo stood there calmly looking at the ellon.

"They?"

The Vala nodded towards the creature, now joined by several others, as it made its way southward. "They are the sea-shepherds and they have grave responsibility in guarding those who live within the oceans of Arda. Their songs are quite beautiful, though you would be unable to hear them."

Ingwion turned back to watch the impossibly huge creatures swim gracefully through the waters, plunging into its depths and then breaching. It was breathtaking and Ingwion felt something inside him soar at the sight of it. He felt Ulmo placing a hand on his shoulder and turned his head to see the Lord of Waters smiling benignly at him.

"I see you have accepted Námo’s offer of apprenticeship," Ulmo said.

Ingwion shook his head. "There was no offer, Lord. He just told me I was to be his apprentice."

"Yet you wear his sister’s emblem, which is the first step in being Námo’s apprentice."

Now Ingwion blushed. "Only because every stitch I own disappeared overnight and this was all that was left for me to wear."

Then Ulmo threw back his head and laughed and the sound of it was deep as the ocean and just as wild. "Nienna, Nienna, you are truly a wicked child."

Ingwion just stared at the Vala, not sure what was going on. Ulmo noticed the concerned and confused look on the ellon’s face and smiled warmly. "Well, regardless, I’m glad you have agreed. Lord Manwë’s been pushing our younger brother into taking an apprentice for some time now but Námo was adamant in his refusal to accept one. When you showed up the way you did that day, dripping with fury as well as with rainwater, Manwë saw the perfect opportunity to force the issue."

Ingwion looked back out to sea, thinking about that day: Lord Manwë’s initial refusal to see him and then the sudden capitulation. Lord Námo’s own reaction on seeing him...

"He said he didn’t want me to be his apprentice," Ingwion finally said.

"It would be more correct to say that he didn’t want to have any apprentice," Ulmo countered. "But what he wants isn’t necessarily what he needs."

Ingwion turned back to Ulmo in surprise. "He said the same thing to me."

Ulmo nodded reflectively. "Well, at least he’s learned something from this, and while you may not believe it, child, he does need you, more than you can ever guess."

Ingwion suddenly had the strangest feeling that there was more going on underneath the surface than he ever suspected. It had never occurred to him to think that the Valar themselves had a structure of society that enforced certain obligations upon them that they might find onerous, or at least unwelcome, much as was common with life among the Eldar. He found his own duties as haryon mostly enjoyable, but he did not always like some aspects of his role and the obligations such a role entailed. He could almost sympathize with Lord Námo.

"I will try my best to be obedient to Lord Námo’s word, Lord," Ingwion said.

Ulmo laughed. "But I hope not too obedient." When Ingwion gave him a quizzical look the Vala just laughed louder. "Child, I sincerely hope you make my brother’s life miserable. He’s getting much too complacent and needs a little shaking up and I think you’re just the elf to do it, too."

Ingwion wasn’t sure if he should take that as a compliment, and in the end, decided to ignore it. He was sure that there would be times when he would be less than sterling in his behavior as an apprentice, but he hoped he was mature enough to keep such lapses in manners to a minimum. He was still haryon to the High Kingship, whatever else he might be, and he wasn’t about to forget it. I just hope no one else does, he thought ruefully as he stared down at the emblem stitched on his tunic.

Ulmo divined his thoughts and placed a gentle hand on the ellon’s shoulder. "You know I am only teasing you and Námo," he said quietly. "I know that you will be good for each other and to each other. I have no fear for either of you on that account and I think you will find that being my brother Vala’s apprentice will not be as onerous as you might suspect. What others might think of the situation is their business and you should not be overly concerned. You are indeed haryon, but you are more than that. You are also a servant. The two are not incompatible. Indeed, one cannot truly be the one without being the other."

Ingwion nodded, feeling somewhat mollified by the Vala’s words. Ulmo bent down and kissed him on the forehead in benediction and then the elf was alone.

****

Returning from the beach sometime later, Ingwion made his way to his room and decided to nap. The emotions of the morning and their implications were catching up with him and he decided a short rest before dinner would not be amiss. He was surprised, therefore, to awaken to Tiutalion’s gentle shaking and to find that it was already dark outside.

"Wh-what time is it?" he asked blearily as he struggled out of bed.

"Time for you to get up, child. Your bath is waiting."

"Huh?" Ingwion’s head felt muzzy and he was not sure what the Maia was telling him.

Tiutalion merely led him to the bathing chamber and helped him out of his clothes. "I’ll have fresh clothing for you shortly."

With that, the Maia left and Ingwion climbed into the tub. Almost at once he began to feel more awake and aware of his surroundings. He must have been more exhausted than he originally thought. Soaking in the hot water brought him back to himself and by the time Tiutalion came back he was wide awake and busily drying himself off. The Maia handed him a freshly pressed grey tunic and surcoat.

Besides the fresh clothes, Tiutalion had also brought a small tray of food. "You missed dinner, but here is a light repast. You should eat it all as you’ll need your strength for the coming ceremony."

"Ceremony?" Ingwion asked. "What ceremony?"

"Well, in case you’ve forgotten, my prince," Tiutalion said with a grin, "this is the Merendë Andohrívëo."

"Oh, yes, of course," Ingwion nodded as he took a soft roll and began to eat it. "Sorry. I’ve quite forgotten what day it is anymore."

Tiutalion nodded his understanding and once Ingwion had finished his meal they made their way downstairs to the cloister where they found Nienna, Námo and Ulmo along with Nienna’s Maiar servants waiting for them. The night was lit only by starlight but the Valar and Maiar glowed faintly with their own light. Ingwion did too, though he was unaware of it.

Nienna gestured for Ingwion to join her and the other Valar by the fountain while the Maiar ranged around the covered walk. Some were even on the upper gallery looking down.

Nienna glanced around. "Tonight is the Merendë Andohrívëo, in which we celebrate the longest night of the year. Tomorrow, Light will return once more unto Arda in all its glory. Yet, darkness has its place and proper sphere, as well, and so we honor it tonight." She paused for a moment before continuing, casting a quick glance at her brother. "However, we will be dispensing with our usual ceremony. Instead, we will stand witness to Prince Ingwion taking oath to my brother Námo as his apprentice."

Ingwion went white at those words and Ulmo had to take his elbow and steady him. Intellectually the ellon knew that he would have to undergo an oathtaking, but he didn’t realize, or refused to consider, that he would be taking it so soon. He looked pleadingly at Lord Námo, but the Lord of Mandos shook his head and gave the ellon a sympathetic smile.

Nienna put a comforting arm around Ingwion’s shoulders. "Fear not, child!" she said softly. "You and my brother may both think you’ve been coerced into this but believe me when I tell you that all has been done in accordance to Eru’s will. My brother recognizes this, little though he likes it, and he accepts the situation joyfully in obedience to Ilúvatar. You must learn to do the same if you wish this experience to be fruitful rather than fearful."

"I will try, Lady," Ingwion whispered, not quite able to keep the tremor from his voice. Nienna gave him a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek before releasing him. Then she glanced at Námo, who stood there in darkling splendour. He was dressed in an ankle-length midnight blue velvet tunic with blue-grey squirrel fur trimming the tight sleeves and high neck. The front of the tunic was stiff with silver thread embroidery showing Telperion in full bloom with Isil above it. A belt of linked mithril inset with fire opals cinched the waist. His braided hair was crowned with a mithril coronet. There was a single large cut sapphire in the center of the coronet. It was the Vala’s only jewelry except for the gems in his hair.

"Come to me Ingwion, haryon of Eldamar," Námo intoned with the deepest gravity. Ingwion felt himself shaking as he took the few steps that separated him from the Vala and he hoped desperately he would not embarrass himself. Then, he was kneeling before Námo and his hands were being held by the Vala. Words formed in his mind, though he did not know whence they came, for he had never heard them before, and he found himself speaking them out loud.

"Here do I, Ingwion of the Vanyar, give unto thee my oath, that I will be obedient in all things, in hröa and fëa, to thy will, to come when thou sayest ‘come’, to go when thou sayest ‘go’, that I may be found acceptable in the eyes of Eru Ilúvatar as thy apprentice. Valar valuvar tenn’ Ambar-metta."

Then Námo was speaking and his voice was full of bells and there was the sense of Another speaking through him that sent shards of awe piercing Ingwion’s heart.

"Here do I, Námo, Lord of Mandos, accept your oath, Ingwion of the Vanyar, and I shall reward obedience with love and disobedience with patience, for I know you will falter in your resolve at times, Child of Ilúvatar, but in all things I shall remain faithful and you will know that I love you even when I must chastise you."

They were not the words Ingwion expected and he felt a tremor of fear rush through him, but then Námo was lifting him from his knees and giving him the kiss of liege lord to vassal and then he gave him one more kiss and for an eternal moment Ingwion felt the Other’s Presence more fully and completely.

He was unaware that he screamed in joy as divine ecstasy took him, nor was he aware of Námo holding him through the experience or that the other Valar and Maiar looked upon him with awe. Finally, the last wave of ecstasy rolled over him and he came back to himself to find that he was weeping softly in Námo’s arms while the Lord of Mandos crooned a soft lullaby, rubbing his back to will calmness. When at last his tears ceased and he was himself again, he sighed and found himself drifting towards sleep.

Then he felt Nienna take him from Námo’s embrace and place him in Tiutalion’s care and soon he was climbing into bed and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

****

He awoke to bright sunshine and Námo sitting patiently by his bed. "Good morning, yonya. Did you sleep well?"

Ingwion nodded, feeling suddenly shy and didn’t know where he should look as he struggled into a sitting position. He finally settled on staring at his lap. "Yes, thank you... er... Master." That sounded very strange and he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to it but knew that he would have to. He tried to keep in mind that his own cousin, Arafinwë, had been apprenticed to Lord Manwë and still called the Elder King "Master" at times.

Námo gave the ellon a smile, though Ingwion was too busy looking at his knees to notice. "I have something for you, my apprentice."

Ingwion looked up then, surprise and curiosity foremost in his expression. "Wh-what?"

"It is customary for a liege lord to gift someone on the occasion of their taking oath, so here is your gift." Námo leaned over and handed Ingwion a small box made of some dark wood unfamiliar to the elf. When Ingwion just sat there staring at the box, Námo chuckled. "You’re supposed to open it, son."

Ingwion started, as if suddenly coming to and blushed. "S-sorry." He picked up the box and opened it, gasping at what he saw within. It was a ring made from mithril and set with a ruby cabachon. Tengwar were etched into the band and Ingwion read them with care:

* Mápaimarinyanna * Ingwion * Herutyallo * Námo *

He looked up at the Vala, and smiled. "Thank you," he whispered, then put the ring on his left ring finger. As soon as the ring was on him he gasped, feeling a slight shock and the stone turned dark. Ingwion looked at Námo somewhat fearfully. Námo frowned slightly.

"That’s not supposed to do that," he said half to himself and Ingwion felt himself becoming alarmed, not knowing what was going on. Almost immediately several things happened at once. Nienna suddenly appeared, looking concerned. Námo stood up. "Guard him," he said and disappeared. Then, the room became impossibly small as several sword-bearing Maiar appeared, ringing the bed. Most had the emblem of the Elder King embroidered on their surcoat, while a few others wore the insignia of Tulkas. Ingwion sat frozen in bed, unsure what, if anything, he should do.

One thing, though....

He started to remove Námo’s gift-ring when Nienna stayed him. "Nay, child, remove not the ring. It is your only safety."

"Safety... from what?" he cried but the Valië either would not or could not answer. He stared around at the Maiar who stood facing outward. The ones nearest to him were grim of face, from what he could see of their profiles from his position. What, by all that’s holy, was happening?

Then the ruby brightened to its original color and Námo reappeared, but he was not alone.

".... and you could have warned me. He is my apprentice after all!" Námo was shouting at Manwë and Aulë who were both smiling at the irate Vala.

Ingwion sat there trying to peek between the Maiar to see what was going on. Námo looked rather put out and fumed before the Elder King and the Smith of the Valar while Manwë and Aulë grinned wickedly. Nienna, Ingwion noticed, merely rolled her eyes and gestured to the Maiar, who bowed to the Valar before disappearing. Ingwion wondered if he should try to get up and give his obeisance to Lord Manwë, although the thought of doing so in his nightshirt left him feeling embarrassed and he brought the bedclothes up under his chin instead.

"Now, Námo, there’s no harm done," Manwë said soothingly, but the Lord of Mandos was not ready to here such placating words.

"No harm! No harm?" the Vala shouted so loudly Ingwion had to cover his ears. "I’ll thank you to leave my apprentice alone. You had no right!"

Now Manwë’s humor fled and his visage darkened. "Take care, best beloved," he said quietly. "Right has nothing to do with it. We did what we thought best for the both of you." Somehow, Ingwion heard an echo of Another’s voice in the Elder King’s words and he was surprised to see Lord Námo actually pale and mutter an apology, giving Manwë a bow. Ingwion wasn’t sure if he didn’t prefer the Námo who was shouting to the one who stood there looking like a penitent elfling. That image of the mighty Vala was too disturbing for the elf.

However, by this time Ingwion had had enough. "Excuse me, my lords, but do you think you might remove yourselves and your argument from my presence so I can dress in private?" Ingwion spoke with as much imperious arrogance as he could muster, raising his eyebrow in the same manner as his atar whenever the High King had had enough of the pretensions of those around him.

All four Valar turned and looked at the Vanyarin prince in surprise at the tone of voice coming from the ellon sitting there with the bedclothes around him and suddenly all of them were laughing and everyone’s mood lightened. Manwë clapped Námo on the shoulder, his eyes twinkling with humor.

"He is indeed your apprentice, my brother. I wish you both joy in each other." With that, he and Aulë disappeared, leaving Ingwion alone with Námo and Nienna. The Valië gave her brother a look that the ellon could not interpret and without a word disappeared. Námo, he saw, was looking rueful.

"I’m sorry, child," the Vala said, sitting in the chair he’d vacated so quickly only moments before. "I was unaware that Lord Aulë gave your ring certain... properties when he made it for me."

"Wh-what sort of properties, Master?"

"When peril is imminent, the stone darkens in warning, returning to its original color when the danger has passed."

Ingwion stared at his ring, trying to understand. "It... it went dark when I put it on."

Námo nodded. "Yes. When you put the ring on for the first time it recognized you as its rightful owner and was... activated. Anyone else who wears the ring will not be able to use it as a warning against danger."

"Why did Lord Aulë..."

"Lord Manwë decided that you might need such protection when you eventually go to Tol Eressëa as our emissary." Here the Vala gave Ingwion a wry look. "The recent events prove that Tol Eressëa is an explosion waiting to happen. This ring, besides being a symbol of our relationship as master and apprentice, will also offer you warning of imminent peril, though it will not protect you from it. That will be up to you."

For a long moment, Ingwion stared at the ring and thought of the implications of the gift and the role he was expected to play from now on. Finally, he looked up and, giving the Vala a respectful bow of the head, said simply, "Thank you, Master. I will always treasure your gift."

"You’re welcome, child," Námo said with a smile.

Ingwion then gave the Vala a sly look. "Now... can I get dressed?"

Námo laughed as he disappeared, leaving Ingwion alone at last.

****

Eärnyellor: Plural of Eärnyello: Sea-Singer, i.e., the Humpback Whale.

Merendë Andohrívëo: Feast of Winter’s Gate, i.e., the Winter Solstice. The Summer Solstice was called Andolairë, or Summer’s Gate.

Opal: Symbol of faithfulness and confidence.

Sapphire: Symbol of wisdom and purity.

Valar valuvar tenn’ Ambar-metta: "The will of the Valar will be done unto World’s-End".

Ruby: Considered to be the most powerful gem in the universe. It was thought to grow darker when peril was imminent, and to return to its original color once danger was past—provided it was in the hands of its rightful owner! Given as a gift, the ruby is a symbol of friendship and love. It is also the symbol of royalty. It gives the wearer the ability to see things in a true and correct manner.

Mápaimarinyanna, Ingwion, Herutyallo, Námo: "Unto my apprentice, Ingwion, from your master, Námo". The English word apprentice ultimately is derived from the Latin verb apprehendere: "to apprehend", literally, "to seize or grasp (a situation)", thus I use the constructed word *mápaimar: mapa- "to grasp" + -ima "-able" (adjectival suffix) + -r (gender-neutral agental suffix) with lengthening of stem-vowel; literally, "one who is able to grasp (a concept)".

88: The Worth of Butterflies

As soon as Sador returned to Tirion, he kissed Eärwen and Amarië in greeting then practically ran all the way to Netilmírë’s workshop to find her and tell her all about his adventures. Netilmírë found herself being lifted off the ground and whirled about as Sador hugged her, finally putting her down only when she laughingly protested that he was making her dizzy.

"It’s good to see you, too, inyonya," she said between gasps as her great-grandson helped her to a bench in the workshop where she sat to catch her breath. She smiled at him and gave him her own more decorous, though no less heartfelt, hug. "Now, go make me some tea and then tell me all about it."

It took some time, of course, and Sador didn’t always tell things in strict chronological order in his excitement to tell her everything at once. Netilmírë was suddenly reminded of her daughter as an elfling trying to tell her and Voronwë a story. Her inability to tell one from beginning to end, but skipping all over the place, appeared to be an inherited trait. She smiled and gave the ellon another hug.

"It must have been very frightening for you, inyonya, to be in Lord Oromë’s presence," she finally said, having gleaned that much from the ellon’s tale. "I know he rarely invites any of the Eldar to his Hunts. That he allowed you to participate shows that he finds you exceptional even for one of us."

Sador nodded, looking suddenly shy and embarrassed. "Finrod and Atar say the same thing, but I... I don’t think I’m that exceptional."

Netilmírë brushed her hand through the ellon’s hair and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I do, best beloved." Sador blushed but looked pleased nonetheless.

Later, when he had returned to the palace, Arafinwë summoned him to his study. The Noldóran smiled as the ellon came in.

"Did you have a good visit with your anammë, yonya?"

Sador nodded with a shy smile. "I still can’t get used to the idea that she’s... and Lord Námo never told me!"

Arafinwë had to laugh at the ellon’s affronted tone. "I think the Valar enjoy surprising us every once in a while."

"I wasn’t surprised... I was floored!"

Arafinwë laughed even harder at that and Sador found himself joining him. "Well, come and sit and we will talk," the King said once they had calmed down. "I wish to discuss your trip to Tol Eressëa."

Sador went immediately still and began fingering his one remaining braid. Arafinwë nodded knowingly. "You still have nightmares, don’t you?"

"How did..."

"I haven’t raised four children of my own without recognizing the signs, Sador," Arafinwë said quietly and Sador paled somewhat at that. Arafinwë leaned over and patted him on the knee. "I will not press, but I do want you to know that I am here, as are Eärwen and Netilmírë, if you need us. Don’t think you have to do this alone, hinya."

"I... I wasn’t really frightened until I saw... he was going to cut off my ear... and... if the Maia hadn’t come, I might... I might...."

Arafinwë rose and took the ellon into his arms and held him tightly, rocking him gently and crooning something soft and comforting, though he spoke no real words. Sador wept and once started could not seem to stop. He clung to Arafinwë as to a lifeline but eventually his sobbing lessened and the tears slowed. He felt at peace, floating gently in an ocean of love as Arafinwë continued holding him. So quiet had it become that Sador felt himself almost falling asleep. He sighed deeply and cuddled closer into Arafinwë’s arms, enjoying the feeling of being ‘safe’. Eventually, though, he came back to himself and stepped out of Arafinwë’s embrace. His atar smiled at him.

"Feeling better?"

Sador nodded and Arafinwë kissed him on the top of his head before releasing him entirely. "Ingwë and I will be having further discussions about what is happening on Tol Eressëa," he said as they resumed their seats. He poured out some wine for them both. "I also plan to speak to Olwë about it as well. We need to address what is happening, what has happened. Too long have we of Aman ignored our brethren, consigning them to further exile by our indifference and neglect."

"I liked it there," Sador said quietly, staring at his goblet of wine, so he did not see Arafinwë’s expression. "As soon as I heard Sindarin being spoken all around me it was as if a great weight had lifted from my shoulders. I hadn’t realized until then what a strain it is, thinking in a language that isn’t my own."

"I know it’s been a difficult adjustment for you, yonya," Arafinwë acknowledged. "More so than for Glorfindel or even Findaráto. I think you’ve done remarkably well in the short time you’ve been here." He grinned. "So, did you like my little gift?"

Sador looked up for a moment, then blushed, murmuring a soft ‘thank you’ as he cast his eyes back down in embarrassment. Arafinwë nodded but did not pursue it any further. "I’m glad," he said gently. "It belonged to my daughter when she was an elfling."

Sador looked up again in wonder. "L-lady Galadriel?"

Arafinwë nodded. "I don’t think she will mind if you... borrow it for a while."

Sador hugged himself mentally. He had something that belonged to the Lady! He had never seen her, or her lord, but they had always been in the background of his life, first in Doriath, and then at the Havens. Their presence had always been felt even if not seen. He idly wished he could share the toy with his little sister, but at that thought he knew with sudden clarity that, if she were still alive, she would be older than he now. That revelation unnerved him and he stood up and ran out into the garden. Arafinwë, not understanding the cause of the ellon’s flight, followed him in alarm, finally catching up with him by one of the fountains where Sador had collapsed in tears.

"Yonya, whatever is the matter?" he asked and gathered Sador into his arms to try to comfort him, though the younger elf just wept the harder.

"Sh-she’s older than I am now... if... if she’s even a-alive," he stammered through his tears.

Arafinwë sighed and silently cursed Lord Námo for... well, he wasn’t quite sure what he should blame the Lord of Mandos for, though being the cause of Sador’s misery might be a good start. Sador needed answers and no one would give them to him. Arafinwë ached for the child in his arms. Lord Námo apparently was willing to allow the ellon to suffer in misery with the not knowing. How was this near-elfling to move on if he could not let go of the past for fear of losing even the little of his family that he had in memory?

Even as he was reflecting on these things he felt a shimmer in the air that always bespoke of one of the Valar making their presence known. He half expected Lord Námo to appear and was mildly surprised (and even disappointed) when he didn’t. Instead, before him stood one he never thought to see in his own gardens smiling at him with deep radiance.

He bowed as well as he could, considering that he still had a weeping ellon in his arms. "Lady, you honor us with your presence."

"And you were hoping for more prestigious company, weren’t you Pityahúnya?" Vána replied with a laugh, her hazel eyes dancing with mirth at the elf’s obvious discomfort. She was dressed simply in a spring green linen gown with only the barest amount of embroidery upon the hem. A wreath of niphredil and elanor entwined graced her auburn locks. Her feet were bare.

Taking Sador from Arafinwë, Vána cradled his head between her breasts. Sador had in the meantime stilled his weeping as the presence of the Valië impacted upon his consciousness. She looked down at him and gave him a kiss on the top of his head.

"Greetings, child. I am Vána, Oromë’s lady. You must not weep so, my beloved. All is well, truly. You must be patient. Everything happens for a reason." Then she looked at Arafinwë, her demeanor more sober, but the mirth still lingered in her eyes. "And you, Pityahuan, should know better, should you not?"

Arafinwë bowed again. "As you say, Lady," he replied respectfully.

Vána gave the Noldóran a knowing look. "Do not be angry at my brother, Arafinwë. Námo is as grieved as you that this child is bereft, but knowledge is a dangerous thing sometimes and it is best that Sador not know his family’s fate."

"B-but it’s MY family!" Sador practically shouted, pulling himself out of Vána’s embrace and facing her with anger. "Mine! I have a right to know what happened to them."

"No, child..."

"I DIED FOR THEM! That gives me the right!" He moved away, evading Arafinwë’s attempt to stop him. "I hate you, I hate all of you," he said in a hoarse whisper as he ran further into the garden, heedless of his path or the hurt in Arafinwë’s eyes.

Vána placed a hand on Arafinwë’s arm. "Do not be downcast, beloved. He speaks words he does not believe, in careless anger and hurt. It is we whom he hates at this moment, not you."

Arafinwë shook his head. "I don’t think he hates even the Valar, Lady. I think he hates the not knowing more and there is nothing any of us can do to help him."

Vána smiled then. "Of course there is, Arafinwë. Why do you think I’m here? My lord looks kindly upon the child and wishes to assuage his grief, if that is possible."

"Only by telling him the truth can that happen, I fear, Lady," Arafinwë countered.

Now Vána’s expression darkened to something undefinable. "He doesn’t want truth, Arafinwë, do you not yet see that?"

Arafinwë looked at the Valië in confusion. "I don’t understand. Why..."

She smiled again. "He fears the truth, or rather, he fears what might be the truth. What he is looking for is reassurance that his death was not in vain, that he didn’t die for nothing. He wants to know that dying was the only thing that would have saved his sister, the only option left open to him."

"Option?"

Vána nodded, looking sadly in the direction which Sador had fled. "He thinks he has no other worth in Eru’s eyes than to be a sacrifice for his sister’s life, that he was born for the sole purpose of being killed in her stead."

Arafinwë gasped at the implications of Vána’s words and felt dizzy for a moment. He wasn’t surprised to find himself being assisted into a chair that hadn’t existed before then. "Take a deep breath, child, and let it out slowly," Vána said quietly, rubbing his back until he felt the world righting itself and he could think clearly again.

The Valië smiled sadly down at him. "Now you understand why he cannot know what her fate ultimately was, at least not yet."

Arafinwë could only nod, not trusting himself to speak. Then, Vána bent down and kissed the top of his head. "You will be all right if I leave you now, hinya?"

"Go, Lady. I am well. Find Sador and give him what comfort you may. I fear I am inadequate to the task."

"No, Pityahuan," she said softly. "Never inadequate, just not the one he needs at the moment." Then she was gone and Arafinwë was left alone.

****

Sador ran heedlessly through the garden, nearly blind with tears, anger and sorrow warring within him. He finally stopped only when he found himself facing a high brick wall and suddenly realized he had no idea where he was. He was in an unfamiliar part of the garden. Looking about he saw he was alone. Only butterflies kept him company, floating in the late afternoon air above the honeysuckle climbing the arbors. All was still, not even a breeze. It was as if the entire world had gone silent.

He leaned against the wall, feeling suddenly drained of all emotion. Wiping the tears from his eyes he sat on the verge, wrapping his arms around his knees as he gazed disconsolately upon the serene indifference of Yavanna’s demesne.

"My older sister is quite good at what she does," Vána said softly as she appeared upon the path before him. "I prefer dancing myself."

Sador gazed at her but said nothing. Vána gave him a small smile and gazed around her in satisfaction. "Look," she said, pointing to the butterflies. "They dance a merry jig, do they not?"

Sador simply shrugged, not really caring, only wishing the Lady would go somewhere else and save her prattle about dancing and butterflies for others. He just wanted to be left alone in his misery. Vána shook her head at the ellon.

"That won’t do, child," she chided him. "Come, stand up and face me."

For all her ethereal lightness of tone, there was a tenor of command to those words that Sador found impossible to ignore and before he realized it he was standing with his back against the wall facing the Valië.

"That’s better. I never cared for sniveling children. My lord likes them even less."

In spite of himself, Sador found himself grinning. "Why then did Lord Oromë choose me for the Hunt?"

Vána smiled now. "Well, not for your hunting skills, at least." She laughed gaily at that and so infectious was it that Sador could not help but chuckle. "Truly, child, it was because he admires courage and those who willingly face down evil, as you have done more than once. My lord has great fondness for those who sacrifice themselves for the sake of others."

"My sister..."

"Whether your sister lives or not, you cannot know at this time," Vána said, then sighed, brushing a hand across the ellon’s forehead, attempting to smooth the look of rebellion on his visage. "Child, we do not withhold this information from you out of spite, but out of love. This knowledge is not yet yours to bear, for you have yet to embrace the worth of your own actions."

"I don’t..."

"Sador." She placed a finger lightly upon his lips. "You must not believe yourself worthless in Eru’s eyes. Your willingness to throw yourself before the sword that would have struck down your sister was a choice, one of many offered to you at that moment. Your dying was not the sole reason for your existence. Eru does not demand that from anyone. Your dying was merely a consequence of your choice. Your choice, child. Not Eru’s. Not ours. Yours and yours alone."

"But..."

Vána shook her head. "Do you not yet see, child? Nothing is ever created for a single purpose. Look about you." She turned her attention to the garden, sweeping an arm to encompass it. "Those butterflies, for instance. They were created for beauty, but that is not their sole purpose. They help to pollinate the very plants above which they dance, thereby allowing beauty to continue unto future generations. These trees here." She pointed to a stand of elms. "They provide us with shade on a sunny afternoon. But that is not their sole purpose. They also shelter the birds and make it possible for you to breathe. Without these trees, child, you would not be able to live."

Sador looked at her in amazement for a moment, then stared at the elms, their branches swaying slowly in a breeze that had suddenly come up, soft and fragrant with the scent of honeysuckle, roses, and lavender.

"You made a choice, Sador," Vána continued quietly, yet with great authority. "Whether it was a good choice or a bad one, you might never know. All you need to know is that you made it and must needs live with the consequences of it, trusting that Eru will see that the choice, however poorly made or perceived, will ultimately be the right choice, the only choice that you could have made."

Sador looked down at his feet for a moment. "I... I just want to know...."

"Even we Valar are not given that privilege."

"Huh?" He looked up in confusion to see the Valië smiling.

"Even we Valar are not given the privilege of knowing," she explained. "We may know more than you Children, but we do not know all. We stumble as much in the dark about some things as you do. The difference is, we stumble knowing that there is One Who is there to catch us. We have faith that it is so, faith and more than faith." She paused for a moment, staring out into the silent garden, contemplating something, then nodded, as if coming to a decision or acknowledging a command. She turned back to Sador. "Has it ever occurred to you, child, that we withhold the information about your sister and your parents because Eru wills it so at this time? Have you ever considered that we do this because we are enjoined to by One Who is above us all and not because we wish to see you in misery?"

Sador stared at the Valië in shock. Vána nodded, assured that what she needed to say had been said. It would take time for this Child to assimilate everything she had imparted to him, but she was confident that he would be able to do so. Her lord husband had high hopes for this one... they all did.

"Now," she said briskly, "it is time to dance."

Before he could protest, Sador suddenly found himself being dragged away from the wall towards where the butterflies still floated above the honeysuckle. Music, coming from somewhere or nowhere, came softly to his ears, the sound of it increasing somewhat until he could clearly hear it. It was beautiful beyond his experience. No elf had ever made such music. He found himself weeping and laughing at the same time and then Vána was twirling him around and it reminded him somewhat of the mad dance Finrod and Glorfindel had performed before Arafinwë’s court.

Then, he found himself in the midst of the butterflies and he could not afterwards decide if he had shrunk or they had grown for they were all about him, a riot of shades and hues, seemingly as large as he (or it might have been the other way around). Vána was there also and she laughed gaily and wildly as the tempo of the music, and therefore the dance, increased until Sador found himself dancing and singing with wild abandon himself, to the point that he lost all sense of self, allowing the music (and the butterflies) to encompass his very being.

How long this lasted, he never knew nor cared. A time came when he found himself lying on the lawn, still in the garden, his head in Vána’s lap. Stars glittered serenely above them. He was weeping again, but they were tears of joy, not sorrow. Vána ran a gentle hand through his hair, but otherwise said nothing, allowing him the space to express his emotions as he needed to. Then he reached up and placed a hand on her cheek and stroked it, as if reassuring himself of her presence. She smiled down at him.

"Yes, best beloved, I’m quite real. Go to sleep now." She bent down and kissed him on the forehead. In minutes Sador’s eyes became unfocused and he slipped gently onto the Path of Dreams where butterflies seemed to dominate the dreamscape.

****

When he woke the next morning, he was still in the garden. Vána was gone, but Arafinwë was there, sleeping beside him, his arms around the younger elf, protecting him.

****

Pityahúnya: My Little Hound. An affectionate nickname used by the Valar for Arafinwë. Huan become hún- before endings.

Notes: Vána and Yavanna are sisters in the Thought of Eru.

Butterflies are often seen as the personification of a person’s soul, whether they be living, dying or already dead. They also symbolize rebirth into a new life, as well as hope.

89: A Ceremony Revised

Arafinwë woke when he felt Sador stirring and smiled at his Ward. "How are you feeling, hinya?"

Sador blushed. "Embarrassed. I’m sorry... for what I said."

"I know you are," Arafinwë said as he rose gracefully from the ground and gave Sador a hand up. "Now, why don’t you go and bathe and break your fast, then spend the day with your anammë. Amarië’s Begetting Day is next week and I’ve decided to gift her with one of your exquisite vases. That blue glaze is especially lovely and will match the color of her eyes."

Sador gave the King a quizzical look. "Are you giving me a... commission?"

Arafinwë smiled. "Yes, I rather think I am. You will, of course, give me a family discount."

Sador sputtered at that and then laughed outright. "Anammë will have to be consulted, though. She’s in charge of the books. I’m still only an apprentice."

"There’s nothing only about you, child," Arafinwë said, taking the ellon into his embrace and giving him a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead before releasing him. "Now go, and I will see you this evening."

Sador went. When he arrived at Netilmírë’s workshop and told her what had happened with Lady Vána, she looked at him in amazement. "I’m glad that she was able to reassure you of your own worth, child," she said as they sat together in the small garden adjoining the workshop, drinking tea. "I feared the events on Tol Eressëa may have done more harm to your fëa than any physical hurt you might have sustained."

Sador nodded. "She made me see that I was of worth in Eru’s eyes just for myself, just for having been born, and not for anything I might or might not have done."

Netilmírë leaned over and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. "I’m glad to hear that, child. You should never underestimate your worth in either Eru’s eyes or in mine."

The ellon blushed and then, with a sly look, told her about Arafinwë’s commission. She laughed when he got to the part about the ‘family discount’. "Family discount indeed! He has a lot of nerve that one. Well, I suggest you get to work then, my apprentice. If this is to be a Begetting Day gift to one who will one day be a princess of Eldamar, we will want it to be extra special."

So the two of them spent the rest of the morning happily discussing designs and which clay would be the best to use and how much glazing should be used. By the time Sador was ready to return to the palace they had all the details mapped out.

"I’ll begin in a couple of days," Sador told Netilmírë. "Atar still needs to deal with the situation on Tol Eressëa and will need my help with that."

Netilmírë nodded her understanding. "Yes, that is something that needs to be addressed sooner rather than later. Come when you have the time, inyo. I’ll have everything ready for you."

****

True to his word, Sador returned to the workshop two days later. During the intervening time he and Arafinwë spoke about Tol Eressëa and the situation there. Nothing conclusive was decided except that Arafinwë had ventured the possibility of a royal visit to the island after the New Year. Sador wasn’t sure that would be a good idea, fearing for his atar’s safety, but Arafinwë assured him that all precautions would be taken.

"Would it ease your mind if I tell you that I think you, Finrod and Glorfindel should come as well?" Arafinwë asked him. "Between the three of you, I can’t imagine being any safer."

Sador blushed at that, but was somewhat mollified. He vowed to himself that he would write to his gwedyr and tell them of Arafinwë’s plans. He did not trust the Tol Eressëans overmuch, not after what had happened to him. He wanted to make sure that no one else suffered what he had endured.

He spent most of the rest of the following week working on Amarië’s Begetting Day gifts. Gifts, because he had decided to add to the collection with a few pieces of his own, including a fruit bowl cleverly formed as a cornucopia, glazed in green and ochre in honor of Lady Yavanna. He had decided that this would be a joint gift between himself and his two gwedyr, for he rightly suspected that Finrod probably did not remember that his betrothed’s Begetting Day was nigh. Netilmírë approved of his designs and gently corrected him when he became too enthusiastic at the wheel at times.

"You are a gifted potter, child," she chided him with a smile, "but you are still an apprentice until I say otherwise. Now, start again and do it right."

Sador ducked his head and blushed, but did as his anammë told him, remembering to call her "Mistress" only at the last moment. Sometimes the dual relationship between them became somewhat confusing for him, but Netilmírë never scolded him for any lapses. He was careful though to refer to her only as "Mistress" whenever customers came into the shop. Their real relationship they kept to themselves.

When Amarië’s Begetting Day came everyone was most impressed by Sador’s work. Amarië even wept as she stammered her thanks and said how sweet that he and his brothers had thought to gift her jointly. Arafinwë gave Sador an appraising look, knowing full well that neither Finrod, who should have remembered, nor Glorfindel, who wouldn’t have known, had commissioned any such gift from their gwador. Sador only smiled at Arafinwë and mouthed ‘family discount’. No one understood why the Noldóran suddenly started laughing.

****

Later that evening, after the celebration, Sador followed Arafinwë into his study where they sat for a while in companionable silence sipping on a light yellow wine. Arafinwë was the first to break the silence.

"The Merendë Andohrívëo is in a little more than a week," he said, gazing out into the dark. "Did you celebrate it in Endórë?"

Sador nodded. "Yes, though not quite the way it’s celebrated here from what I’ve been told. There was a special significance to this feast for us because we were surrounded by the Darkness of Morgoth and there were times when the Light seemed far away." He paused to sip some wine. Arafinwë did not speak, waiting for the ellon to continue. "After the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, we developed a ceremony that included the battle cry of the Noldor, as well as the words of Húrin."

Arafinwë shook his head. "I am not familiar..."

"Before the battle, Fingon cried out ‘Auta i lómë!’, to which the warriors responded ‘Utúlie’n aurë!’. When Turgon made his retreat, the Men under Húrin’s command held the rearguard. Turgon’s last sight of Húrin was of the Man surrounded by a pile of dead orcs shouting ‘Aurë entuluva!’. Since then, those three phrases have ever been a part of the ceremony for this particular feast. It’s really quite moving. I wonder if they’ve continued the tradition on Tol Eressëa?" Sador looked pensive.

Arafinwë sat for a moment watching the play of emotions that crossed the ellon’s face as Sador recalled the ceremony with which he had grown up. "Perhaps we can incorporate your traditions with ours, yonya," the King finally said. "I think it would be a good idea for my people to be reminded of what happened in Endórë and how those events have impacted on their lives, little though they realize it."

Sador looked at the King in amazement. "Do you think they will appreciate the change in the ceremony?"

"Perhaps not," Arafinwë conceded, "but that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t do it anyway. It’s time the Amaneldi realize that what happened, however tragic it may have been, was a necessary consequence of all that had happened before. There are times when I think that the Valar were wrong in releasing Melkor from Mandos. Yet... I know that if that had not happened, you would not be sitting here with me and I cannot bear the thought of you never existing. Some sorrows are worth the price they exact when there is joy unlooked for afterwards, and you, child, are one of those joys for me."

Sador blushed but did not say anything, not sure what he should say. Arafinwë smiled gently at him. "Why don’t you tell me the details of the ceremony and then tomorrow we will speak with Axantur," he said, referring to the court Master of Ceremonies.

Sador looked up at Arafinwë and seeing the sincerity in the King’s eyes, nodded and began describing the ceremony. The two of them spent the next few hours discussing how best to incorporate the traditions of Endórë with those of Aman before they retired.

****

Axantur stared in dismay at the Sinda standing next to his king as Sador explained the change in the ceremony that was only a week away.

Arafinwë gave him a sympathetic smile. "I realize it’s short notice, but the changes are rather minor and occur only at one point in the ceremony. Everything else will remain the same."

The Master of Ceremonies nodded dispiritedly. He had always prided himself on his ability to ensure that all ceremonies within the palace ran smoothly. Now, he was being asked to throw out centuries of hard work on a child’s whim (as he saw it). Nevertheless, he recognized the look on Arafinwë’s face and knew that the King would brook no arguments, so he smiled as best as he could. "Perhaps you would be good enough to explain it to me again, so I understand perfectly," he said to Sador, mentally gritting his teeth at the thought of all the work he’d already put into the upcoming ceremony going out the window.

Sador happily went over the modifications again, either not recognizing or refusing to acknowledge the steely look in the other elf’s eyes, though Arafinwë raised an amused eyebrow at Axantur’s discomfort. He had thought the older ellon to be somewhat staid and unbending in making even the slightest changes in some of the ceremonies that the King was forced to endure. Arafinwë was not above exacting revenge on Axantur for all the tedium the Master of Ceremonies had put him through over the centuries.

This ceremony, at least, would be different enough to actually be fun, however solemn the occasion. But of course, it shouldn’t be solemn, Arafinwë reflected. Melkor had indeed been vanquished and Day had indeed returned to Arda. That was not to say that other evils would not appear, but at least this one great evil had been dealt with and all should rejoice in that and gladly.

"There is one other change I would like seen made," Arafinwë said when Sador had finished speaking. As he explained, Arafinwë was rewarded with a gasp of disbelief from Axantur and a gasp of amazement from Sador. The Noldóran smiled. Just the reactions he’d been looking for.

****

When Arafinwë explained his plans to Eärwen and Amarië that night during dinner, the Queen gave her husband a long-suffering look, rolled her eyes and bent over to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"You’re enjoying this too much, dear," she whispered in his ear. "I may have to punish you for that."

Arafinwë found his heart racing in an unexpected way as he struggled not to react to Eärwen’s words. His wife’s ‘punishments’ were... imaginative, to say the least, and he both dreaded and anticipated them. He would have to remember to tell the guards that they were not to be disturbed for any reason by anyone, not even by the Valar themselves. Not that the guards could do anything about that last, he reflected ruefully, but so far the Powers had seen fit not to make an appearance when he and Eärwen were...er... enjoying themselves. He hoped they continued practicing discretion.

Amarië’s reaction was less... evocative, though more typical. She frowned.

"I do not understand why we need to change the ceremony," she said. "It’s a lovely ceremony just the way it is."

"Yet, it only tells half the story, Amarië," Arafinwë said. "It’s time to hear the entire story, one that only Sador’s people have kept all these years."

Amarië gave Sador a measured look. "Is it really that important to you?"

Sador shook his head slightly. "I remember when Húrin’s son, Túrin, was brought to Doriath for fostering. We were playmates for a while until he grew to a man’s estate in the manner of the Secondborn years before I would reach my majority. I remember hearing tales of him and his tragic end. I was there when Húrin came to Doriath, broken and bitter, to be healed by Queen Melian of Morgoth’s malice." He looked at Amarië directly and his eyes were dark with inexpressible pain and anguish.

"We were besieged by Morgoth’s evil at every turn," he said with little emotion. "We were surrounded by Darkness and Light was a precious gift." He paused again, something in his expression easing and there was a look of wonder in his eyes. "I have seen Eärendil’s star in the sky since my re-embodiment. Gil-Estel he is called in the language of my people, the Star of Hope. I only wish I had lived long enough to have seen his first rising. That must have been absolutely glorious."

"It was, hinya, it was," Arafinwë said softly, leaning over to place a comforting hand on the Sinda’s arm. Sador smiled at him in gratitude. He turned back to Amarië.

"Morgoth is vanquished, but his legacy of evil did not die with him. Night has indeed passed and Day has come, but ever does Night come again and we are left with only the promise that Day will follow. We must never forget that. Aman may be blessed but it is not free of all evil, as recent events have proved. I think we need to remember that and this ceremony should help."

Amarië pondered Sador’s words for a moment or two, then nodded, looking pensive. "Yes, hanno, I rather think you are right."

Sador gave Arafinwë a surprised look and the King merely raised an eyebrow in amusement. It was the first time Amarië had called him ‘brother’. Sador found he couldn’t stop grinning.

****

The ceremony took place in the Paca Ñaltatilion, where the Silver-white Tree that was the image of Telperion stood under the Mindon Eldaliéva, the high white Tower of Ingwë. Though the High King and the Vanyar no longer lived in Tirion, the tower was still referred to as Ingwë’s Tower. A silver lantern was housed in the highest part of the Mindon, its light shining far across the darkling Sea and along the night-shrouded shores beneath the Pelóri. While the Tree did not shine with a light of its own, still there was a pale shimmering glow about it as Sador joined the royal family in the courtyard, a reflection, perhaps, of Isil now riding the midnight sky.

The night was cold and brilliant with stars. Earlier that day snow had fallen, blanketing the city in white silence until elflings were allowed out to dance in it, laughing gaily. Now, however, all was quiet. The courtyard had been swept clear of the snow and those standing there were waiting patiently for the ceremony to begin.

Arafinwë stepped away from his family gathered by the Tree and spoke to the crowd. "Tonight is the Merendë Andohrívëo, in which we celebrate the longest night of the year. Tomorrow, Light will return once more unto Arda in all its glory. Yet, darkness has its place and proper sphere, as well, and so we honor it tonight." Then he paused for a moment. So far, all had been said according to tradition, but what would follow would not be.

"We will not celebrate this ceremony as we have done in years and centuries past," he said quietly and allowed the soft murmur of surprise to continue for a space before raising his hand for silence. "It has come to my attention that there are other traditions that need to be celebrated tonight." He turned to Sador and gestured for the ellon to join him.

The Sinda did so, feeling suddenly unsure. It was one thing to talk about changing the ceremony, another thing to actually do it and this would be the first time he had ever led this part. There was an expectant hush among the elves as he stepped to the King’s side. He swallowed nervously before speaking and took comfort in Arafinwë’s presence.

"Before the great defeat that was the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, Findecáno, High King of the Noldor-in-Exile, cried out ‘Auta i lómë!’ and all who heard him responded with ‘Utúlie’n aurë!’ They hoped to defeat the Darkness that day, but Darkness defeated them instead. Yet, one there was, an Atan named Húrin of the House of Hador, who refused to admit defeat and served as the rearguard for Turucáno, King of Ondolindë and now High King, for Findecáno had fallen, allowing the surviving elves to escape. The last sight Turucáno had of Húrin was of the Man surrounded by a pile of dead orcs shouting ‘Aurë entuluva!’ even as he was taken alive to be Melkor’s prisoner for the next twenty-eight years."

He paused for a moment to take a deep breath. There was absolute silence in the courtyard. "We of Endórë honor the memory of that day when Darkness reigned supreme, for the hope that a Mortal gave us that the Light would return once again, as it finally did. Yet, though Melkor has at last been defeated, his legacy of evil still remains. Darkness may once again prevail, yet always there is the promise of Day to follow."

Then he closed his eyes and began to sing. The words were in Quenya and he had spent some time carefully translating them from the Sindarin of his youth. Yet, he only got as far as the first few words when suddenly the courtyard became too small for all of them as several of the Valar and Maiar appeared. In spite of knowing what to expect, Sador gasped at the sight along with everyone else. Manwë, Varda, Oromë and Vána stood beside him and Arafinwë in regal splendour, while the Maiar stood in a ring around the courtyard, some with swords of light in their hands. Sador saw from the surcoats that were worn by the Maiar that each of the other Valar had sent a representative. Manwë nodded at him and smiled.

*Begin the song again, child,* he heard in his mind.

Sador glanced at Arafinwë. The Noldóran gave him an almost imperceptible nod. He turned back to look at the crowd of elves standing there in shocked silence. Having some of the Valar and Maiar show up for this ceremony was the last thing anyone had expected. He was somewhat disappointed that Lord Námo had not made an appearance but decided it was probably for the best. The Lord of Mandos did seem to have a knack for dampening people’s mood with his presence. He took a deep breath and started the song again, but this time he was accompanied by the Valar and Maiar and the song took on a timbre of beauty that smote the hearts of every listener.

     "Utúlië i lómë ar orutúrie’n aurë,

     mal er sillúmen.

     Tule’n aurë ar auta i lómë,

     er entuluvas, ve aurë tuluva.

     Á tulë Aurë ar á orturë Lómë.

     Á lavë Cala orturë Mornië.

     Á lavë Estel orturë ilya."

As the last notes of the song died Sador was not surprised to feel tears running down his cheeks. He felt Varda lean over and gently wipe them away, giving him a brief, sad smile. Looking around he noticed that many there were weeping quietly. Then Manwë spoke.

"Darkness has indeed fled, my Children," the Elder King declared in solemn tones that nevertheless contained great joy, "yet never forget that it will come again. Remember this night and rejoice that the Fallen One is no more. Remember still the sacrifices that were made by your brethren from Endórë that this night might be celebrated in peace by you who are of Aman. Estel lemya, Híni Ilúvataro, qui himyalmë melmessë Eruo."

Then the Elder King and his entourage were gone, leaving them all feeling stunned. Axantur, standing to the side, had gone white at the sight of the Valar, not having truly believed that the Noldóran would be able to convince any of them to attend the ceremony, and to have the Elder King and his Spouse themselves attend.... Never had such a thing happened before and he stared at the Sinda standing beside the King and wondered. Perhaps the change in the ceremony had been a good thing after all.

****

Auta i lómë!: "The night is passing!"

Utúlie’n aurë!: "The day has come!"

Aurë entuluva: "Day will come again!"

Mindon Eldaliéva: Lofty Tower of the Eldalië, that was built by Ingwë when the High King lived in Tirion before removing to Vanyamar.

Paca Ñaltatilion: The Court of the Silver-white Tree. Ñaltatilion is the Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin Galathilion, the name given to the Silver-white Tree that was an image (a living tree not giving light of its own) of Telperion that Yavanna gifted to the elves of Tirion. Galathilion is the name given in The Silmarillion. The White Tree of Gondor is a descendant of this tree. The name means "Radiance of Tilion".

Sador’s song: "The night has come and has conquered the day, but only for this hour. The day comes and the night passes, yet it will return again, as will the day. Come Day and conquer the Night. Let Light conquer Darkness. Let Hope conquer all."

Orutúrië: present perfect tense of *ortur-: ‘to conquer’, reconstructed from the Sindarin orthor-.

Estel lemya, Híni Ilúvataro, qui himyalmë melmessë Eruo: "Hope remains, Children of Ilúvatar, if we (inclusive) abide in Eru’s love".

90: After the Ceremony

The next morning Sador was assaulted, though he didn’t really mind. As he was walking towards the royal dining hall to join the family for breakfast, two ellith and an ellon belonging to the king’s household approached him from behind.

"Sador, wait up," one of the ellith called out.

Sador turned to see Rúmilion, Serindë, and Mardillë coming towards him. It had been Serindë who had called out and she and her sister greeted the Sinda with saucy kisses while their cousin looked on with amusement. All three were centuries older than Sador, but they had befriended him shortly after his arrival in Tirion. Their parents were members of Arafinwë’s court and they themselves held important positions within the Noldóran’s government. Mardillë worked in the Exchequer. Rúmilion would one day sit on the High Bench as one of Arafinwë’s best magistrates, though for now he helped adjudicate minor (and sometimes not so minor) court cases. Serindë was a junior diplomat, and had been asked to mentor Sador once his diplomatic training had begun. She had been initially reluctant, but had come to admire the Sinda Reborn and soon they had become good friends. It was only natural that Mardillë and Rúmilion would become his friends as well, for the three cousins were of an age and inseparable.

"Are you going to breakfast?" Serindë asked, "May we join you?"

Sador nodded. "Yes. I would enjoy the company," he said, giving the ellith shy smiles as the four made their way down the corridor.

When they entered the dining room, Arafinwë noticed them and was glad to see Sador looking relaxed and obviously enjoying the company of his three friends. His ward was no longer shy and diffident around the other ellyn and ellith of the household and held himself with easy grace, nodding to those around him who gave him greetings. Arafinwë was glad that Serindë in particular had befriended Sador, for the elleth was very wise for one who had yet to see her first millennium, and she was open-minded enough to see Sador’s worth and be willing to foster his diplomatic talents.

Too many of the Eldar, Arafinwë reflected as he watched the interplay between the four friends, were too hidebound to traditions that may have served them well in the past, but could no longer serve them in the present. The presence of the Exilic Noldor, who perforce had abandoned many of the cherished traditions of "knowing one’s place", made that impossible. These Noldor and their descendants saw themselves as having earned their more exalted places in Endórëan society and were not about to abandon them because they did not fit in with Amanian views. Sador’s grandmother was a case in point; Haldir was another.

Arafinwë frowned to himself. Hallatiro Pelendurion had fled Aman against his atar’s wishes, joining Turucáno’s troops. Pelendur had been one of the few Noldor in Arafinwë’s court who had refused the summons to arms during the War of Wrath, declaring that he would not help rescue those who deserved their fate for defying the Valar. Arafinwë did not dispute him, for in truth, not all could follow him to Endórë, and in the King’s absence, Pelendur had proven a wise and capable administrator. It grieved Arafinwë that the elf was so bitter against the Exiles that he had refused to welcome his own son when the ellon was finally released from Mandos. The King made a silent vow that he would see that Hallatiro — or rather, Haldir, as he preferred to be called — and his wife lacked for nothing. He would not interfere with what was a family situation, but he would show by his own actions that he did not approve of Pelendur’s treatment of his son.

New lives, new identities...

He suddenly wondered about his daughter, still in Endórë. He had met with her briefly during the War, she and her Sindarin husband. There had been little time for them to foregather during the endless battles and at the end when all was confusion and chaos, there had been little they could say to one another. Artanis had been denied the right to return to Aman and in truth she had proudly announced that she was not yet ready to abandon Endórë. She had been haughty and needlessly disrespectful, though Arafinwë had recognized her fears and insecurities behind her arrogance. Celeborn had watched the two of them interact, wary of him, obviously besotted of her, though not so much so that he did not recognize her faults. He had been rather short with her and Arafinwë had been surprised to see her blush and acquiesce to Celeborn’s demand that she apologize for her arrogance, which she did, though reluctantly. At that particular moment Arafinwë had no doubt that his daughter had chosen wisely in marrying Olwë’s great-nephew.

His thoughts returned to the present when he noticed Mardillë shyly touch Sador’s single braid and ask a question, though he did not hear what was said. He saw Sador go pale and hoped that whatever had been said did not unduly upset the ellon. Then he noticed a sly look steal across his ward’s face as he pulled on his braid rather hard and, with hands in motion, began telling his three friends something that set them all laughing. Arafinwë hid a smile when he realized that Sador was describing how he had chased Glorfindel around the High King’s garden after Glorfindel had insulted him about the braid.

Then something happened, something that Arafinwë should have anticipated but had not.

Haldir and Gwilwileth had remained in Tirion at Arafinwë’s behest and later had come to Vanyamar to act as witnesses to the trial of Glorfindel’s kidnappers. Arafinwë was determined that the elves of Tol Eressëa be told the truth about the Valar and Judgment and planned on making Haldir and his wife his ambassadors in that endeavor. In the meantime, they were royal guests and Arafinwë had encouraged the couple to join his family for the more informal meals if they so desired.

Most of the conversations around the various tables that morning centered around the ceremony of the night before. When Haldir and Gwilwileth entered the dining hall they gravitated towards Sador. Sador looked up with a smile as the Tol Eressëan couple approached. Then Haldir did the most unexpected thing — he knelt before Sador, Gwilwileth right behind him.

All conversations stopped as everyone looked on in stunned wonder. Even Arafinwë was nonplused and had stopped in the midst of reaching for a sticky bun. Sador went white, but he remained composed.

"Haldir, what is the meaning of this?" he asked quietly, but such was the absolute silence around him that all heard his words.

Haldir took hold of one of Sador’s hands, bent over and kissed it before looking up. His expression was a mixture of joy and sorrow and tears glittered in the corners of his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered.

Sador shook his head. "Haldir..."

"The Darkness came for us in Gondolin," Haldir said in a rush, ignoring everything and everyone. Arafinwë saw the nearly blank look of pain in the ellon’s face and wished he could go and comfort him. "It came and I... I was lost... I fought in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears beside Lord Glorfindel and Lord Ecthelion of the Fountain... the horror... the... I remember Húrin... I remember his words... his words..."

Now Haldir was crying, and Sador went to his own knees and embraced the ellon, rocking him gently. No one moved or spoke, frozen by the tableau of pain before them. Then, in the corner of his eye, Arafinwë saw Pelendur stand up where he had been sitting with his wife further along the high table, his face white with fury.

"Why do you weep, Hallatiro? Death was what you deserved. Death is what you got. Get off the floor, you sniveling Etyangol!"

Three things happened almost simultaneously. Arafinwë rose with a shout of denial, his eyes ablaze with a fury of his own at Pelendur. Haldir’s amillë, Lady Lossellë, rose at the same time, gave her husband a hard slap in the face, then collapsed in tears. Haldir also rose to his feet. Then in four quick strides he was standing before his atar. Without a word, he reached over, grabbed the elf by his tunic and pulled him across the table, dishes flying, until Pelendur was lying on the floor with Haldir kneeling over him. Haldir’s face was red with anger and his eyes held the same "light of Mandos" that Arafinwë had seen in his own son’s eyes at least once.

"Deserved death, atar?" Haldir shouted. "You are right in that, my lord. I did deserve death and more. In fact that is what I got. More. I stood in the Máhanaxar before all the Valar and they Judged me. They Judged me, every last one of them. Do you know what that’s like, atar? Have you ever stood before even one of the Valar in all their wrath and glory... and ... and mercy? Yes, mercy! You have no idea of what you speak. You speak from ignorance. I speak from fact. Whatever my sins, they have been forgiven by Eru himself. How dare you do any less!"

He pushed Pelendur hard against the floor and stood up, turning to where his amillë still sat, crying on her neighbor’s shoulder. He went to her, took her face in his hands and kissed her gently on the brow. "I’m sorry, emmë," he whispered, then he stalked past his atar, who had not moved from the floor, to where his wife still knelt. He helped her up and the two left without a backward glance.

Arafinwë was about to speak when Sador rose gracefully from his knees, walked over to the still supine Pelendur, and offered his hand. It was a long moment before Pelendur accepted it and allowed the ellon to help him up. Once-born and Reborn stared at one another, then Sador began to speak, his voice quiet and non-condemnatory.

"At the end of every Judgment, Lord Námo speaks these words: All judgments have been rendered, all debts paid. It is a sign to us who have been Judged that Forgiveness is now at hand, that Healing and Reconciliation is now ours by right of Judgment. Haldir had his life ripped from him by orcs and valaraucar, leaving his new bride to survive as best she could for centuries after until they could be reunited once again. Your contempt, your denial of your own son, is an affront to the Valar who have welcomed him back into their graces. Do not follow in the footsteps of Fëanáro, who sneered at the mercy of the Valar, my lord. You will not enjoy the consequences."

The absolute sincerity of those words and the weight of authority with which they were spoken convinced Arafinwë that Someone Else spoke through his ward at that moment. Pelendur must have felt the same, for he took a step or two back, his expression one of complete terror as he saw something in Sador’s eyes that should not have been there.

"Sador," Arafinwë said quietly and was relieved that when the ellon turned he saw only his ward looking back at him. "Go and make sure Haldir and Gwilwileth are well."

"Yes, Atar," the ellon said, and, with a short bow to the King, began to leave.

"And Sador," he added. Sador turned and gave Arafinwë an enquiring look. "When you have seen to Haldir, come find me." The ellon nodded. As he turned and started past his friends, Rúmilion stood up to bar his path, a look of concern on his face.

"Would you like us to go with you, Sador?" the older ellon asked and the two ellith nodded their heads.

Sador smiled and shook his head. "No. I think Haldir will respond better with just me around. Come you later if you will. I will invite him and Gwilwileth for luncheon at my suite. It would be well for all of you to get to know one another."

Rúmilion nodded. "Luncheon it is then." He stepped aside and Sador left.

"Pelendur," Arafinwë then said and the councillor looked up, a dazed expression on his face. "We value your council but We think you would benefit from a period of... rest and meditation. You have Our leave to retire to Our summer lodge until the New Year. Your wife may join you if she so desires and anyone else of your household. Calandil will see that you are provided with a suitable escort."

Pelendur went white at Arafinwë’s words, but understood that the King would brook no dissent and gave him a bow of acquiescence. He stared briefly at his wife, who gave him a slight shake of her head, nodded mutely and walked out of the room, two guards following him at Arafinwë’s signal.

Then Arafinwë went to Lady Lossellë, who sat there quite forlorn, and took her hand. "Fear not, lady. We are not banishing Pelendur, only giving him time to think things through. He will be welcomed back to Our court at the New Year. We hope that in the ensuing weeks before that he will take what Haldir and Sador have said to heart. We would see you both reconciled to your son, but We will not force it upon either of you."

Lady Lossellë stood then and gave the King a respectful curtsey. "I thank you, my lord, for your generosity of heart. Please, allow me to retire."

"You have Our leave, daughter," the Noldóran said formally and gave her a kiss on her forehead. She turned to go, then stopped and gave the King a confused look.

"My son’s name is Hallatiro... why will he not use it? It’s a good name. Why will he not use it?"

Arafinwë sighed and gathered the elleth into his arms as she started weeping again. "New lives, new identities, my daughter. Your son found a life and purpose and even a wife that he did not have here in Aman. Hallatiro... Haldir... does it really matter? Can you not rejoice that he has been returned to you, whole and happy?"

Arafinwë released the lady and with an encouraging smile gave her over to one of the guards with orders to see that she made it to her apartments without incident. By now, Eärwen had ordered the mess on the floor where dishes lay scattered about to be cleaned up. It was the signal that breakfast was over, and in truth, Arafinwë found he no longer had an appetite. Giving his wife a peck on the cheek, he excused himself to attend to the business of the day with his other councillors, who followed him out of the room in silence.

****

Arafinwë looked up with a smile when he heard the knock on the door and saw Sador standing there. It was now late afternoon. The wheels of government grind slowly, but they do grind and Arafinwë had spent the better part of the day attending to it. Even now, he was pouring over some documents concerning the income being generated by the royal farms and wondering how they could best be used for the benefit of the Tol Eressëans. He realized that the Sindarin guildmasters had been clever to pass on the higher prices through their own merchants since the Amaneldi merchants were strictly monitored to avoid price gouging on their part. It pointed to the need for a stronger and more central government on Tol Eressëa. Under one of the kings, this would never have happened.

The King motioned for Sador to enter and gratefully put the documents away, pouring some wine into a couple of goblets for them. "How are Haldir and Gwilwileth?" he asked as Sador sank into a chair and accepted the goblet with a smile.

"Better. Haldir was cursing, Gwilwileth was crying, but neither were attempting to climb a tree."

Arafinwë chuckled, then sobered somewhat and sighed. "Things are more complicated than I ever suspected. When Findaráto came back to us, I had no idea what was happening with him. I’m afraid I had very little patience at first, but at least I did not reject him outright."

Sador stared out of one of the embrasures onto the garden beyond, now dormant with the winter and sighed. "None of us were meant for death, yet, do you not find it curious that Lord Námo built the Halls of Mandos long before any of the Children ever appeared in Arda? To build it for the Secondborn, that is one thing, for death is Eru’s gift to them, but he had halls built for us as well, long before death ever became a part of the fabric of our lives."

Arafinwë stared at his ward with wonder and respect. Such thoughts had never occurred to him. Yet here was one who was accounted young by the standards of the Eldar, one who was barely out of elflinghood, who exhibited such wisdom and depth of thought.

"Lord Námo is known for his prescience," Arafinwë said softly, taking a sip of wine.

Sador nodded. "I wonder if he wept as the Halls were being built, knowing why?"

The King shivered at those words, though he could not have said why, even to himself. Sador seemed to gather himself together and gave Arafinwë a clear-eyed look.

"What did you wish to see me about, Atar?"

Arafinwë forced himself to smile. "I think last night’s ceremony went off rather well. I would like to see some of our other ceremonies incorporate the traditions of those from Endórë, if you are willing to help Axantur with redesigning them. The New Year will be coming up soon and then there’s the Merendë Andolairë at Midsummer."

Sador nodded. "I would be glad to help. Perhaps I can convince Haldir and Gwilwileth to join in the project. I’m sure they will have ideas that Axantur can use."

"Good idea. It will give them both a purpose while they are here. I’ve already told them that I would like them to remain until the New Year."

Sador gave Arafinwë a strange look. "Told them or ordered them? They do have lives of their own, you know, Atar."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow at his ward’s tone. No, not diffident at all. He hid a smile behind his goblet as he took another sip of wine before answering. "I know they do, yonya. I also know they came seeking answers. Those answers are still here to be found. I assure you that neither one voiced any objections to staying here. Had they done so, I would have given them leave to depart whenever they wished."

Sador nodded, obviously mollified, but did not attempt to apologize and Arafinwë had to hide another smile. His ward was finally growing up and he could see Findaráto’s influence there. "Beyond that," he continued, "I still would like to organize a royal visit to Tol Eressëa along with Olwë. I think it’s very important that we make our presence known to the elves living there."

Sador frowned. "You know well my objections to this plan, but I will admit my views of Tol Eressëa have been colored by my own experiences. If this is your desire, my lord, I will do what I can to help you to organize it. Lord Gilvagor would be a good liaison for this."

"As will you," Arafinwë said. "Your experiences notwithstanding, this is a perfect opportunity to put into practice what you have been learning as my son’s diplomatic aide, though, I admit, he has not been in a position lately to use you in that capacity."

Sador nodded. "Finrod told me something about becoming Lord Irmo and Lord Námo’s apprentice, though he did not go into details and I did not press for them. I told him that whenever he needed me, however he needed me, I would be there for him."

"I am glad, yonya," Arafinwë said with much feeling. "I am glad that you are my son’s trusted otorno. In the task he has pledged himself to he will need your love and support." He smiled slyly. "Now, why don’t we put aside all this talk of diplomacy and such and spend the rest of the afternoon until dinner in more enjoyable pursuits. You still owe me a game of chess. I mean to beat you this time."

Sador gave him a saucy grin. "Hah! That’s what you said the last time, Atar."

Then they both laughed as they left the study in search of a chessboard.

91: Running With the Wolves

Vanyamar seemed terribly quiet and dull with Ingwion gone. The excitement of the trial was over and the Noldorin fosterlings were busy with their studies. With Ingwion away, and Vorondil no longer there, Ingwë asked Valandur to be Glorfindel’s tutor.

"Valandur is looking forward to mentoring you, Glorfindel," Ingwë informed him when they returned to the city. "He will teach you much and perhaps you will teach him something along the way as well."

Glorfindel merely nodded, and that in itself was telling as far as Ingwë was concerned. Valandur, when he met with the Reborn ellon, gave him a penetrating look, which Glorfindel returned with equanimity.

"I was rather impressed by your conduct during the trial," Valandur said when he and Glorfindel met in the loremaster’s study. "Your testimony was something of an eye-opener."

Glorfindel’s only comment was a raised eyebrow. Valandur frowned. "What is it, Glorfindel? Since returning to Vanyamar you’ve been very... subdued."

Glorfindel sighed as he stood, going over to an embrasure to look out into the garden, now beginning to fade somewhat with winter, though still beautiful to look upon. "I have no real purpose."

"What do you mean, son?" Valandur asked quietly, suddenly noticing Glorfindel nervously fingering his ring and wondering at its significance.

Still looking out onto the garden, Glorfindel attempted to explain. "I only came to Vanyamar because Atar... the Noldóran ordered me to come. Now... now I know why, and it wasn’t to be a court fosterling."

"Why, then?"

Glorfindel turned to look at the older elf, his expression blank with emotional pain. "I was the bait, did you know that? That’s all I am to them... bait." His voice started to rise as suppressed anger began to come to the fore. "Finrod and Sador get to go on the Hunt. I get to spend my time in a cave as Manwë’s prisoner, after being beaten half to death for my troubles."

He turned back to the garden. Valandur remained perfectly still, not wishing to interrupt. Glorfindel would never know that Ingwë wasn’t the only person who had asked Valandur to keep an eye on him. His first report to Lord Námo would include this particular conversation.

"Although, come to think about it," Glorfindel continued, "I shouldn’t be surprised. They’ve treated me with contempt all along, refusing to answer my questions concerning my king. They won’t even let me go up to Taniquetil. No doubt they don’t want me to sully their precious abode with my Reborn presence, seeing as how I’m nothing but a rebel Noldo. I’m surprised Manwë didn’t just leave me in that damn cave!"

He pounded the stone wall with a fist. Valandur never stirred, watching with fascinated horror as the younger ellon spewed forth his anger. It was telling that twice Glorfindel had refused to give the Elder King a proper title.

Glorfindel sat on the edge of the embrasure staring at his feet. "They beat me," he said without emotion and the starkness of his words pierced Valandur’s heart. "Even after I lost consciousness, they continued to beat me... and Tulkas just stood there and let them!" He laid his head on his knees and began weeping silently.

Now Valandur understood. Glorfindel had been violated. He was at a loss to know what to do about it, though, and briefly wondered if he shouldn’t send for Findaráto. The loremaster suspected that the once King of Nargothrond would have had an acquaintance with such matters. This, frankly, was beyond his own experience. He half hoped that one of the Valar would show up with a solution, but realized that was ridiculous. The Eldar couldn’t go around expecting the Valar to solve all their problems for them. He sighed and went over to sit beside the still weeping ellon and put an arm around Glorfindel’s shoulders.

"So let me get this straight," he said, trying to evince a nonchalant air. "You’re upset because your brothers got to play while you were stuck indoors."

The statement was so utterly outrageous that Glorfindel was shocked out of his self-pity. He stood up and stared at Valandur in dismay. The older ellon merely sat there with an expectant look, waiting for an answer.

It was not long in coming. Glorfindel uttered an oath in Sindarin that was particularly vicious. Then, he stormed out of the room. For a long moment Valandur sat there, then sighed. "I thought it was a reasonable question," he said to no one in particular.

"Did you, indeed?"

The Vanya looked up to see Lord Námo standing there with an amused expression on his face. The Lord of Mandos crooked his finger and Valandur slowly rose to give his obeisance, wondering if he was about to receive one of Lord Námo’s famous lectures.

****

Glorfindel stalked blindly through the palace, the need to keep moving driving him. All he could think about was that he’d been beaten even after he’d lost consciousness. That knowledge alone sickened him and then, suddenly, he was physically retching, the enormity of what had been done to him finally impinging upon his hröa’s consciousness. He hung weakly to a doorjamb as wave after wave of nausea and disgust filled him and so lost in misery was he that he never felt the cool hands supporting him through the ordeal.

Finally, he came to himself and found a goblet of water being thrust into his face. "Drink this." It was a command he could not ignore. He drank and the last sense of queasiness left him. He looked up to see who was there.

She was dressed in yellows. Her sleeveless overgown of light wool was dyed a bright yellow with sprigs of green embroidered on it. The front was split to just below her breasts so that the undergown of heavy muslin showed through. This was a deep buttercup yellow. The sleeves of the undergown were tight to the wrist with fine embroidery in shades of gold. Her dark hair was wreathed with roses in shades ranging from sun yellow to peach. Her feet were bare and she wore no jewelry.

She was smiling as she helped him stand. "Hello, Glorfindel. I am Nessa, Lord Tulkas’ lady."

Glorfindel dropped the goblet he was holding and started backing away, shaking his head and looking angry. "No! No! Just leave me alone, all of you!" he wailed and then turned away to escape from the Valië’s presence but he was stopped when he ran into someone. He started screaming then, shouting out curses in Sindarin as he struggled in the person’s embrace, but he could not escape. After awhile he collapsed, exhaustion taking him. Still the arms held him and other hands caressed his hair and a voice murmured softly, though he could not hear what was being said. A wave of fatigue swept through him and he slept for a time.

When he woke again he was still in someone’s embrace but no longer standing. They were seated sideways on a bench with Glorfindel being supported from behind. He looked about and saw that they were in a garden that was unfamiliar to him. He glanced backwards and found Lord Tulkas sitting there smiling at him. Then, Lady Nessa was there, kneeling beside them on the lawn.

"Feeling better, beloved?" She asked, her voice soft and sweet, reminding Glorfindel of the lightest of bells ringing in the Mindon Nyellion in Valmar.

He wasn’t sure how to answer that question, so he elected not to answer at all. Instead, he sighed and closed his eyes, allowing himself to sink further into Tulkas’ embrace. He had a sense that neither Vala was about to let him just walk away, and so he waited for them to take the next step.

He felt Nessa stand up. "What you need is a good run." She sounded more business-like and Glorfindel opened his eyes in confusion. She was holding out her hand and Tulkas was pushing him forward, releasing him from his embrace.

"Excellent idea, my love," the Vala boomed, laughing at Glorfindel’s bemused look. "Let us go for a run with our elfling."

With that Nessa grabbed Glorfindel’s arm and pulled him up. Tulkas was there beside him. The next thing he knew they were no longer in the garden but standing in a field with trees in the distance where a dark forest stood. Glorfindel had no time to voice any complaints. Tulkas grabbed one arm and Nessa continued holding the other and they began running.

He tried to protest, but to no avail. Tulkas did not laugh, but had a grim look on his face. Nessa smiled at him sweetly but her eyes were aglow with a light that was more appropriately seen in a fell warrior about to go into battle. Glorfindel felt suddenly afraid. A dangerous sense of wildness took him and he feared to lose himself in it. Even as they continued running, heedless of their path, Glorfindel felt himself slipping further away. When a herd of red deer suddenly appeared, surrounding them as they ran through a forest of old oak and birch, Glorfindel finally gave a great cry and then his mind blanked out. He became one with the deer. He sensed the forest through them, the smells and sounds, so different from what he was used to. No longer did he run in near darkness, Anar having long set. Instead, it was bright with starlight. He reveled in the swiftness of the deer, the bunching of muscles, the smooth, effortless gait, the taste of leaves on his throat as one of the herd stopped to graze.

Somewhere along the way he lost his clothing and the touch of the night wind upon his skin was like a balm to his soul, caressing and cleansing him of all the sorrows and shame he had felt earlier. He suddenly raised his arms to the sky, threw back his head, and laughed gaily and long.

And still he ran.

How long it lasted he never really knew, though hours had passed since waking in the garden in Tulkas’ arms. At one point he found himself gazing intently at his reflection in a pool where the deer had stopped to drink. Stars were reflected in the calm dark waters, seemingly making a wreath around his head like a crown. Nessa and Tulkas had long disappeared and he did not know where they might have gone, caring not that they had apparently abandoned him.

Then, the deer were gone. Glorfindel looked up in confusion to find himself surrounded by a pack of silver-grey wolves, the largest of which stood nearly to his chest at the shoulder. The elf sat there, afraid to move, trying not to look any of the creatures in the eye, knowing it would be seen as a challenge. The wolves moved about him, coming to the water’s edge to drink. He could feel their hot breath and the softness of their fur as they passed him. He remained completely still. Then, he felt, rather than saw, the pack leader lope over to him and calmly licked his face.

Some hours later Glorfindel found himself huddled against the flank of one of the sleeping wolves, having run with them for a time. It was nearly dawn now and he was exhausted. He lay with his head against the alpha-female with her four pups sleeping contentedly against him, providing him with warmth. He lay there gently stroking a hand over one of the pup’s brindled fur, waiting for sleep to take him. He was not sure what was happening to him, but he was no longer concerned.

He was at peace again, perhaps for the first time in a long while. He did not want it to end, though deep inside he knew it would not, could not, last. As the first hints of dawn blushed the eastern sky with rosy fingers, Nessa was there before him, holding out her hand. Wordlessly, he held his own hand out and allowed the Valië to lift him to his feet. She was smiling as she held his head between her hands and kissed his brow.

"Did you have a good run, beloved?" She asked softly.

He nodded, feeling suddenly shy. Nessa led him away from the sleeping wolves and they walked for a time in silence, enjoying the dawn. Eventually, they came to another clearing where there was a pool. Tulkas was waiting for them. Glorfindel hesitated on seeing the Vala and even started to turn away, but Nessa held him in place with a glance and Tulkas came and wrapped his brawny arms around the elf, rubbing his back to comfort him.

"You are a very angry elfling, Little One," the Vala said. "Time to put the anger aside."

He began to rub harder and then to knead his strong fingers into the elf’s muscles. Glorfindel gave an involuntary gasp and collapsed to the ground as Tulkas continued to massage him. He was nearly unconscious with relief as tension he never knew existed within him began to melt away. Nessa, meanwhile, knelt beside him, gently stroking his hair, murmuring softly though Glorfindel did not know what she said, even as Tulkas continued his ministrations. He felt the Vala’s healing power massage away the sense of shame from the beating that was held in his hröa’s memory so that he was left with only a feeling of well-being that sank into the depths of his fëa, cleansing and restoring his sense of wholeness of self.

Eventually, Tulkas stopped and Glorfindel felt someone place a light blanket over his nakedness and he fell asleep to the sound of the two Valar singing softly an ancient lullaby.

****

He woke around noon, feeling refreshed. He raised himself up to find that he was alone. Near the pool he saw a pile of clean clothes and all the paraphernalia necessary to effect a decent bath. Glorfindel wasted no time in taking advantage of this. To his delight, the water was surprisingly warm and he assumed the pool must be fed by hot springs. He did not linger in his bath but was quickly dressed in a simple tunic of worsted wool dyed brown and breeches of heavy unbleached muslin. His feet remained bare.

Once dressed he looked around and noticed a path leading away from the pool through a copse of elm trees. A tantalizing smell wafted through the air and Glorfindel followed it down the path to another glade where a table was set in its midst. Tulkas and Nessa were seated at the table waiting for him.

"Come and break your fast, Little One," Tulkas said with an inviting wave and Glorfindel complied, giving the Valar a respectful bow in greeting before taking a seat. Without speaking, the elf began eating the repast and the two Valar sat in patient silence waiting for him to finish.

As Glorfindel sat back, sipping on a cup of rose-hip tea, Tulkas started speaking. "I trust your little run yesterday was to your liking, Little One?"

Glorfindel nodded and blushed. "Though I don’t have very clear memories of it, especially with the wolves."

"Just as well, beloved," Nessa said with a small smile. "Such memories can be dangerous, but I think you will be able to accept them in due time. If so, the deeper memories will emerge. For now, be content with what memories you have."

"You are feeling very put upon, aren’t you?" Tulkas asked shrewdly. "You think we are merely using you, that in our eyes you are of no more use than to be bait for those unworthy to be called elves."

Glorfindel scowled. "Something like that."

Then Tulkas started laughing, his golden locks shimmering in the afternoon light. "And you would be correct, Little One."

Glorfindel slammed his teacup down and stood up, the scowl on his face deepening as he started to move away. Tulkas called out to him, no longer laughing.

"Come back here, elfling, unless you want to go on another run." It was not a threat.

Glorfindel shivered with something that was more delight than fear and turned back, the light of anticipation on his face. "Yes, please," he said hoarsely. "C-could I run with the... the wolves, again?"

The two Valar exchanged surprised looks and then Nessa was wrapping her arms around the ellon, cradling his head against her breasts, stroking his hair to calm him. "It’s too soon, beloved," she whispered, "and too dangerous. Come and sit with us. Shh. No tears, beloved." She wiped the tears that had begun to trickle down his cheeks with her hand and kissed the top of his head. "Such an elfling you are," she said with a light laugh.

"Yes, indeed," Tulkas said with his own booming laugh as he stood and joined them. He took Glorfindel out of his wife’s embrace and gave him a hug that left the elf gasping for air, but before he could properly catch his breath he found himself being flung up into the air and caught again as if he were indeed an elfling. Tulkas laughed even harder at Glorfindel’s shocked shriek and refused to listen to his protests, but threw him up into the air again.

The Vala did this several times until Glorfindel was too breathless to offer any more resistance and then he stopped, planting the ellon’s feet on the ground. He did not allow Glorfindel time to collect himself, however, but began tickling him with ruthless abandon, laughing as the elf began shrieking once again, but this time with mirth. Glorfindel writhed on the ground begging Tulkas to stop but the Vala only laughed louder and his questing fingers always found the most sensitive spots on Glorfindel’s body, especially just under his arms.

When he thought he must pass out from the exquisitely delightful torture, Tulkas stopped and began rubbing Glorfindel’s upper chest. "Take deep breaths now, Little One," he said with a smile on his face. Glorfindel complied, slowly feeling the dizzy darkness receding from the edges of his consciousness, moaning slightly at the protesting chest muscles as he tried to draw in enough air. Eventually his breathing slowed and he became still, slipping in and out of consciousness as the warmth of the afternoon sun crept into his bones and he relaxed completely.

He might have fallen asleep at one point though it could not have been for very long, as the sun had not moved very far. He came to with something tickling him and, focusing his eyes, found Nessa sitting on his right, dandling a flower in front of his face. It reminded Glorfndel of an elanor, except this flower was reddish in color. Tulkas sat on the other side of him, an amused expression on his face.

"Ah, our elfling wakens once again," he said, then his demeanor became more sober and his tone was one of great authority. "Now listen to me carefully, Glorfindel. You played a necessary role in recent events, but it is not the only role you will play in your life. Bait you were, but that is no dishonorable thing. You have always been bait, you always will be."

Glorfindel stared up at the Vala with an expression of disbelief, but Tulkas only nodded, looking strangely grim.

"Think about it," he continued. "You made yourself bait when you attacked the Balrog so others could escape to safety. This was no different, except that here you became bait to flush out the evil that had woven its web within the very fabric of your society." The Vala paused and gave Glorfindel a penetrating look. "I suspect that in the future you will allow yourself to be bait again, drawing evil to you, to flush it out, so as to protect the innocent. It is, after all, what it means to be a warrior, does it not — to draw evil to oneself so as to protect the innocent who are unable or unwilling to protect themselves?"

Nessa spoke then. "You think we treat you with contempt, but that is not true, beloved. We have the utmost respect for you, more than you can ever know. Few would we trust to play such a dangerous role as you have played recently." Here she paused and gave him a smile that smote him with its simple beauty and he almost wept again but just managed to stop himself. "And do not think that Lord Manwë would bother to spend endless days listening to you whining if he did not love you as much as he does."

"I never whine," Glorfindel said with slight affront and the two Valar started laughing.

Tulkas stood up and Nessa with him. Then the Vala reached down and offered Glorfindel a hand up which the elf accepted. The two Valar each gave him a kiss. Nessa pointed to a path that wended its way through another part of the woods. "There is your road back to Vanyamar. Remember what we’ve said, beloved."

Glorfindel found himself alone. Even the table and chairs were gone. With a sigh he went along the path and soon found himself back in the gardens of the High King and there, waiting for him with an air of amusement about them, were Valandur and Lord Námo.

92: Sword-Brother to the Maiar

"Did you have a good run, best beloved?" Námo asked as Glorfindel approached.

"Yes, I did," the ellon said somewhat shyly. Then, he turned to Valandur. "Sorry about that. I shouldn’t have called you... what I did."

Valandur nodded. "And I’m sorry that I... upset you the way I did. It was not my intent... well, not solely my intent," he amended giving a glance at Lord Námo that Glorfindel could not interpret.

Námo merely nodded. "That’s settled then. I think, Glorfindel, you should try to forget what happened and concentrate on why you are here in the first place."

Glorfindel gave the Vala a somewhat sour look. "Why am I here?"

"To learn," was Námo’s only reply.

"Learn what?" Glorfindel practically shouted in frustration, all his good humor fled at what he saw as Valarin intransigence in refusing to give answers that made sense. Valandur gave the ellon an appraising look.

If the Lord of Mandos was upset at the elf’s histrionics, he didn’t show it, instead he smiled (smugly, Glorfindel would have said had anyone asked him). "That is for you to find out." With that, the Vala faded away, leaving Glorfindel seething. Valandur decided it was time to take matters into his own hands.

"The first thing you need to learn, my young friend," the older elf said as he put an arm around the ellon’s shoulders and pulled a reluctant Glorfindel towards the palace, "is not to antagonize a Vala. They’re a touchy lot at best. Never know which way they’re going to jump."

Glorfindel found himself snickering in spite of himself, some of his previous humor returning. "That’s what they say about us."

Valandur smiled knowingly. "Do they now?"

Glorfindel nodded, then stopped, his expression guarded. "What am I suppose to learn?"

"What do you want to learn?" came the surprising reply.

Glorfindel shrugged and looked down, suddenly unsure of himself. "I don’t know."

"Well, why don’t you think about it," Valandur said encouragingly, "and, when you’ve decided, you let me know."

Glorfindel looked up and seeing the warmth of understanding and acceptance in the older elf’s eyes, smiled back and nodded. "I’ll do that."

****

Over the next few days Glorfindel did think about it but came to no real conclusions. In the meantime, he was expected to join the other junior courtiers in attending Ingwë when the High King held court or during those council sessions when the topics of discussion were not of a sensitive nature. It was very much like Arafinwë’s court in that respect and Glorfindel fell into the routine of it readily enough.

He was often seen in the company of Elessairon, Lómion and Alassiel, though the elleth’s own duties as a member of Ingwë’s family kept her too busy to be with him as often as they would both like. This was especially so since her grandparents’ arrest and Ingwion’s absence. Ingwë began to rely on her and her mother more and more. In fact, Lirulin seemed to thrive now that her husband’s parents were no longer about and she proved to be a shrewd administrator and councillor and Ingwë welcomed her to his councils.

Glorfindel also began to take on more responsibilities, his memories of his days in Gondolin as one of Turgon’s trusted councillors coming more and more to the fore. That was not always a good thing, though. One day, while listening to a council session with the other junior courtiers, he suddenly found himself back in Turgon’s high council chamber that overlooked the city and the Court of the Trees. Late spring had replaced early winter. Turgon had summoned his captains to discuss a matter of security some time after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, for Turgon knew that Morgoth was now aware of him and would be searching for him and his hidden kingdom.

"No, Turgon," Glorfindel said, leaping from his chair, beginning to pace around the council chamber in his agitation. "I do not trust in Maeglin’s words. There has been greater activity of orcs roaming the Echoriath searching for us, not less. Has not Thorondor said as much? We need to strengthen our defenses and keep better vigilance."

"What do you propose then, my lord Glorfindel?"

That was Ecthelion, sitting near the King. Glorfindel glanced at his friend and smiled. "What I have always proposed, Ecthelion: trust in Lord Tuor’s words, for did not Lord Ulmo send him to us for a purpose? I fear that we will all rue the day that we ignored the words of the Lord of Waters." He looked pointedly at Turgon at that and was surprised to see a grim smile on the king’s face, for always before, whenever Glorfindel mentioned Lord Ulmo and his message, Turgon’s expression had darkened, though he never reprimanded the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower for voicing his views.

Turgon smiling wasn’t what had happened on that particular day, though, Glorfindel suddenly realized. Turgon had actually...

A wave of dizziness swept through him and then he felt arms holding him up and he found himself staring into Ingwë’s concerned face. He looked about him in confusion to see expressions ranging from mild consternation to downright disgust on the faces of senior councillors and junior courtiers alike. He turned back to Ingwë, suddenly unsure what had happened.

"M-my lord?" he whispered.

"That was quite a speech you gave, youngling," Ingwë said with a smile.

"S-speech?"

Ingwë nodded, releasing Glorfindel. "Luckily, Valandur understands Sindarin and was able to translate for us."

Glorfindel turned to see his mentor sitting where...

"Ecthelion," he said in a hoarse voice. "I called you Ecthelion."

Valandur nodded. "So it seemed. You were obviously not here and when you suddenly stood up and began speaking in Sindarin, addressing the king by a different name..."

"Turgon," Glorfindel said, turning white, his expression becoming blank with memory. Ingwë grabbed his elbow to steady him. "I... we were in a council session. It was some years after the Dagor Nirnaeth Arnediad and Turgon was concerned about security. Maeglin..."

Glorfindel, lost again in his memories, was unaware of the fell light that emanated from him as he spoke the traitor’s name and did not see the looks of alarm on many of the faces in the room. Ingwë gave the ellon a gentle shake to bring him out of his fugue. Glorfindel blinked a couple of times.

"I’m sorry, my lord," he said faintly, "I seem to be..." but he couldn’t complete the thought, for he wasn’t sure what he was feeling, except confusion as past and present collided with one another within him. He felt a frisson of panic begin to rise inside him and had a sudden need to be away from everyone. Then there was a shimmer in the air and Manveru and Erunáro were there, looking equally concerned. Ingwë stepped away from Glorfindel to give the two Maiar room.

"Carefully, sword-brother," Manveru said, taking Glorfindel into his embrace. "Take a deep breath and let it out slowly... and again... that’s it. All is well now."

Glorfindel could feel himself becoming more connected to his surroundings with every breath taken. Finally, the world seemed to steady around him and the Maia released him, giving him an encouraging smile.

"Better?"

Glorfindel nodded, smiling shyly back, then looked about and gave the Maia a rueful look. "I seem to have made a spectacle of myself again."

"But it was entertaining while it lasted," Ingwë laughed, not unkindly. "I wonder, though, what stopped you."

Glorfindel grimaced. "You were smiling, my lord, and on that particular day Turgon was not smiling. In fact..." he sighed and closed his eyes for a brief moment before addressing the High King again. "That day I went too far and... my king and I had a falling out." He shook his head at that and gave Ingwë a chagrined look. "We never fully reconciled before... before the end."

"I am sorry to hear that, yonya," Ingwë said sadly, suddenly divining Glorfindel’s... obsession with Turucáno.

Glorfindel gave a small shrug, a look of defeat on his fair countenance and Ingwë was at a loss how to offer him any comfort. Then, surprisingly, Alassiel, sitting with the royal family at the council table, stood up and came around to give the ellon a warm hug. "But someday you’ll be able to reconcile with your king, won’t you, ammelda? That is something to which you may look forward."

Glorfindel gave her a grateful look and smiled. "Thank you," he said softly.

Then Erunáro clapped him on the shoulder. "You are well now, sword-brother?"

Glorfindel gave the Maia a confused look. "Why do you call me that?"

"Why should we not?" Manveru retorted. "Did you not fight against and defeat one of our Fallen Brethren even as we have?"

"Not to mention pitting yourself against the seven elves who attacked you," Erunáro added with a grin. "Though, mind you, that stunt was rather stupid of you."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And pitting myself against a balrog wasn’t?"

Now Erunáro laughed. "I didn’t say that."

Manveru joined his brother in the Thought of Eru in laughter. "We will leave you now, sword-brother. Be well." With that, the two Maiar gave Ingwë respectful nods, then faded from sight.

For a long moment no one moved or spoke. Then, Ingwë bestirred himself, giving himself a mental shake. "Where were we?"

****

The storm that had raged across the Pelóri, keeping Glorfindel confined to the caves, had, oddly enough, missed Vanyamar completely. However, a couple of days after the incident in the council chamber, the denizens of the city woke to find a thick blanket of snow had fallen overnight. An informal holiday was declared and many people were seen enjoying the snowfall, especially the elflings. Glorfindel and his friends went outside the city after the noon meal to engage in a snowball fight — ellyn against ellith. Glorfindel hung back, standing against the city wall and watching his friends with a wistful look, for they were climbing the mountain to where the snow was deeper and away from the little ones playing by the gate. He was still unsure how far up the mountain he could safely go without arousing the wrath of the Valar.

Then, out of nowhere, a snowball hit him square in the face and he heard the sound of laughter from high above him. When he cleared the snow from his eyes he could see Elessairon and Alassiel, among others, pointing at him, obviously highly amused. At that moment, all thought of mountains, prohibitions and the Valar themselves fled from Glorfindel’s mind as he scooped up some snow and made his way purposefully towards the group of friends, bent on revenge.

It was a merry chase.

Manveru, unclad and leaning against the city wall as he watched the antics of the Children, little and not so little, looked up at his brother, who was brushing snow from his hands and smiling smugly. "Good throw," he said.

Erunáro laughed. "I have my moments."

Manveru nodded towards where Glorfindel was now being pummeled by snowballs thrown by three very determined ellith. "Just what he needed to bring him out of his self-pity."

"Our sword-brother just needed an... incentive," Erunáro said with a laugh. Manveru joined him.

****

High on Taniquetil, Manwë and Námo exchanged grins of their own.

"Métimavë!" Manwë said with some feeling.

"Násië!" Námo said, rolling his eyes towards the heavens.

They heard a faint echo of laughter come from beyond the Circles of Arda and then they were both laughing themselves.

****

Ammelda: Best beloved, literally "most beloved".

Métimavë!: "Finally!"

Násië!: "Amen!"

93: Lessons

Some days after the snowball fight, Glorfindel was exploring a part of the palace grounds he had not seen before. He was accompanied by Elessairon, Lómion and Alassiel. They came upon a building where Glorfindel detected a familiar sound.

"What’s going on?" he asked no one in particular and before anyone could respond, he opened the door.

They found themselves in a training salle where several ellyn were engaged in mock sword fights and going through certain drills. Glorfindel gave his friends a bemused look.

"There’s been sword practice on a regular basis throughout Aman since everyone returned from the War of Wrath," Elessairon explained with a shrug. "The High King and the Noldóran insisted that the older ellyn be trained with the sword."

"Why?" Glorfindel asked, feeling confused. "There are no enemies in Aman."

It was Alassiel who answered, speaking softly and somewhat uncertainly. "I think they are preparing for the Mahtalë Mahtalion."

Glorfindel just stared at her in shock, then turned back to the salle. There was a visitor’s gallery to their right, accessible by a set of stairs. Making their way up, they found others had come before them. To Glorfindel’s surprise Valandur and Findis were there and they greeted him joyfully and invited the four younger elves to join them.

Glorfindel sat and watched the drills with interest, remembering a similar training salle in Gondolin. He noticed one ellon in particular, one of Ingwë’s junior courtiers named Aldarion. Glorfindel knew him slightly, a typical Vanya who was somewhat disdainful of Glorfindel for being a Reborn, but not antagonistically so. Still, Glorfindel tended to avoid the ellon’s company. The Noldo cast a critical eye over Aldarion’s fighting technique and shook his head.

"Move your feet, Aldarion," he called out, surprising everyone. "You look like you’re shuffling through molasses."

Aldarion looked up in surprise to see Glorfindel staring down at him, his expression one of professional interest, and frowned. "And I suppose you could do better, Etyangol?"

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, giving those sitting around him an amused glance, and then slowly smiled. "Oh, child, you just said the wrong thing," he proclaimed loudly enough for all to hear.

Then before anyone could stop him, he leapt over the railing, landing lightly upon the ground, moving cat-like across the salle to where Aldarion stood with his sparring partner, another member of Ingwë’s court named Vëantur who was a friend of Ingwion’s. All around them, everyone had stopped to see what was happening. Glorfindel did not see Valandur motion to one of the nearby guards and whisper something that saw the guard hurrying away.

When he came to stand before Aldarion, Glorfindel quietly asked Vëantur for his sword, which the ellon gave him with a slight bow and a smile, willingly stepping back to give Glorfindel all the room he needed.

Glorfindel gave Aldarion a disdainful look. "Are you ready, child?"

Aldarion just stared at him for a moment, unbelieving. "What? You mean to spar with me? You’re not even properly attired. And who are you to call me a child?"

Glorfindel merely shrugged. "If I’m stupid enough to allow you to get inside my guard, Aldarion, I’ll deserve whatever injuries I sustain, and unless you can claim to remember the Light of the Two Trees, you are indeed a child. Now, shall we get on with it?"

Then, without warning, Glorfindel raised his sword and with a single cutting motion fell upon the ellon, who gave a startled yell even as he scrambled out of Glorfindel’s path and raised his own sword just in time to block the downward sweep. After that, the two began sparring in earnest, or rather, Aldarion did. Glorfindel’s expression deepened to something undefinable and Aldarion suddenly felt afraid.

"Fight, damn you!" Glorfindel suddenly shouted. "You’re not dancing with your sister here." The Noldo’s attacks came more furiously and Aldarion realized that Glorfindel was not jesting. The Noldo moved with consummate grace, no stroke going wide, every motion economical and deliberate. It was a dance of deadly beauty that he wove about Aldarion and all who saw it watched with stunned horror and delight, for never had they seen anything like it.

Aldarion did his best, and he was actually quite good, once he got over his initial shock, but Glorfindel was even better and at last, with a single twist of the wrist, Glorfindel disarmed him and sent him to the ground, the Noldo’s sword point only inches from his throat. Aldarion looked up in terror, fully expecting to have Glorfindel kill him, but Glorfindel merely smiled and stepped back.

"You lose," he said smugly, then he threw the sword into the air and caught it as it came down, laughing joyously, spinning around in an impromptu dance of delight, his braids swinging and glittering by the light of the lamps. "Oh, that was fun. Who’s next?"

Aldarion just lay there, panting, looking on in disbelief. "Y-you’re not even... winded," he finally managed to gasp out as Glorfindel reached down and offered him a hand up.

Glorfindel gave him an innocent look and a shrug. "Why should I be? I was trying to be as gentle as I could with you. I wasn’t fighting at my full strength. This was supposed to be a friendly match, wasn’t it?"

Aldarion just stared at him, gaping, and all around them was absolute silence at the implications of the ellon’s words.

"Glorfindel."

Glorfindel turned to see Ingwë standing in the gallery beside Valandur, the High King’s expression one of amusement, and ran over to him laughing.

"My lord! Did you see? This is so much fun, but next time I want to spar with real warriors instead of with these children. Perhaps Finrod can come and play with me sometime, or even Ingwion."

Ingwë was hard-pressed not to laugh at the ellon’s elfling-like manner and simply smiled. "Give Vëantur back his sword, child. It’s time to go."

Glorfindel nodded, willing to obey the High King in this, too ecstatic at having discovered the salle in the first place to much care. He practically skipped back to Vëantur, giving back the sword to the bemused ellon before returning to the gallery, where Ingwë waited at the bottom of the steps with Valandur.

The High King looked over the salle at the stunned expressions on everyone’s faces and nodded to the training captains. "Carry on, my lords," he said gravely, then he steered Glorfindel out of the salle with Valandur right behind them.

"I wish I hadn’t given Lord Námo my sword," Glorfindel said as they left, practically bouncing with enthusiasm, "even if it was only within a dream. Perhaps I can convince him to give it back. I haven’t had this much fun in ever so long."

Ingwë gave up and started laughing. "Glorfindel, Glorfindel, you are such a delight. No wonder Lord Námo finds you so amusing. I think, however, we will let the Lord of Mandos decide if you should have your sword back." He paused and laid a hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder in a kindly manner. "In the meantime, I’ll see that you are properly outfitted and provided with a practice sword. There are a few elves who fought in the War of Wrath who might do as sparring partners if you promise not to hurt them overmuch."

"I promise," Glorfindel said with a laugh and hugged himself with glee. "Oh, wait until I tell Finrod and Sador. They’ll be so jealous."

Ingwë and Valandur looked at each other over the ellon’s head and started laughing. Valandur clapped the younger ellon on a shoulder. "I’m sure they will be."

*****

True to his word, Ingwë ordered appropriate gear made for Glorfindel and for the first time since his death, the ellon possessed armor and a sword. True, the sword was merely a practice sword and not his own, which had been buried in the ocean-drowned barrow where his first body lay, but it was well made and Glorfindel was pleased with it.

Ingwë also introduced him to two or three older elves who had been captains under Arafinwë during the War of Wrath. They proved to be worthy opponents for Glorfindel, though none could match him in skill. Yet all were open-minded enough to learn from him. Glorfindel suddenly found he enjoyed instructing others who were genuinely interested in learning what he had to teach.

"I’d forgotten how satisfying it is to see someone learn from you and take the lessons you’ve given them to heart," the ellon commented to Valandur one day as they sat in the loremaster’s study.

Valandur nodded and smiled. "I’m pleased that you are enjoying the experience. Perhaps you would consider helping out with the younger ellyn from time to time. The training captains would welcome your expertise."

Glorfindel shook his head. "I don’t think so. Aldarion still hasn’t forgiven me for trouncing him the way I did." He shrugged. "I merely gave him a better excuse to hate the Reborn than the one he had before."

Valandur frowned. "We need to address this antagonism against the Reborn sooner rather than later."

"But how?" Glorfindel asked. "My brothers and I have gone over it and we still haven’t come up with a solution. How do we convince the Amaneldi that the Reborn are worthy of their respect?"

"You don’t," came the surprising answer from Valandur.

"Huh?"

Valandur shook his head. "You cannot convince the Amaneldi of anything, but you can convince one person at a time. Think small, not big."

Glorfindel looked thoughtful at those words and remained silent for some time. Valandur gave him the space and time he needed to think things through.

****

"Aldarion."

The ellon turned to see Glorfindel standing there and tried not to grimace. They were in an anteroom of the council chamber where the courtiers were gathered for refreshments between council sessions.

"Glorfindel," Aldarion said, sounding coldly polite.

"Alassiel was telling me you are one of the best archers in Aman, especially with the great War Bows."

Aldarion struggled to keep his expression neutral. Was this... this Reborn elf going to now challenge him to an archery contest? He nodded reluctantly, almost warily.

Glorfindel smiled. "I was wondering if you could teach me how to use one."

Aldarion blinked. "Teach?"

The Noldo nodded. "Hunting bows I know but I never had a need to use one of the Altaquingar. My heart warns me that I should learn and I would consider it an honor if you would teach me."

Aldarion could only stare at Glorfindel with bemusement. He wondered briefly if he were being made the butt of some jest, yet he could detect nothing but sincerity in Glorfindel’s tone. He suddenly noticed that silence had descended upon the room as soon as Glorfindel had begun speaking to him and swallowed somewhat nervously, aware that the High King himself was looking upon him with interest, waiting for his answer. After a moment of staring at the Noldo standing expectantly before him, he nodded.

"Are you free this afternoon?" he asked, almost hoping that Glorfindel would say no, but the Noldo nodded. "An hour after the noon meal, then? The archery salle is next to the one where we train in swords."

Glorfindel smiled. "Thank you."

Then it was time to return to the council chamber. Aldarion did not see the High King nod approvingly as he walked past him, nor did he see Valandur give Glorfindel a wink as the ellon gave both his mentor and the High King a cheeky grin.

****

It seemed as if half the palace ended up crowding the visitor’s gallery that ringed the archery salle on three sides. Ingwë and several members of the royal family, including Alassiel and Lirulin sitting next to Findis and Valandur, occupied the royal box. Even Ingwë’s queen, Elindis, who normally eschewed such things, had elected to join them. She had recently returned from Lórien where she had been visiting her sister-in-law, Indis.

All through the noon meal conversations centered around the upcoming "lesson", though many suspected that the Noldo was simply setting Aldarion up for another tumble down the slippery slope of humiliation. Some opined that such a game appeared to be one of Glorfindel’s favorite pastimes, though the ellon in question would have been shocked and hurt had he heard anyone say such a thing in his hearing. Glorfindel knew he had many faults, but he also considered himself an honorable elf and would never have thought to stoop so low. Neither Ingwë nor Valandur, when they realized the tenor of some of the conversations, were pleased by what they heard but elected to allow things to play out as they would. They were both confident that Glorfindel’s own actions would put the lie to many of the Vanyar’s assumptions.

When Aldarion and Glorfindel appeared, there was an expectant hush. The two ellyn, when they entered the salle and saw everyone there, shared a mutual look of disgust that was almost funny. Then Glorfindel shrugged and said something that none heard, but they saw Aldarion smile. Aldarion was carrying his own bow and quiver while Glorfindel had found one in the armory where all the training weapons were stored.

"The Altaquinga is different from the usual hunting bow," the spectators heard Aldarion explain to Glorfindel as the two ellyn went about the business of setting up the field to their liking. Ingwë had instructed a couple of pages to help them. "For one thing it’s nearly twice as large and the draw is therefore heavier. Both the bow and the arrows used are made from nessamelda wood rather than yew and the arrows are fletched somewhat differently to allow for greater distance of flight."

Glorfindel nodded, aware of all this but willing to let Aldarion teach him in his own way.

"Because of the bow’s greater size," Aldarion continued, "most archers will have their own bows made specifically to match their height, but your practice bow will do for now. If you are serious about learning its use, you may eventually wish to have your own bow made."

"As to that, we will see," Glorfindel said. "I do not know whence comes this need to learn the use of the Altaquinga, for ever has my strength lain with the sword." He shook his head. "I have learned the hard way to trust my inner most feelings about such things." Glorfindel declined to add that it had been a sudden vision that had taken him.

He’d been wandering through one of the gardens pondering on how he could convince even one elf about the worth of the Reborn when he’d been overcome by the foretelling. He’d been unsure where he was or why he was using a bow rather than a sword, but he had found himself racing on horseback across a wide plain with two others, a young Adan of all things and another elf whose features looked vaguely familiar, but he could not place them. Behind them came the howls of wargs and orcs. They had stopped their flight to take a stance upon low hills and Glorfindel had stood there calmly with a war bow in his hands waiting for the wargs and orcs to approach. Then the vision had faded.

When he had asked his friends if there were any who were proficient in the use of the Altaquinga, Aldarion’s name was often the first one mentioned. That had surprised Glorfindel, but on one level he knew that this was no coincidence and had accepted what was being offered him.

Aldarion merely nodded at Glorfindel’s words and proceeded to show him the proper stance, correcting his hold on the bow slightly. He then gave a demonstration, placing the arrow firmly inside the center ring. Glorfindel attempted to do the same but the arrow ended up missing the target completely. He uttered an oath in Sindarin and scowled. Some few elves in the galleries were heard to snicker. Ingwë frowned and whispered something to Valandur, who nodded before getting up and leaving.

"Try it again," Aldarion said quietly, his expression that of a captain evaluating the skills of one of his warriors under his command. "You were putting too much weight on the draw. Take a deeper breath and let it out slowly as you release the arrow."

Glorfindel complied and this time he actually managed to hit the target though it was in the outer ring. Aldarion nodded his approval and there was clapping from the spectators, mostly from Glorfindel’s friends. "That’s better," Aldarion said. "I think with a little more practice you might do quite well." Then, unable to resist, he stepped forward and calmly proceeded to place arrow after arrow into the center ring without even bothering to pause between sending one arrow off before reaching for another. Glorfindel stood there, silently gauging the ellon’s movements, a small smile on his lips.

When the last arrow was spent there was a general acclamation from the spectators and many rose to give the ellon their ovation. Glorfindel gave Aldarion a wide grin, which the other elf returned and when the Noldo held out his hand, Ingwë was pleased to see Aldarion clasp it without hesitation. Once the cheering died down, Glorfindel turned to Ingwë and gave the High King a bow.

"If my lord will permit," he said loudly enough for all to hear, "we would open the field to any who care to join us in practice."

At Ingwë’s nod there was a mad scramble as several ellyn and not a few ellith began racing through the galleries to come down to the training field, many of them with their own bows in hand, having hoped for a chance to join in the lesson. Glorfindel gave Aldarion a sardonic look and the ellon laughed, issuing orders to those joining them and organizing them into teams. More targets were set up and the arrows began to fly in earnest. Even Elessairon and Lómion joined in the fun, their skill at the bow somewhat greater than Glorfindel’s, but the Vanyar were definitely the masters. By the time the session ended an hour later Glorfindel’s archery skills had improved dramatically, but more importantly, friendships were formed between him and the Vanyarin archers. When the young Noldo finally left the salle with Aldarion, several Vanyar surrounded them, talking enthusiastically about archery and sword fighting.

Many of the spectators had already left by then, but Ingwë had remained where he was, watching the practice with professional interest. Valandur had returned at one point and the two were seen speaking quietly with one another, though not even those in the royal box knew of what they spoke. As he watched Glorfindel and Aldarion leave the salle together, Ingwë nodded to himself, a considering look on his face. He and Valandur were now alone except for the usual guards, the queen and the rest of the family having left some time before, though Alassiel had lingered until duty had forced her to leave.

"Invite Aldarion to attend you the next time you and Glorfindel meet for one of your sessions," Ingwë said quietly to Valandur. "Tell him he will be joining Glorfindel in his tutorials."

Valandur responded with a raised eyebrow. "Aldarion is no longer an elfling, Uncle, to have to endure such a thing. He is young, of course, but already holds great responsibilities within the government. Do you seek to humiliate him by such a request?"

Ingwë gave his niece’s husband a shrewd look. "Nay, my son, that is not my intent. I want Aldarion to help you with Glorfindel. In due time I expect Aldarion to take over mentoring our young Balrog-slayer, but he will need some training along those lines first."

"Ah," Valandur said with the light of understanding in his eyes. Then he gave his uncle and king a wicked grin. "Has anyone ever told you what a devious bastard you really are?"

Ingwë laughed as he stood up, Valandur following him. "Not in so many words, no, but I thank you for the compliment."

Valandur laughed uproariously at that and even the guards were smiling as the High King and his loremaster finally left the gallery.

****

Mahtalë Mahtalion: Battle of Battles; the Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin Dagor Dagorath.

Altaquingar: Plural of Altaquinga: Great Bow; the war bow of the Eldar.

Nessamelda: Beloved of Nessa; the name of a species of tree that grows in Aman.

Note: The full tale of Glorfindel’s vision can be found in my story, Tâd Edhel a Firion, Chapter 4, "Orcs Get In Your Eyes".

94: Vanda Envinyanta

Aldarion was not pleased when Valandur informed him of the High King’s decision, but put a good face on it. So, he was rather surprised when he walked into Lord Valandur’s study a couple of days later to find Glorfindel in a corner standing on his head while the loremaster sat at his desk calmly reading a court document. Valandur looked up with a smile when he saw Aldarion and chuckled at the ellon’s expression.

"Don’t mind Glorfindel," Valandur said. "He’s being punished. Come and sit down... and Glorfindel, wipe that frown from your face."

"I’m not frowning, my lord," Glorfindel retorted, crossing his eyes as he tried to look at them. "I’m smiling upside down."

Valandur rolled his eyes and Aldarion hid a smile. "Just for that," Valandur said, "you can stay there for another five minutes." He gave Aldarion a grin and winked. "Glorfindel tends to get overly excited at times," he explained. "Lord Námo gave me some pointers on how to... er... curb his enthusiasms."

Aldarion gave Glorfindel a sideways glance and saw the ellon stick his tongue out and started laughing in spite of himself.